TITLE: Interregnum XII: Valediction (1/2) AUTHOR: Horatio WEBSITE: www.geocities.com/horatio_fic/ CATEGORY: S, R, A ***Note: add to XFMU posting, DSR*** SUMMARY: Scully and Doggett enjoy a quiet dinner, unaware of a shocking discovery awaiting them in North Carolina. RATING: PG-13 SPOILERS: Deadalive, pre- and post-ep. ARCHIVE: [Note, for Ephemeral:] *NO ARCHIVE* I'll take care of Ephemeral and XFMU, anyone else just let me know so I can visit. DISCLAIMER: Characters from the X-Files are the property of Ten-Thirteen Productions and the Fox Television Network. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this endeavor. FEEDBACK: Horatio1013@aol.com ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Thanks to Amanda, who made me a better writer. NOTES: This is the final installment of the Interregnum series, a collection of standalone stories that trace the relationship between Doggett and Scully during Mulder's absence in season 8. It is not necessary to have read the previous stories to make sense of this one, although they help set the stage. INTERREGNUM XII: VALEDICTION The knock was soft and tentative, but in the darkness of John Doggett's living room, where he sat in silent immobility, it was as audible as a gunshot. He gave a start and sat forward on the sofa. What the hell? Had he fallen asleep? If he had, it would have been the first time in almost 72 hours. The first time since he'd been summoned by Skinner to a graveyard in North Carolina. The first time since they'd dug Mulder out of the cold earth. He lifted his hand and squinted at his watch. It had been three hours since he'd stumbled in the door with a six-pack of Beck's. Three hours of sitting in the dark, sucking down beers, and trying to comprehend the incomprehensible. Take your pick, John, he'd told himself mirthlessly: exhumations, resurrections, transformations, death threats to unborn babies. . .and lovers returned from the dead. Lovers. What you ain't, pal. He picked up a bottle and swirled its contents. A little left. He began to put it to his lips when three soft taps sounded again. Doggett set down the bottle with a thump and heaved his body off the sofa, his battered muscles protesting against the movement. He unlatched the door and swung it open. The last person he expected to see. "Dana," he said. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Three days earlier Dana Scully's eyes were on the menu, but her other senses were alert to her surroundings. Tinkling china, muffled conversations, subdued lighting, and, when she ventured a glance up, a man in a dark navy suit, crisp white shirt, and sky-blue tie sitting across the table, smiling at her. So this is what it's like to get on with one's life, she thought. A date. Imagine that. She felt a little giddy under the effects of the strange brew of butterflies and guilt, of sadness and anticipation. Mulder had been dead only three months - a mere eye-blink - and not a day went by that she didn't think of him. And yet here she was. Part of her argued that it was too soon to be doing this. Another part of her said, Don't listen to her. You're ready to move on. Amidst the warring factions she grappled for a safe foothold. Work. "I meant what I said this morning, John," she said, returning her gaze to the menu. Several seconds passed and she received no response. "John?" she repeated, looking up. Her companion was staring at her with a glazed look in his eyes, his mouth partly open. Scully raised an eyebrow in question. "Sorry," he said, joggling his head slightly as though shaking out cobwebs. "Mind wanderin'." "Care to share?" she asked. His expression turned sheepish. He hesitated, then he said, "Thinkin' how good it sounds when you call me John." "Ah," Scully said, dropping her eyes. She had kept him fenced behind "Agent Doggett" for a long time - and was still careful to preserve the proprieties when they were at work. She smiled at what a hard-won victory it must feel like for him. "I like the sound of it, too," she said. He grinned at her. Then he cleared his throat. "Anyway, I forgot what it was you said this morning." "That you shouldn't brush off Kersh's offer of a transfer so lightly. You don't owe any more of your life to the X- files." "It's not just a sense of obligation," said Doggett. "In the past few months I've seen enough weird shit to realize that the Bureau needs the X-files. Who else is gonna solve some of these crimes?" He studied the wine list. "You like Merlot?" "Just water for me, thanks." He turned to the waiter, who had appeared at his elbow, and ordered a half bottle of wine and a bottle of Evian. Then he said, "I'm not gonna give Kersh an easy out by walkin' outta there." Scully saw his resolute expression, and felt a mixture of concern and admiration. "Well, you ought to think about his offer carefully." "I'll sit on it for a couple of days. How's that?" She gave him a small smile. Six months ago she never would have predicted that the man whom she had distrusted so deeply would come to honor the work with such determination. Nor that she would be on a dinner date with him. Her eyes wandered from his strong hands resting on the tablecloth, to his penetrating eyes, to his lips. She felt a flush begin to crawl over her flesh. Nor would she have predicted that she would be desiring. . .what she was desiring. The butterflies and guilt began their duel in her stomach again. * * * The waiter returned with their drinks. While Scully ordered, Doggett took the opportunity to study her. She was wearing a wine-colored dress shimmering with faint golden threads, cut low to reveal her swelling breasts. Delicate earrings dangled from her lobes. Her lipstick was a decidedly different shade than her usual office color, and Doggett had to restrain himself from lunging across the table and planting a kiss on those red lips. He had been inarticulate with pleasure at the sight of her when she'd greeted him at her apartment. Dumfounded that she would dress up like that for *him*. When the waiter departed, Doggett said, in a voice more husky than usual, "I don't think I've mentioned it yet, but you look beautiful." Scully stared, her cheeks taking on a rosy hue. Then she lowered her eyes like a schoolgirl. "Thank you," she murmured. She lifted her water glass to take a drink, then looked at it and frowned. "What?" asked Doggett. "I was remembering." She looked at him apologetically. "About when we first met." He nodded, remembering the shock of the cold water dashed in his face, and the admiration that as suddenly bloomed for the woman who had baptized him. "If I remember correctly, I was askin' for it." "No, I was. . .hormonal or something. Completely out of line." Doggett shook his head. "I deserved what I got. I baited you, lied to you. Mulder didn't confide in any other women." "Of course not." Doggett leaned back in his chair, cast his eyes around, let out a sigh. "I've had many a night regretting what I said to you. I didn't know what you were going through. Bein' pregnant and all." Scully unfolded her napkin and laid it on her lap, smoothing it out. "I didn't trust you then." He inclined his head. "You had no reason to." They considered each other a moment. "We've come a long way in a short time," he said. "Yes, we have." She smiled at him. Doggett raised his wine glass again. "To the future?" She clinked her glass against his. "To the future." * * * "You knew Mulder a long time." Scully's head jerked up. Doggett's question had come quite out of nowhere. "You're gettin' lemon juice on your potatoes," he advised her gently. "Oh!" She laid the lemon quarter on the side of her plate. Into the space of her hesitation Doggett said, "Sorry. I didn't mean to pry." "It's all right," Scully said, recovering. She took a nibble of sole, looked up at him. "Seven years." She shook her head. "But you don't want to talk about Mulder." Doggett concentrated on his plate. "Mulder was a big chunk of your life. I don't want you to think you can't talk about him with me. But only if you want to." Scully, too, avoided his eyes while she pondered the question. Did she want to talk about it? Could she? Should she? The love was so deep, the pain still so raw. "It's hard to explain," she faltered, and stopped. Doggett waited, respecting her reticence. Yet his eyes were intent, curious. "Seven years," he nudged. "But you lived apart." "We were friends for a long time before. . ." She hesitated. "Before we became intimate." Her voice trailed off. "It was so much more than any friendship I've ever known. And in a fundamental way, so much less than I imagine people presumed." Scully prodded her vegetables. "I know people referred to me as Mrs. Spooky, and I know what they meant by it." Doggett looked uncomfortable. "I heard the office gossip." "I'm sure you did," Scully said. "And for years they were wrong." His knife and fork froze in mid-air as he stared at her. Scully could almost hear the gears of his mind grinding as he scrambled to reshuffle prior assumptions. "So," he said, clearing his throat slightly, "how long *were* you and Mulder, uh, involved?" But he immediately shook his head. "No, wait. You don't have to answer that." "Two months," she whispered after a pause. Doggett's mouth dropped open, and quickly he snapped it shut again. Scully saw the mixture of embarrassment and confusion on his face, and compassion for him surged inside her. "Not what you thought, hm?" she said. He blinked. "Not quite." They ate in silence for a few moments. Suddenly Doggett said, "Why? Why so long?" Scully sighed and looked away. "I guess I thought that loving Mulder would be too. . ." She groped for the word. "Intense. Overwhelming. Like an untamable force of nature." She turned back to Doggett. "He was a very forceful personality. I resisted for a long time." Doggett said, "A very long time." Scully smiled a wan smile, which quickly faded. "I waited a long time, and then time ran out." Her voice caught at the last words, and she gathered up her napkin and pressed it against her mouth. Doggett made a slight movement toward her, then sat back. His mouth worked as though trying, and failing, to find words of comfort. Scully quickly regained her composure and went on. "And before Mulder there was no one for, oh, almost a decade. So I'm unpracticed at-" She looked at him shyly. "At all this." "That makes two of us, then. I don't get out much either." "I think. . ." Scully's voice trailed off as she fingered the stem of her water goblet. "Sometimes, I think you deserve something better." "You're kiddin', right?" "No. I mean someone who's not encumbered. Who's not. . ." She gestured at her belly. "I tried that." Scully raised her eyebrows in inquiry. Doggett explained. "It was a month or two ago. She was an old friend from the NYPD." He paused, and the tips of his ears reddened. Probably recalling the details of their encounter, Scully thought, and felt a sudden tightening in her solar plexus. Her jealousy surprised her. "I was feelin' lonely," he continued. "I thought it would help." He gave a little snort. "It didn't." "Why not?" Scully asked in a feigned tone of casualness. She was unable, however, to conceal a slight quaver in her voice. He looked at her pointedly. "Because it wasn't you." Scully ducked her head, hiding an embarrassed smile, and speared a piece of yellow squash. "Oh," she managed, as a warm feeling grew inside her. * * * "You're tellin' me he was honest to God invisible? Get outta here!" "I swear," affirmed Scully. "I examined the body myself." Her eyes were bright, remembering her excitement over Anson Stokes's body. "Then how the hell did you-? Oh, never mind," Doggett said with a laugh and a shake of his head. They had been one- upping each other with tales of outrageous experiences, and he had to concede that his date had come out the winner. The Marines and the NYPD couldn't beat seven years on the X-files. As the waiter bent over Scully to remove her plate, she let out a little "Oof!" "Ma'am?" the man asked, bewildered. "I'm fine," she said, waving him away. "You okay?" Doggett asked in a low voice when the waiter departed. She grinned at him. "Just little J. Edgar getting some exercise." "Ah," he said, relaxing his concern. "How's the little fella doin' these days?" "He's very active tonight. He's not used to this either." Doggett chuckled. "He probably wants some dessert. You know how kids are: always room for ice cream even when they're stuffed to the gills." Scully looked at him sympathetically. "I guess you know from experience." He was very still, then nodded slowly. She reached across the table and laid her hand over his. "I want you to feel that you can talk about him - your son - with me. But," she added, echoing his words, "only if you want to." "I know I can. And I will." He turned his hand over and clasped hers. "But maybe another time. Let's just enjoy tonight." She nodded, and they sat with hands joined for a long moment. * * * "Do you want to come up?" They had driven back to Scully's apartment through a rain that was quickly turning to a wet snow. Doggett was just debating whether to kiss her in the truck's cab or in front of her door when she had surprised him with her question. He didn't think her invitation signified what such invitations usually signify - not if he read the careful Dana Scully correctly - but perhaps he was wrong. "Sure," he said, and sprinting around to her side, helped her out and up the slippery steps into the apartment building. Inside, he stood uncertainly by the door as Scully hung up her coat and headed for the kitchen. "Can I get you anything?" she asked. "No, thanks, I'm fine." He removed his overcoat and draped it next to hers on the coat rack. Hands fidgeting with uncertainty, he sat down on the sofa and watched her as she filled the tea kettle and placed it on the stove. "I like some herb tea before I go to sleep," Scully explained. "You sure you don't want some coffee for the drive home?" Well, that clears things up, Doggett thought wryly. The corner of his mouth quirked up. You didn't really expect to be invited to spend the night this soon, did ya, pal? he teased himself. "Maybe half a cup," he answered her. As Scully busied herself in the kitchen, Doggett's attention fell on a slip of notepaper on the coffee table, a list written in a familiar slant. He read the first notation before he realized he was prying. 'Call mom - clean out apartment.' Doggett glanced around at Scully's well-appointed space. Clean out her apartment? Why? His eyes fell back on the paper. 'Call gunmen - move fish tank.' Those three oddball guys. And Mulder had a fish tank. Doggett drew in a breath sharply. Scully was going to clean out Mulder's apartment. He thought of Luke's room. How Barbara had closed the door and never touched anything. Of course, a child was different than a lover. But still, it couldn't be easy for Scully to have to do this. He exhaled sadly as he raised his eyes to her again. She was taking a jar of instant coffee out of a cupboard. Doggett watched as she unscrewed the top and scooped crystals into one of the cups, but his mind was on the piece of paper on the table. He felt its magnet pull, and forced himself to keep his eyes on the woman in the kitchen. It was none of his damn business. On the other hand. . .when you're getting entangled with a very reserved, private woman, maybe you have to take your clues where you find them. Slowly, fighting the pull of guilt, he turned his head, and his eyes dropped to the third and last item on the list. 'Call OB - sex?' Doggett's fidgeting fingers stilled. His vision narrowed as if he were looking through a telescope, and all he was aware of was the small scrawl at the end of a long, narrow tunnel. His pants suddenly became uncomfortably tight. At the same moment a shrill whistling pierced the quiet, and he jumped up, his shin cracking the coffee table painfully. Scully lifted the kettle from the burner and the whistling ceased. "Black, right?" she said, turning to him. He froze. "Right." His mouth dry, the word came out a rasp. While Scully filled the cups, Doggett wiped his palms, now damp, on his trousers. If this solemn, wounded woman was considering sex with him, it wouldn't be a light decision. Dana Scully didn't do anything lightly. It would be a commitment. His heart thumping against his ribs, he leaned down and slid the notepaper under the Journal of Forensic Medicine that lay on the table. The prospect of causing Scully embarrassment was unthinkable. Scully cradled her cup in both hands and blew on the hot liquid. She looked up at her companion. "Thank you for dinner. It was lovely." "My pleasure," said Doggett. His thigh was warm alongside hers on the sofa. In fact, he felt like a heater. She had noticed when she'd brought in their drinks that his face was colored with a slight flush, and his tie had been yanked loose. She'd offered to turn down the thermostat, but he had just muttered something about it being the contrast with the cold outside. As she sipped her tea, Scully pondered what impulse had caused her to invite him up to her apartment. What must he be thinking? What was *she* thinking? Why exactly did she invite him? She rifled her mind for answers. Was it only to fill the lonely spaces? Is that what this was all about? Oh, Dana, she admonished herself. You enjoy his company, that's all. You didn't want this evening to end at the curb. You want to talk to him a while longer. What the hell is wrong with that? Her internal debate was interrupted by a soft touch on her neck, where her hair had parted when she bent to take a sip of tea. Doggett gently traced the ridge of scarred skin where he had cut that creature out of her with his knife. He leaned over her to examine the scar more closely. "This healed up pretty good," he said. Scully gave him a rueful smile. "Ever think of a surgery specialty?" He chuckled, then grew serious. He stroked her neck in little circles. "God almighty, I was scared shitless cuttin' into you like that." "You told me once you weren't afraid of anything." Doggett bent again and brushed his lips against the scar. She shivered with pleasure. "That was before I cared about you," he said. Scully breathed in deeply as he lifted her hair, placing little kisses along her hairline and around her ear. But she didn't lean into his touch. He seemed to sense her hesitation, and sat up, but continued to stroke her hair. "Are you all right with this?" he asked. "This. . .being together like this?" She exhaled softly. "I invited you up here, remember." "You were just bein' friendly." She smiled at him, then turned her gaze inward as her doubts resurfaced. "I'm not sure I'm doing this for the right reasons," she said. Doggett drank some coffee and considered her statement. "I'm not sure what 'right reasons' are. Probably, if people waited for so-called right reasons to get together, the world's population would dry up." He looked at her. "So what are your wrong reasons?" She leaned back, resting her head against the sofa. "My life has been turned upside down, with this pregnancy, with Mulder's death. I don't think I've even begun to make sense of it." Doggett fell into a thoughtful silence, the fissures on his forehead deepening. "You're worried you're just lookin' for something to hold onto," he said at last. "Someone to hold *you*, to care about you." He paused. "To care about your child." She wouldn't meet his eyes. She did want these things, but was loath to admit it. "Those aren't bad reasons," he said softly. "I suppose there are a lot worse." She turned to look at him. "And there are good reasons, too." She considered him a moment, then dropped her eyes to his shoulder. "I, um, I like you." He smiled at such bold words for her. "Well, I like you, too." "I never expected you," Scully said. "I never expected to like you so much. I never expected I'd want anyone to touch me again. Or that I'd want to touch anyone again." She raised her hand and ran it along his cheek. Doggett inhaled slowly, then leaned in and brushed her lips. She responded softly, meeting his pressure with gentle pressure of her own. He pulled away from the kiss. "Life's almost never what we expect," he said. Scully nodded. "I thought once that I had it figured out." "Life?" "My life. What it was meant for." She looked down at her lap. "I thought that maybe God, or fate, guided us in our choices, and that all my choices had led me to-" She stopped, coloring. Doggett waited. Scully huffed lightly. "It seems a little conceited now, to have thought that my choices had any fateful significance." "Oh, I don't know," Doggett said. "I don't think any harm's done in thinking there's a plan or destiny to our lives. It can add meaning to life." "But what if it's not the truth?" He shrugged. "How do we know? If there is such a thing as fate, or Truth with a capital T, I don't think we're capable of makin' sense of all of it." Scully frowned, considering this. "This is about Mulder, isn't it?" Doggett said softly. She looked up at him sharply, then looked away. "You're tryin' to make sense of his death and your life." Scully took in a breath and let it out. "Yes." Doggett regarded her for a long moment. "You loved him." This time she didn't answer him. She didn't need to. He lifted his hand from the back of the couch and brushed her hair away from her face. "Sometimes, love is the only truth that makes sense." Slowly Scully turned to gaze at him, her eyes widening as if he'd proposed a startling scientific theory. Suddenly she felt a wave of gratitude for his presence in her life at this painful juncture. The tightness inside her uncoiled, and a smile softened her lips. In more of a breath than a whisper, she said, "Kiss me." Doggett was stunned into paralysis for a moment. Then he came to his senses and gathered her to him, covering her lips with his. Scully opened her mouth, letting him in. He pressed his hardness against her side, and she clawed at the wool of his jacket, pulling him even closer. The kiss grew impossibly deep, then they broke apart, gasping. Immediately Doggett leaned into her again, this time trailing kisses from her lips to her throat, and to the deep cleft between her breasts. Scully made a low, guttural sound as his hands caressed her through layers of dress and maternity bra. Then he moved lower, and his lips came to rest on her abdomen, kissing her navel through the silky material. He turned his head and lay his cheek against her belly, drawing deep breaths. For a long time he didn't move. His pulse throbbed with a wildly rapid beat, his back heaved with each sucked-in breath. Scully, too, was panting. With one hand she rubbed his back, and with the other she combed her fingers gently through his hair. At last Doggett stirred and sat up. Scully was looking at him through half-lowered lids. Her cheeks burned with two red spots, and a flush had spread down her chest. He remembered the last item on her list. It had not been checked off. "I think I oughta be going," he said softly. Scully smoothed his hair where she had mussed it. She breathed in, and let it out, resigned. "I wish I could ask you to stay." "There'll be time for that," he said. "You were just in the hospital." She had called it a "slight" hemorrhage, but his fear had been anything but slight. Then he smiled at her. "But I appreciate the thought." She stroked the sandpapery skin of his face. "You'll definitely be in my thoughts tonight." Doggett's heartbeat quickened, and he twined his fingers in her hair. He wanted to imprint her face on his mind to take back to his cold bed. Her eyes, dark sapphires glittering with desire. The rosy hue of her skin. Her white teeth flashing in a smile. "Likewise, lemme tell you," he ground out in his whiskey voice. She would be in his thoughts. . .and in his life, if he had any say. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Three days later The smile was gone. So were the rosy cheeks and bright eyes. The woman standing on Doggett's porch was somber, and her eyes were glassy with fatigue. Her clothes looked like they had been slept in - if she indeed had slept at all these past few days. What the hell was she doing here? he wondered. The last time he'd seen her, her head was cradled on Mulder's chest. He thought she would never leave the man's side. "Can I come in?" Scully asked tentatively. Doggett blinked, then stepped aside to let her pass, closing the door softly behind them. Scully stopped at the threshold to the living room. "Did I wake you?" she said. "No," he answered her. "I was just sitting." She looked around, and her shoulders sagged. "In the dark." He shrugged, and moved past her to turn on the lamp next to the sofa. Scully's face registered shock when she looked at him in the light, and it occurred to Doggett that he must look like last night's trash. His white shirt was wrinkled and soiled and hanging out from his pants. And he remembered that his face was bruised and cut. He had stopped feeling the pain hours ago. He had stopped feeling anything. He noticed that Scully was trembling. "You're cold," he said, jolted out of his lethargy. She shook her head. "Not really. Just a little stressed out." He stepped to her side and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Have a seat. Can I get you something?" "No. Thanks. I can't stay." He felt her tremors under his palm, and grew concerned. He knew that exhaustion could take its toll on a pregnant woman. "Sure you don't wanna sit down? You must be exhausted." "I need to get back soon. To the hospital." "Sure." He thrust balled-up fists into his pockets. "How's he doin'?" "He's sleeping now, but he regained consciousness. Spoke a few words. I think he's going to be fine." "Good," he said. "That's good. Incredible." "Yes, it's incredible." They stood, awkward and silent. "What brings you here at this hour?" Doggett finally asked. "I just want - I need to talk to you." He shook his head reprovingly. "I wish you wouldn't think about me right now. You got more important things to deal with." "You're important, too," she returned. An ember of hope flared in Doggett's heart. Perhaps she was struggling with the choice. Perhaps he had a hair's-breadth of a chance. Why else would she have pried herself from her barnacle-like attachment to that man to come here? He wanted to believe it was true, what she said, but feared that the standards of importance had been irrevocably revised. Up until tonight, he'd been so consumed with the bizarre events of the past few days that he hadn't had time to think what Mulder's return would mean to him. Not until he'd looked into that hospital room tonight had it hit him. Like a ten-ton wrecking ball. "I'm too tired to talk standin' up. Please," he said, gesturing to the sofa. Scully lingered a moment, then crossed the room and sat. Doggett settled next to her, but carefully not too close. Not like the last time they had sat together, when her body had pressed warmly against his. Scully's gaze fell on the empty beer bottles littering the coffee table, and her face became pinched with guilt. Sighing sadly, she turned to Doggett. She reached up and touched a bruise over his right eye. "What happened here?" Her fingers were cold, and Doggett flinched slightly. He resisted the urge to take hold of her hand and warm it between his. "Just a little altercation in the performance of my duty." "But what-" He waved away her question. "It was nothing. Doesn't matter now." He didn't want to talk about that asshole Krycek. He reached for one of the Beck's and turned it up, emptying the last drops down his throat. Then he sat forward, leaning his elbows on his knees, the bottle dangling from his fingers. "Dana, I want to apologize," he said. "For what?" Scully asked, surprised. "For objecting to the exhumation. I never in a million years thought it would turn out like this. That Mulder would live. All I could think of was what it would do to you if we dug him up only to see him die again. Or worse, if he survived as a vegetable. A living, breathing corpse." He rubbed a hand through his hair. "It made me sick to think of you dealin' with that." Scully touched his knee lightly. "You were putting personal concerns before the truth." She had spoken similar words in the hospital, but this time her voice held compassion instead of anger, and Doggett returned her look with relief. "Hard not to do," he said. "In this instance." She nodded. "And yet, it all turned out for the best." "Yes." He looked at her fixedly. "I'm glad it turned out the way it did. I'm glad for you, Dana," he repeated with emphasis. "You know that, don't you?" "Yes," she said. "I know. And I want you to believe me when I say I was ready to move on with my life. With you." *Was*. The ember flickered out, and Doggett swallowed something hard. "I believe that," he said quietly. "But now. . ." Scully began, faltering under the gaze of his bleak, sunken eyes. "I came here as soon as I could, to explain-" She wavered, then tried again. "I came to tell you that I can't. . .we can't-" "No," Doggett said somberly. "We can't." His voice was flat with defeat, and she looked away from him, her eyes welling. "I'm not saying this very well," she choked out. "You don't have to say anything. I wasn't born yesterday." "I'm sorry," she said. "I never wanted to hurt you." He leaned close to her, his blue eyes boring into hers. "Don't be. Don't be sorry for what you've been given. A miracle. How many people get their loved ones back from the dead?" Not me, he thought grimly. Scully struggled to swallow her tears. She had indeed been given a miraculous gift, and her joy in it was beyond measure. But the price paid for it was recorded in every line of the face before her, and her heart was rent in two. "You should forget everything that happened between us," Doggett said. She looked at him sharply. "I can't do that." "You should." "Could you?" she asked. He hesitated a second. "Yes." "I don't believe you," Scully said. He looked away from her. "No," she said softly, "I didn't think so. I'll never forget, John. I'll always treasure what we had." He made a wry face. "Even the arguments?" Scully, too, allowed herself a small smile. "Especially the arguments." Doggett took her in, the dark circles under her eyes, the disheveled clothing, the ungroomed hair. He thought he had never seen, nor would ever see again, anything as beautiful as this woman. Every cell of his skin ached to touch her. He put down the bottle and twined his fingers tightly together. Scully looked down at her hands. "I probably should be getting back." He helped her up and they walked in silence to the door, where she turned to him. "Promise me something," she said. "Anything," he said instantly. "That he'll never know. About us." Her voice was urgent, entreating. "He can't ever know. Not after what he's been through." "He'll never know," Doggett assured her. "No one will ever know. It'll be like it never happened." Cradling her, neck bleeding, in the back of a speeding Utah patrol car. Tucking her under her comforter when she was reeling with grief. Seeing her smiling at him across a candlelit table. Kissing her. Never happened. He felt a dull ache in the middle of his chest. "Yes," she whispered, and a look of pain rippled over her face. "Like it never happened." Sighing, she turned to the door, but his voice stopped her. "Maybe you were right, Dana." "Right about what?" she said, turning around. "Maybe it *was* fate. You and Mulder." She stared vacantly, thinking. Her ruminations over fate seemed so long ago, lost in the whirlwind of a world turned inside out. Doggett blew out a breath. "At least, that's what I'm tellin' myself. Makes it a little easier." Scully was quiet a moment, then she shook her head impatiently. "I don't know, John. I don't know anymore what's fate and what's not. I don't understand anything." She grabbed his hand suddenly, squeezing it. "But I do know this. I know *you* were right." He looked at her inquiringly. The response she gave was so soft, he had to bend to hear it. "About love," she said. "Being the only truth." Doggett stilled, only his shoulders raising and lowering slightly. Scully's eyes were luminous as they darted over his face. She opened her mouth as if to say something more, then closed it. His ribcage expanded till he thought it would break, then he let his breath out with a sigh. Lifting her hand to his lips, he placed a kiss on her palm. His other arm slid around her back. "C'mere," he rasped. A small, inarticulate sound issued from Scully's throat. She reached around his waist, clutching him tightly, and pressed her face into the crook between his neck and shoulder. Doggett sank his face into her hair, breathing her in, breathing in all the possibilities that now would never be. They clasped each other for a long time. Then Doggett lifted his head from her hair. Scully turned her face to him, her eyes bright blue pools of regret. One last time, he thought. And he kissed her. With a soft exhalation, Scully yielded to the pressure of his lips, tender, grazing, nudging, caressing. Saying good- bye. And then they parted. For a moment they stood, not moving, looking into each other's eyes. Then Scully stepped out of Doggett's loose embrace, and he opened the door. On the porch, Scully took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. She stood there a moment, silent, her back to him. Then she turned to him. "Good-bye," she said. And, her eyes wet and shining, added in a whisper, "Agent Doggett." Doggett blinked. His jaw tightened, and the backs of his eyeballs felt on fire. But when he spoke his voice was firm and steady. "Good-bye. . .Agent Scully." End ---------------- Author's notes: I began this series partway through season 8, and originally conceived it as comprising four or five stories that would be completed before Mulder actually returned to the show. Instead, it grew to twelve stories and was finished in September of 2002, four months after the series ended. So much for good intentions. Thank you to everyone who has hung in there the whole distance. Feedback is welcome at Horatio1013@aol.com The stories in the Interregnum series can be found at www.geocities.com/horatio_fic/