Title: No More A Stranger

Author: spookycc

Rating: PG 13

Summary: Scully sees a side of Doggett she's never seen before.

Classification: V A DSF/DSR

Spoilers: For S8 so far. Vague reference to Via Negativa and Roadrunners.

Disclaimer: No characters, human or canine, are mine.

Archive: I'll take care of Ephemeral and Gossamer. Anywhere else is fine -
drop me a line to let me know where you're puttin' it. SHODDS sites and
Doggship Li-berry help yerselves. ;-p

Feedback welcomed at spookycc@earthlink.net
Flames will be used to bbq peeps.

Dedication: As ever, to the world's best beta, Doggett's Bitch (f/k/a "Fox's
Vixen" :). My soulmate, always. Also for girlassassin, faithful fan and
rising star. And to all my sisters at SHODDS. You're the best!

Trout-slap me for never having thanked, in '*any* of my previous works, the
man without whom we wouldn't even '*know* John Doggett. Special thanks, not
that he'll ever see this, to Robert Patrick. His energy and positive
attitude were so refreshingly new to this Phile, and I think there's a lot
of Mr. Patrick in Agent Doggett. (I mean that in the best way.)



> ****

"No More A Stranger"


The case we've labored on for weeks has come to this. One single man, the
last of an elite group of government assassins. The man we pursue has worked
in Black Ops - a shadow government within the government - eliminating
"enemies of the State" that were too clever to be prosecuted. Our taxes paid
for him to kill. Now that money pays for our search for him. He's eluded us
for weeks. He's cunning, with connections God only knows how high in the
government. Doggett and I have already called for backup, as we search the
Carolina warehouse he just fled into.

Guns drawn, we creep from room to room, knowing he is also armed, hoping
against hope that backup will hurry the hell up. Our eyes adjust slowly to
the darkness as we systematically move from one room to the next, in touch
with each other only by glances and nods.

A shot hits me - the sound almost as exquisitely stunning as the pain - and
I tumble helplessly to the floor. I scramble as best I can to get behind
some crates, out of the line of fire.

Doggett is there in an instant. Concern is written all over his face. I nod
once, letting him know I'm ok. I got hit in the left arm, nothing vital.

And then I see it. As soon as he knows as I'm all right, the concern is
replaced by.... *something*. It seems to come from deep within him. It's a
look I've never before been privy to, and one I truly hope I never see
again.

His steely blue eyes are almost black with hatred, the furrows above his
eyes knotted tightly. He turns to face down the man who shot me. I can only
lie helplessly, regaining my wits, as he brings his gun to bear on the man.

I hear five shots, in quick succession. I don't even know if the man ever
fired back.

Then this - this stranger - is gone, and my partner is beside me once more.
But was I seeing a stranger, or merely seeing Agent Doggett more clearly
than I ever did before? A man who would do anything for me.

Now he is the calm, compassionate man I know. His face relaxes in an instant
of retransformation. Once again, his eyes are steel blue, softened in color
only by his concern for me. I hear his cell call to 911 as though from a
distance. Then he kneels at my side, as I try to sit up. He brings a knee up
and rests my back against it, supporting my back and neck, his arms
protectively wrapped around me. For the briefest moment I experience a vivid
flashback. He held me like this once before. In the hospital, after I killed
the bounty hunter I thought I recognized as Skinner.

I covered my face then, I remember. I'm sorry now that I did. I wanted to
hide myself from him, this interloper who would presume to help me find
Mulder. Now this man knows me as well as Mulder ever did - he has seen me
through joys and sorrows that no one should have to face alone. And thanks
to Doggett, I didn't have to.

He was always there. He is always here. He belongs with me, as much as
Mulder did. No more do I report to the basement office to find it empty,
with no idea where my partner has gone. My partner is *here*.

I did the only ditching in this partnership, months ago, when I traveled to
Juab County, Utah, on a medical consultation. I still tell myself that's why
I didn't tell Doggett where I was going. Purely a medical matter, I assure
myself. No need to disturb Doggett on a weekend.

The truth is, I didn't want him along, not then. If I couldn't work with
Mulder, I would just as soon work alone. So I ditched Doggett. It almost
cost me my life.

Instead, Doggett found me. Knowing only the county I disappeared in. He was
uninvited - hell, at that stage of my life, un*wanted*. Skinner has since
told me of Doggett's immediate concern for me, when he realized I hadn't
checked in at the sheriff's office. The subsequent search, Skinner said,
consumed Doggett, who was unable to eat, unable to sleep, until he was by my
side once more.

How could I ask for more from a partner?

"Hey-" His tone is worried, and I rejoin him in the here and now. "You zoned
out on me there."  I look up to meet his concerned gaze. "Help's comin'. You
ok?"

I offer him a weak nod. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

I hear something like a sigh escape his lips. I've heard it once before, and
my heart races with worry. His grip on me loosens, and he lets me down
lightly. He rests my back against a stack of pallets. And then I see it.

Blood soaks through his shirt at the shoulder. My attacker did shoot him.
Before I can reach up to help him, he collapses beside me, like a puppet
with its strings cut.

My own injured arm forgotten until it throbs in protest, I roll him gently
over onto his side. Pulling his shirt open with one good arm isn't easy, but
I need to assess his condition. That's what my clinical side is telling me.
I can't even begin to decipher what my emotional side is telling me.

The entry wound is in his upper right chest. The exit wound - not as large
as I feared - shows the shot went through cleanly. My most immediate concern
is slowing the blood loss. It's going to be painful, but it would be best
for Doggett to sit up, if he can. I kneel at his side and lift him gently,
and he is rewarded for the effort by what must be pain redoubled. His eyes
squeeze tightly shut, and his forehead is a creased maze. I sit behind him,
making a "V" out of my legs and resting him between them, leaning him back a
bit. This way, I can keep the pressure on the exit wound using the
mechanical advantage of my own body. I fold my trench coat into a manageable
square, and press it against his back.

It's more than a little awkward, due to my 8-month's pregnant stomach, but I
hold him tightly. I wrap my suit jacket around his still form, to keep him
warm, to ward away shock.

I hear a soft moan, and Doggett's eyes flutter open, his head resting
against my shoulder. He starts to speak, but I press a finger to his lips.
"Shhhh. Relax. Lean on me." I try to
discourage him from talking. Any activity that requires upper-body movement
right now, talking included, isn't going to help the bleeding.

I think back to the conversation we had in the car on the way here. I had
been pondering Doggett, truth be told. This man whose world seems now to
revolve around me. I remember the concern in his voice. I always remember
that. 'Hey - Scully. Everything OK?"

I had smiled up at him, then. "I was just thinking about something."

"You wanna share?"

I remember shaking my head. "No. It's not important."

It '*was* important. It is important. More important than anything else on
my mind. But I couldn't bring myself to share it with him. Part of me still
bottles these feelings protectively inside. I've let Doggett in as much as I
can, right now.

I watch helplessly as pain is reflected in the jagged features of his face
beside mine. My hand pushes harder on the compress I'm using on the exit
wound, willing him to hold on. The part of me that almost told this man what
he means to me, here, tonight, is fraught with worry that now I might not
have that chance again.

Sirens in the distance - I've never welcomed the sound quite so much as I do
here, now. The ambulances arrive the same time as our backup. Feast or
famine. I shrug off their ministrations, and let them know in no uncertain
terms that I can wait. Doggett can't. He has not awakened since they
arrived. That worries me, though at least he is spared the pain while he is
asleep - or unconscious. But he is so still. So unlike the dogged agent I'm
accustomed to.

I don't need to use my status as an MD to hitch a ride in the EMS unit with
Doggett, not this time. I sit on one side bench, and they tend to my arm as
we make our way to the nearest hospital. My attention is pulled away, time
and again, as they ask me for pertinent medical information, both on Doggett
and on myself. When I am not thus occupied, my gaze never wanders from where
he lies. Still out of it. An oxygen mask covers his face.

I miss the piercing gaze he usually levels me with. Or the softly concerned
blue eyes he locks with mine when he's worried about me. Which he pretty
much has been, since he joined the X-Files. I can see neither of them now.
All I have is the beeping of the monitors to reassure me that he's ok.

I realize now, at this moment, how much I will miss this man, when I take my
pregnancy leave. I guess I'd never thought about it too much before. He's
done far more than watch my back. He's saved my ass, more than once. But it'
s more than that. How could I have looked into those soulful blue eyes so
many times, and not see what I saw in them tonight?

I've felt Doggett's protectiveness toward me since the day he was assigned
to the X-Files. The day his fast train to the directorship derailed and he
was saddled with "Mrs. Spooky."

I've been so focused - hell, *obsessed* - with finding Mulder. I never
opened my eyes, let alone anything more, to the man who was standing before
me. The man who now lies on the stretcher next to me. With the stunning
clarity of a single bell tolling at midnight, finally I see. Finally I
understand.

The stranger I thought I saw tonight wasn't a stranger at all. He was - he
*is* - the man who loves me. Loved me probably almost - I nearly laugh,
choke on it, and let the tears fall - almost from the cup of water...

And when he wakes up, I'll find a way to tell him. I don't know when it
began for me, but I know that at some point it did.

I'll wait for him to wake up. When he does, I hope I can muster the courage
to tell him that I love him, too.


--fini--