No Place to Hide I - IV
Written by Jenna 

Rating: NC-17 
Category: post-XF, DSR, Character death (offscreen) 




"There's no place to hide . . . but I don't think I'm scared." 



-1- 
 
Mindy was waiting for him on her front porch, as usual. "Hey, Deputy." 
 
"Hey, Mindy," Doggett said. "isn't it a bit cold for you to be out right now?" 
 
"It's not so cold," she said, tucking her chin into her puffy pink down coat. "Did 
you have a good day, Deputy?" 
 
"It was just fine. Very quiet." 
 
"I'd think Jessup's dull after living in New York." 
 
"Dull is exactly what I want." He got his mail from the mailbox. Bill, bill, 
advertisement. It was exactly what he expected--exactly what he wanted, too. 
 
"There was a lady here earlier, looking for you." 
 
"Yeah?" Doggett climbed his wooden porch steps. "Did she tell you her name?" 
 
"Nope. She didn't tell me anything. She just parked her Jeep and waited a while, 
then drove away. She didn't get out or nothin'." 
 
His little spy, Doggett thought with a grin. "Thanks. I'll keep an eye out for her." 
 
"Do you want me to tell her something for you, if she comes back?" 
 
"No, don't worry about it." 
 
"You got a wife you didn't tell us about?" she said with a look that was meant to 
be flirtatious but was closer to scared, as if she'd never dared ask a grownup 
such a question. 
 
"No wife," he said, thinking, Honey, you're twelve. Just relax. "Some old 
girlfriends, maybe. Your mother's calling you," he added, at a soft, "Mindy, 
dinner!" from inside her house. 
 
"Coming!" Mindy called, and said to Doggett, "You have a good night, Deputy." 
 
"You too," Doggett said, and let himself into his house. 
 
The thermostat was set to start warming up the house half an hour before he got 
home, but it was still chilly when he stepped inside. He lit a fire in the fireplace, 
and when it was burning merrily he took off his hat and jacket, hung them up 
and got a packaged dinner from the freezer: chicken-fried steak, corn bread with 
butter, green beans and mashed potatoes and gravy. He started it cooking in the 
microwave and cracked open a beer from the fridge. He drank, sat down at the 
kitchen table, and then leaned his head on his hand and closed his eyes. 
 
It was dull in Jessup, Wyoming. It was routine. It was not exciting or 
mysterious. But if staying meant continued safety for his friends, he'd stay in 
Jessup until the end of the world. 
 
The microwave beeped. Doggett sighed, took another swallow of beer, and went 
up to his bedroom to take off his uniform. 
 
The sun had been setting when he got home--pink and scarlet clouds painted 
across an indigo sky--and when he came back downstairs it was completely dark 
in his little house. He almost flipped on his porch light, but instead stood in front 
of the window, drinking his beer and watching the street lights come on. 
 
Five years had passed since he and Kersh broke Mulder out of jail, since he 
promised Gibson Praise he'd look after him, since he and Monica said goodbye 
to Mulder and Scully in the New Mexico desert. 
 
Five years had passed since Mulder and Scully died. 
 
That was the official story, anyway -- Doggett was not completely convinced it 
was true. He had no proof, of course. Investigators had found two bodies at the 
site, and the bodies were officially identified as Fox Mulder and Dana Scully. 
But Monica had said when they talked about it, "It can't be them. I know I'd feel 
it. Laugh if you want, but I would feel it if they were gone." 
 
He hadn't laughed. He had believed her then, and he believed her now. But if a 
strange woman was looking for him, never in a thousand years would it be 
someone he wanted to see, someone he missed. 
 
Still, he found himself hoping she would try to find him again, whoever she was. 
 
Doggett's stomach growled. He went into the kitchen and tested the tray to see if 
it was too hot to touch. It was not: he carried it to the whitewashed pine table, 
got out a knife and fork from the utensil drawer, and sat down to eat. 
 
The crash came from the back porch, startling Doggett to his feet. He grabbed a 
flashlight from his junk drawer and ran outside, sock-footed and jacketless, 
shining his flashlight in wide sweeps. "Jessup County police!" he shouted, 
realizing too late that his only weapon was the fork clutched in his fist. "Who's 
there?" 
 
He caught sight of a small figure trying to climb his redwood back fence. 
Thinking it was a local kid playing a prank, Doggett ran across the snow and 
grabbed the kid's denim jacket, yanking him down. The kid landed on his ass 
with a muffled cry and covered his face with his arms against the glare of 
Doggett's flashlight. 
 
"Show me your face!" Doggett ordered. "What are you trying to do, huh? What 
are you doing here?" 
 
"Please," the kid whispered. "Please stop shouting." 
 
Doggett's tirade stopped in his throat. He dropped to his knees and shown the 
flashlight lower on the kid's body, so he could see his face without blinding him. 
He reached over and gently pulled the boy's fingers from his face. 
 
This was no teen out for a night of mayhem. This was a face from the dead. 
 
"Dana," he whispered. 
 
She turned her face away from him. "I'm sorry." 
 
"Dana," he said again in wonder. He ran his hand over her hair. 
 
Lights were turning on at his neighbors' houses, and he heard voices across the 
yards. 
 
"I heard shoutin' at the deputy's--" 
 
"Deputy, are you okay?" 
 
"Something goin' on, Deputy?" 
 
"Should we call Brett, or Mary Ouida?" 
 
He stood and called back, "It's okay. Everything's okay. You don't need to call 
anybody. Just a stray cat." He waited until he heard back doors closing, then 
knelt and rubbed his hand across Scully's shivering shoulders. "Dana. Come 
inside. It's cold. Come inside." 
 
"I shouldn't have come." 
 
"Yes, you should have. Absolutely you should have. But come inside before we 
both freeze, okay?" 
 
Slowly she stood, and leaned against him when he put his arm around her. His 
feet were soaked from the snow but she was shivering hard. "God, you're 
freezing," Doggett muttered as he led her up the back steps and past the broken 
canning jars. 
 
"I broke your jars," she said sadly. "I'm sorry." 
 
"It's okay," he said, opening the back door. "I bought 'em years ago. I had a big 
plan of canned blackberries and stewed tomatoes. It never came about, 
obviously." 
 
In the light of the kitchen she looked exhausted: gaunt and pale, her hair dyed a 
mousy brown, dark circles under her eyes. She averted her eyes from his dinner 
and ran her hand nervously through her hair. Her stomach growled audibly. 
 
"I was just about to eat, are you hungry?" He tugged off his wet socks and pulled 
out a chair at the kitchen table for her. She took a step toward it, looked at him 
again and then sat in it as if every joint in her body ached. 
 
"Don't bother. I'm all right." 
 
"It's no bother." He got another plate from the cupboard and more silverware. 
"Would you like a beer?" 
 
"Do you have anything that's not so strong?" 
 
"Milk?" 
 
"Milk would be fine." 
 
He poured her a glass of milk and set it on the table, then put half of his chicken-
fried steak, green beans and mashed potatoes on her plate, and all the corn 
bread. 
 
"John, it's too much." 
 
"Eat," he said. "I'll get more if I need it." 
 
She picked up her fork and took a dainty bite of mashed potatoes. Her hand was 
shaking. 
 
"Dig in, I don't mind," Doggett said. 
 
"If I eat too fast it'll come right back up," Scully said, not looking up from the 
plate. She took another small bite, chewing it carefully. 
 
"How long has it been since you've eaten?" 
 
She wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. "A couple of days." She took a sip of 
milk while he stared at her, unable to find an answer. "I wanted to save my 
money for gas. I wasn't sure I would have enough for both." 
 
He watched her eat for a few minutes, then said, "You know I've got a thousand 
questions." 
 
"Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies," she said with a glimmer of a playful 
tone. 
 
"Right," Doggett said. 
 
At once she looked contrite, and put down her fork. "I'm sorry. I don't mean that. 
Of course I'll tell you anything you want." 
 
"Eat," Doggett said. "We'll talk after you've eaten. And warmed up a little," he 
added, because she was wearing just a thin denim jacket over a white tee shirt 
and dirty, fraying jeans. "I've got a fire going in the other room, or--" 
 
"Could I take a bath?" she said eagerly, then dropped her eyes again, lowering 
her head. 
 
Dana, Dana, Doggett thought, what's happened to you? He said gently, "Sure. 
There's a bathroom just upstairs. It's even clean." 
 
She smiled--faintly, but it was a start--and ate another bite of corn bread. 

The only thing Scully could ask for was bubblebath. The bathtub was wide, deep 
and clean, so she filled it to the brim with the hottest water she could stand and 
sank into it, water up to her chin. She closed her eyes. 
 
Her belly was full, her body was warm, and on the other side of the door was 
John Doggett. She wouldn't change a thing. 
 
He knocked on the bathroom door. "Dana? Here's some clothes for you, and a 
bathrobe." 
 
"Thank you," she said sleepily. 
 
He opened the door enough to put the clothes on the counter, then said, his back 
to her, "Where's your car? I could park it in my drive." 
 
"I parked it by the elementary school. The keys are in my jacket." 
 
"That's three blocks away," Doggett said. She could see his concerned face in 
the mirror. "You walked all that way in twenty below zero -- " 
 
"I know. It's the yellow Jeep with New Mexico plates. There's a duffel bag in the 
back seat, would you mind bringing it in?" 
 
He released a slow breath. "Okay. You stay in there until you are completely 
warmed up, okay?" 
 
"Yes, John," she said meekly. He gave a short nod and left the bathroom, closing 
the door quickly so no more warm air would escape the tiny room. 
 
Scully closed her eyes again. That afternoon, when it had appeared she'd come 
all this way for nothing, she'd thought she would just find a remote place to park 
and let the cold take her. But then something--self-preservation, maybe--told her 
to try again, it was too soon to give up. 
 
She probably should have knocked on the front door, but she had been so certain 
the bearded man at the kitchen table was not Doggett that she hadn't wanted 
more than a glimpse. Anything more would have been too much of a 
disappointment. 
 
She had slivers in her hands from the fence and her toes had flared with pain at 
the hot water, but she was safe now. Nothing else mattered at this moment. Not 
even the questions he was sure to ask and the answers she dreaded to give. 
 
She'd tell him the truth, when the time came. It was a small price to pay, but she 
knew it was the only payment he'd ask from her. 
 
Safe, she thought drowsily. It was as unfamiliar feeling as happiness, but she 
would take whatever scraps of either that came her way. 
 
The sound of a slamming door startled her awake, and she lay blinking 
uncertainly for a moment in the lukewarm water. She heard Doggett climb the 
stairs, pause, then rap sharply on the bathroom door. "Dana? Are you okay in 
there? Did you drown?" 
 
"I'm fine. I think I fell asleep." She rose from the tub and took a fluffy blue 
towel from the rack, wrapping it snugly around herself. 
 
"I'll leave your bag outside the door. I'm about to make coffee, would you like 
some?" 
 
"I would love some coffee." She wrapped another towel around her hair and 
looked through the clothes Doggett had brought for her. Wool raglan socks, 
plaid flannel pajamas, a cotton tee shirt and a thick green bathrobe. Ever the 
caretaker, Scully thought with a smile, and got dressed. She rubbed her hair dry 
and put on the robe, and went downstairs to find Doggett. 
 
He was in the kitchen, pouring coffee for them both into large white mugs. 
"Hey," he said when he saw her. "Are you feeling better?" 
 
"Much. Thanks," she added as she took the heavy mug. She sipped and savored 
the taste on the back of her tongue. It tasted better than any coffee she'd had for 
months--not boiled to bitterness or made from stale grounds. There must have 
been a look of ecstasy on her face: Doggett was watching her with a grin. 
 
"It's very good," she said, suddenly feeling shy. 
 
"Good. Let's sit in front of the fire. It's warmer." 
 
"Okay." She followed him into the next room. The windows were tall and 
narrow, giving her a view of snowy streets and the dark houses beyond, their 
own windows golden with evening light behind lacy curtains. 
 
Scully sat on the floor, tucking her feet beneath her. Doggett lowered himself 
down with a slight groan and cracking knee joints. "Getting old," he said. He 
took another swig of coffee. "So." 
 
"So," Scully echoed. She sipped her coffee too. 
 
"We were told you died in the explosion. They found two bodies. We were told 
they were you and Mulder." 
 
"They were a man named C.G.B. Spender and the woman who was taking care 
of him." 
 
"Spender? I remember that name--Mulder thought he had all the answers." 
 
"Not all of them." She drank more coffee while he watched her. "He confirmed 
the date." 
 
"The date?" 
 
"Of colonization. Of the end of the world. December 21, 2012." 
 
"And do you believe it?" Doggett asked, his voice serious. 
 
"Sometimes. When it's dark and cold and I feel like the only person in the world 
. . ." She realized she was drifting and sipped more coffee. "Sometimes it's easy 
to believe." 
 
Doggett nodded again. "And what happened to Mulder? I can't imagine that he'd 
leave you." 
 
"He had no choice." Doggett was still watching her intently. She dropped her 
gaze. She hadn't said this out loud to anyone -- she could barely say it to herself. 
"Mulder died. He was murdered." 
 
"Oh, Dana. I'm so sorry." 
 
"Thank you," she said, still not able to look at him. She swirled the coffee in her 
cup. "We used to meet people who believed as we did. Mulder used to tell them 
to spread the word, to be prepared. He would meet with informants to get news, 
and he'd always tell me not to worry, they wouldn't hurt him. I tried not to 
worry." Her voice was trembling. Doggett's hand covered hers, and she said, 
drawing strength from his touch, "One night two years ago, he kissed me and 
said he'd be back, that I shouldn't worry, and that was the last time I saw him 
alive." 
 
He stroked her hand with calloused fingers. "Do you know what happened?" 
 
"He was shot. Twice in the head. He didn't suffer, at least I was spared that. The 
police didn't find any clues, but I don't think they were trying very hard. Who 
cares about what happens to two drifters." She felt Doggett's fingertips on her 
cheek, wiping her tears away. "I'm sorry." 
 
"Stop that," he admonished gently. "Stop apologizing for things you can't help. 
You can cry all you want, you can keep secrets if you want, and you can break 
things if you really need to." She laughed wetly at that, and Doggett chuckled 
too, still stroking her cheek. "You're safe here." 
 
Scully looked up at him and wrapped her fingers around his hand. "I know." 
 
Doggett smiled. It softened his entire face, which, she remembered, could be as 
forbidding as a granite cliff wall. But when he smiled, he looked gentle and 
open, and his eyes almost twinkled as if he had stories he couldn't wait to tell. 
 
She missed him more than she'd realized. 
 
He lowered his hand, letting it rest in Scully's grip. "So what have you been 
doing with yourself? How have you been getting on?" 
 
"This and that. Odd job types of things. I have food handlers' permits in four 
different states." 
 
"And was this before or after Mulder?" 
 
"Before," she confessed. "Since, mostly I've just been drifting. For the last four 
months I've been working in a New Age bookstore. It made me miss Monica." 
 
"She misses you too," Doggett said . "Why didn't you seek me out sooner? I 
could have helped you." 
 
"I didn't know where you were. I didn't even know you were in the country until 
a few days ago. I got a letter -- it was left in the mailbox of my apartment, and it 
had a map with the route to Jessup highlighted and a hand-drawn map to your 
house and pictures of someone who looked an awful lot like you. I missed you," 
she said, her voice dropping. It was hard to look into his eyes, but this time she 
kept her gaze steady. "I left everything. I had to see that you were okay. I had to 
see you." She added, when he didn't say anything, "I like the beard." 
 
Doggett rubbed his bristled chin. "Yeah. I thought it suited the lifestyle." 
 
"Are you becoming a cowboy?" she teased gently. 
 
"I've always been a cowboy," he said, and they smiled at each other. He said, 
"Now that you've confessed all I guess it's my turn. Mine isn't it as interesting as 
yours, though." 
 
"Mine's not that interesting. How did you end up here? And where's Monica? I 
thought the two of you had something going." 
 
"We did." It was his turn to look away. "I lived with her for almost a year in 
Mexico. Then I came back to the States and she stayed down there with Gibson. 
They're moving around a lot. I'm not exactly sure where they are--we decided it 
would be better that way." 
 
"But why? Did you have a falling out?" 
 
"Not a fight, exactly." He swallowed the last dregs of his coffee, then said, 
"Have you ever been in love with someone who didn't love you back?" 
 
"Yes." She thought it was a strange question--it had seemed to her that Monica 
adored him. 
 
"I'm not proud of this, Dana. It took me a while to realize why Monica was 
crying herself to sleep every night. Finally she told me she knew my heart wasn't 
with her and that I should go find it. So I left." 
 
"You weren't in love with her," Scully said, surprised. 
 
"I do love her," Doggett said. "Like a sister. Like a best friend. But she knew it 
was less than it could have been. She knew -- well." He shrugged, his expression 
rueful. "She knew." 
 
"So you came home." 
 
"Yeah." 
 
"Have you found your heart yet?" 
 
He stretched out his legs. "I think I'm on my way. There's something about this 
place . . . it soothes me, I guess. The air, the mountains, the quiet, the horses. I 
have a horse now," he said proudly. "His name's Ranger. I board him at a place 
south of town. We could go riding some time, if you like." 
 
"I would like that." He'd fallen in love with this countryside, that was clear, and 
she could understand it: she'd been struck silent by the mountains' jagged peaks, 
the rolling valleys and acres of pure white snow, dotted with black and brown 
cows and shaggy ponies. It was a country made for exploring, for being alone 
with one's self and listening to the wind. "But what about Skinner and Kersh? 
Are they okay, do you know?" 
 
"Skinner was transferred to the L.A. office. Kersh is still in D.C. I looked them 
both up when I got back to the States, and they told me the terms they'd been 
given for the whole affair not going public. Gene and Knowle's involvement was 
hushed up, as well as Mulder's entire trial and the jail break. As long as the four 
of us keep away from each other it'll stay hushed up." 
 
"That's why you didn't go back to the F.B.I.?" 
 
"One of the reasons. The X-Files has been shut down completely, of course. All 
the files are gone. Destroyed, I guess." 
 
"Gone," Scully murmured and felt her eyes sting. "John. I have no idea who sent 
me the maps and took those pictures. I was living under another name -- even 
my roommate didn't know much about me. But you're not living in hiding here." 
 
"No, I'm not. Are you worried?" 
 
"Not as much as I should be. I didn't even think it might be a lie until I was on 
the road. I just said goodbye to my roommate, got in my car and drove." 
 
"With not enough money and a prayer," Doggett murmured. His fingers wound 
themselves in a lock of her hair. 
 
Scully blurted out, her throat tight and her vision blurring, "Can I stay with you 
a while? Just a little while. I won't be in the way and I won't cause any trouble. I 
just--I--I jus --" 
 
She was in his arms, her face pressed to his shoulder and her head cradled in his 
hands, before she even noticed he had moved. "Of course you can stay. You can 
stay as long as you want to. Don't cry, Dana. You know you can stay." 

They argued about it, politely, for ten minutes or so. "Take the bed," Doggett 
said, and Scully answered, "I fit on the couch better, you take the bed." 
 
She won the argument, which Doggett supposed was inevitable: he was too tall 
to sleep on the couch. He had two unused rooms upstairs but no furniture for 
them, and he supposed when the weekend came he could finally get around to 
buying a guest bed. Maybe Gibson could use it later, if they ever felt it was safe 
enough for him to come back to the States . 
 
He made up the couch with some spare blankets and left the fire burning for 
extra warmth. "Are you sure you'll be warm enough? Should I bring you another 
blanket?" 
 
"I'm sure three will be enough." 
 
"If you need any more the linen closet is at the top of the stairs." 
 
"I'll keep that in mind in case there's another ice age during the night." 
 
Doggett stopped on the stairs and turned back to her. "You're teasing me." 
 
"Yes." She smiled at him, angelic in the firelight. "Good night, John." 
 
"Good night, Dana." 
 
For an hour or so he lay in bed with his arm behind his head, listening to the 
quiet neighborhood. He could still hardly believe it: she was here. She'd gone 
through hell and chosen him as her sanctuary. He wished he could lie on the 
floor beside her and keep watch over her while she slept. 
 
He sat up in the dark. Well, why not? They were adults. They were friends. He 
could keep his hands to himself, and she trusted him -- 
 
If she trusted him. That was the question. That was always the question with 
Scully. 
 
Of course, it never hurt to ask. 
 
Doggett got out of bed and went downstairs, pausing at the bottom of the 
staircase. The living room was lit with flickering blue light from the television. 
Scully sat up at the sound of his footsteps. "Did I wake you? Is the T.V. too 
loud?" 
 
"No, it's fine. Can't you sleep?" 
 
"The T.V. helps me sleep. Sort of." She pulled up her knees beneath the blankets 
and wrapped her arms 
around them. 
 
Doggett sat on the couch at her feet. "What are you watching?" 
 
"I haven't figured it out yet. Some old movie." 
 
They watched the movies together in silence for a few minutes. Cary Grant 
ranted and raved and there were a lot of slamming doors, and Doggett said, 
"This is 'Arsenic and Old Lace.'" 
 
"Somehow I knew you'd know that." She let a few more minutes pass. "Can't 
you sleep either?" 
 
"Not yet." 
 
A few minutes more, and Scully said, "Does this end happily?" 
 
"Pretty much." 
 
She picked up the remote and clicked the T.V. off. Doggett looked at her with 
raised eye brows and she shrugged. "I think I'm becoming curmudgeonly." 
 
Doggett chuckled and rubbed her foot through the blankets. "I think you've been 
sad too long." 
 
"That too." 
 
The fire had burned low. With the T.V. off, Doggett could only see suggestions 
of Scully's face in the shadows. He wanted to stroke her cheek, cup her face in 
his hand. She shifted so she could lie her head on his shoulder. 
 
"You should go to bed. Don't you have to work in the morning?" 
 
"Yep," Doggett said. She had just used his Dial soap in the the bath but she 
smelled fresh and sweet, like peach ice cream. He wanted this scent to linger on 
his sheets, on his skin. 
 
He stood and held out his hand to her. "Come on." 
 
She looked at his hand, then up at his face, frowning. "John?" 
 
"I can't sleep knowing you're down here, cold and uncomfortable." 
 
"It's not that bad. It's better than where I slept last night." 
 
"Where did you sleep last night?" 
 
"My car." 
 
She could have frozen to death, he thought, but she didn't need another lecture 
about that. He held out his hand more insistently. "Just sleep. No strings." 
 
She smiled then and put her hand in his. "Of course," she murmured. 
 
There was, he realized as he led her upstairs, a sexual overtone to his proposal. 
He could hardly blame her for thinking, even just for a moment, that he'd expect 
sex from her in exchange for a roof over her head. All the more reason, he 
thought, to make it clear he expected nothing. "Which side of the bed do you 
like?" 
 
"Either," Scully said. Her hand was cool and steady in his. 
 
"Do you like the window open?" 
 
"Isn't it twenty below out?" she said, amused. 
 
"Um. Yes." 
 
They got into bed without turning on the lights and pulled up the covers. They 
both spent a minute or two getting comfortable, and Scully finally laid her head 
on his shoulder and her hand on his chest. "Is this okay?" 
 
"Yeah." He held her lightly around the shoulders. 
 
"I don't want to crowd you." 
 
"You're fine, Dana." 
 
He could feel her breathing deeply, trying to relax. He began to rub the base of 
her neck, and soon he felt her exhale and ease against him. His eyelids began to 
droop and his mind to drift, when Scully whispered, "John." 
 
He hummed in response, too sleepy to say more. 
 
After a moment or two she said, "What are you going to tell your neighbors? 
About me, I mean." 
 
He inhaled slowly to wake himself up. "I'll tell them my friend is visiting. There 
are some folks I would like you to meet, in fact. The family where I board my 
horse, and the sheriff and the other deputies, at least." 
 
"I'd like that." She resettled her cheek on his chest. "It would be nice to be 
myself again." 
 
"If you're nervous about that you could just be Dana, no need for last names." 
His hand had settled into a comfortable rhythm, stroking slowly up and down 
her flannel-covered spine. "Who else have you been?" 
 
"Katie Hale. Nicole Harris. Lauren Peters." 
 
"I can't imagine you as anything but Dana." 
 
Scully murmured, "You and me both," and sighed. 
 
"Didn't like living on the run, huh?'" 
 
"No. I mean, I loved being with Mulder when it was just the two of us. But the 
rest was . . . I just hate lying." 
 
"Yeah," Doggett murmured. 
 
"And then when Mulder was gone and I still had to live that way . . . Oh, John. I 
stopped looking into mirrors. I didn't even know my own face anymore." 
 
"We all feel that way sometimes," he said--mostly to comfort her, but also 
because it was true. 
 
"Do we?" She propped herself up on her elbow. "Have you ever woken up in the 
morning and had to remind yourself what name you were using that day?" 
 
"No," he said, "but I've woken up and had to remind myself who I am. It's not a 
good feeling--and I'm sure that changing your identity and having to hide who 
you are feels even worse. But that's over now, Dana. You've got no more 
reasons to hide." 
 
She studied his face in the moonlight, her eyes serious, and then cupped his 
cheek in her hand and stroked his lips with her thumb. He blinked slowly and 
unconsciously licked his lips. 
 
"I've got a lot of reasons to hide," she whispered. "I'm just tired of hiding." 
 
He held her face in return and said, "You've got no reasons to hide from me." 
 
Again she stroked his mouth, a touch like a butterfly's wing, and then lowered 
her head and kissed him. 
 
She tasted of warmth and honey, a distinctly feminine flavor that Doggett 
thought he had forgotten. It had been far too long since he'd been kissed, and at 
the touch of her tongue to his lips he knew he wanted-- needed--had to have--
more. 
 
But he'd made a promise--no strings-- 
 
He pulled away. "Dana--" 
 
"Don't say no." It was more a plea than an order--and since when could he deny 
her anything she asked for? 
 
With a muttered, "C'mere," he pulled her close and kissed her back. Her mouth 
opened to his and her hand thrust into his hair. He stroked her neck and wrapped 
his fingers in her soft hair, kissing all around her face. Softly she gasped and 
whimpered, squirming her hips against his belly. 
 
"Oh, John," she breathed. "John, John." 
 
"I want to touch you." 
 
"Yes. Yes. Touch me, touch me." Her mouth took his fiercely, drinking him in, 
and her hands molded to his chest. 
 
He rubbed his hand slowly up her side: a round hip, a narrow waist, a soft breast 
that fit perfectly in his hand. He groaned, palming her breast, "Show me your 
tits. I want to see you." 
 
Scully raised herself to her knees and yanked the still-buttoned pajama top over 
her head, along with the tee shirt beneath. Her breasts rose and fell as she 
breathed, round and pale against her rib cage. He clasped his hands around her 
waist. "You're so beautiful," he whispered in wonder. 
 
She smiled at him. "Do you want to do this? Really, do you want to do this?" 
 
"Oh, yeah. I do. Do you?" 
 
"Yes. Oh, yes," she breathed as she lowered herself to kiss him more. She 
helped him pull off his shirt and kissed his chest. She captured one of his nipples 
between her lips and sucked it lightly until he groaned. He grabbed her and 
rolled her onto her back, making her laugh. He planted kisses all over her 
breasts, her shoulders and her collarbones, while she laughed and moaned and 
touched him with delicate fingers. 
 
Abruptly Doggett pushed away, holding himself above her with stiff arms. "I 
don't have any condoms," he said, trying to catch his breath. 
 
Scully put her hands on his shoulders and said quietly, "I do. I'll be right back." 
She got out of bed from beneath him and went into the empty spare bedroom, 
where he'd stashed her duffel bag. Doggett lay on his side, watching her. Mulder 
had been dead two years but she still had viable condoms? He didn't want to 
think about that. 
 
So he didn't ask when she came back with a opened box--he just took her in his 
arms and kissed her extra hard. 
 
They kissed more purposefully now, helping each other undress, touching each 
other with gentleness and care--two friends, Doggett thought, saying I'm here, 
you're not alone anymore, and I still love you. 
 
He lifted his head to look into her eyes, stroking her cheek. Her hands moved 
restlessly over his back. I still love you, he thought again, and my heart has been 
with you all this time--but he didn't dare say it out loud. She was still too raw, 
still easing into trusting him like a hot bath or a cold pool. 
 
"Is something wrong?" She placed her hands on his face, rubbing his temples. 
"Is there something you want me to do? Whatever you want," she said when he 
didn't answer. "I trust you. Just say what you want." 
 
Doggett chuckled, surprised by her question. "Two can play that game, beatiful 
girl," he said, kissing the tip of her nose. "What do you want from me? What can 
I do? What," he settled on his knees between her parted thighs, "do you want?" 
 
She smiled. Her hand eased down his stomach and wrapped firmly around his 
hard cock. "Just say my name," she requested in a soft voice. 
 
"Dana." He kissed her chin. "Dana." He kissed her forehead and her eyelids, 
thrusting his hips a little against her hand. "Dana." He reached over for the box 
of condoms and took one out, ripped it open and put it in her hand. She watched 
him, her eyes wide with antcipation and dark with hunger, as she eased the 
condom over his cock. He cradled her head in his hands and whispered, "Dana," 
again as he kissed her and began a first, slow thrust. 
 
She was so hot and slick inside that Doggett felt his mind go blank with 
pleasure. "Dana, Dana," he groaned as she lifted her hips to meet him, thrust for 
thrust. Her eyes closed and her fingernails scraped over his ribs. Her body 
seemed to shake from crown to toe. 
 
"Oh, John . . . you feel so good!" 
 
He rasped a chuckle and whispered, "Dana," again, already feeling desire for his 
release coiling at the base of his spine. Too soon, too soon--think of something 
else, anything else--the full number of pi is three point one four eight seven four 
one two six nine one--Babe Ruth's batting average was three hundred his rookie 
year and three-fifty the year he retired--Let me not to the marriage of true minds 
admit impediments, love is not love which alters when it alteration finds-- 
 
"John--baby--" Her hair flailed over her head, searching for something to grab 
onto, and found the top of the headboard. She held onto it as she rocked her 
body in time to his, making the old wooden boards creak in protest. "Gonna 
break your bed," she panted. 
 
"It's a good cause," Doggett grunted back. He grabbed her calves and pulled her 
legs high over his shoulders, stroking within her even deeper. The legs of the 
bed knocked against the floor, something cracked in the bed frame, and Scully's 
eyes opened wide as the mattress tilted and they both tumbled to the floor. They 
looked at each other and laughed, kissed again and got back into their rhythm. 
 
It was not so bad on the floor: they were still on blankets so he didn't worry 
about her sweet bottom being slammed against the hard wood. He hadn't thought 
she'd be so hungry--he hadn't thought she'd be so fierce, groaning, arching, her 
fingers digging into his back as she came. He tried to roll off her so he wouldn't 
crush her, but she wrapped her arms and legs around him tight and didn't let him 
go. 
 
"Hell," Doggett muttered when he'd caught his breath. "It's not good sex unless 
something breaks." 

The damage to the bed was simple: the head board had come unattached from 
the frame, and the rocking had broken the pegs that held the two together. 
"Wood glue," Doggett said. "I can do it tomorrow." 
 
They moved the mattress completely onto the floor and lay down, pulling up 
Doggett's layers upon layers of blankets. They lay breast to breast, Scully's head 
tucked against Doggett's neck. Sex made him smell earthy and edible, and she 
kept retasting him here and there with the tip of her tongue. 
 
"Quit it," he muttered finally, chuckling. "We've got to get some sleep." 
 
"I don't want to sleep," Scully said. "I'm not sure I could." 
 
"Hm. I could call in to work tomorrow and take a personal day, if you want to, 
um, hang out." 
 
"I would love to hang out, but I don't know if you should just take off like that." 
 
"Then you gotta let me get some sleep, sweetheart." 
 
"I don't want to," she teased. "I want to play with you." 
 
"Tomorrow night." He started rubbing her back again. It was a much different 
feeling than through two layers of clothing. His hand was calloused but gentle, a 
touch that made her breath deepen and eyelids close. "Try to get some sleep." 
 
"John," she whispered. 
 
"Hm?" 
 
"Did you miss me?" 
 
"I sure did. Of course, I thought you were dead--I thought I would never see you 
again." He kissed the top of her head. 
 
"I missed you too," she said. "I didn't realize how much until I got the pictures." 
 
"I want to kiss whoever sent them to you." 
 
Scully kissed his neck. "It does worry me, though. Whoever it was could still be 
watching you." 
 
He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Dana, please don't think about it 
that way. If someone wanted to hurt you they would have done it when you were 
alone and vulnerable, not when you've got me looking out for you." He kissed 
her hair again and hugged her tight. 
 
"Unless they planned to do something to us both at the same time." 
 
"Like what?" He raised her face to his. "I know you've been scared. It's over 
now." He grinned at her and drew an X on his chest. "Cross my heart." 
 
She smiled, but mostly because she knew he wanted her to believe him. "Okay." 
She laid her head back down on his shoulder. 
 
"Get some sleep, sweet girl. You just need to get used to feeling safe again. 
You'll see." He kissed her a few more times and cuddled her close. "Nothing's 
going to hurt you. I won't let it." 
 
"I know you won't," she murmured, and thought, But how can I protect you?
*~*~*~*~
 
She didn't expect to sleep much that night, but was awakened by Doggett's 
beeper. Doggett sat up and turned it off, picked up his phone and dialed. "John 
Doggett. I got a page." He listened for a few minutes, playing with Scully's hair, 
then said, "Okay. I'll be there as soon as I can." He hung up the phone and said 
regretfully, "I've got to go." 
 
"What's happened?" 
 
"There was a car accident on the highway. I'll be gone most of the day." 
 
"Okay." She sat up and hugged him tightly, kissed his cheek and rested her 
forehead against his neck. "You'll be careful, won't you?" 
 
"Of course. It's just cleaning up after an accident." He kissed her and got up, 
stretching his arms above his head, groaning. "I feel like I don't need to go 
running today." 
 
"You look fine," Scully said, because he looked more than fine -- he looked 
incredible, trim as a man half his age. He was taking good care of himself, not 
letting his slower pace of life make him neglectful or lazy. His chest, stomach, 
arms and back were ridged with firm, supple muscles; his calves and thighs were 
lean and strong. Mine, she thought greedily. All mine. 
 
Doggett grinned back at her, and bent to kiss her and give her hair a slow caress. 
"I won't be long. Promise." 
 
"Okay," she said, smiling at him. She lay back down as he went into the 
bathroom to shower and dress. She felt sore too, but it was the thoroughly 
satisfying soreness of strenuous excercise and good sex. It had been far too long, 
she thought, since sex had been that simple and that pleasurable. 
 
She still was not sure what had possessed her to kiss him the night before. She'd 
wanted to, that was all. He had been gentle and comforting, undemanding, just 
happy to be with her. A kiss had seemed like the least she could do -- or the 
most, the best way to say Thank you and I trust you and I'm glad you're here. 
 
Desire always took her by surprise, it seemed. 
 
Doggett came out of the bathroom in his black policeman's uniform, looking 
narrow and sharp as a Puritan. He put the wide-brimmed hat on his head and 
said, "Do you approve?" 
 
"You look very official." 
 
"I think sometimes law enforcement's in my blood." He picked up his gunbelt 
and fastened it around his hips. 
 
"I bet you were a small-town sheriff in a former life," Scully said. "Keeping 
order in the wild west. I can see you doing that." 
 
"Uh-huh. It's not far from what I'm doing now. We get more cattle rustling and 
coyote attacks than gunslingers, though." He took his jacket from the closet. 
"Help yourself to anything around the house that you'd like, and don't try to 
move the mattress back by yourself. I'll fix the frame when I get home. If you 
need to do a little shopping I keep some cash in the cookie jar downstairs. 
There's a spare set of housekeys on the rack in the kitchen." 
 
"Thanks. Do you have any requests for dinner?" 
 
"If you're making it, anything. See you this afternoon." She sat up for one more 
kiss, and watched him leave the bedroom. 
 
When she heard the front door open a thought struck her, and she leapt to her 
feet and hurried to the stairs, dragging the blankets along with her. "John!" 
 
"Yes?" He turned in the open doorway. 
 
"Will you ask them--ask someone--if anything happens to you--I'll need to 
know." 
 
"I'll tell them," Doggett said gently, and shut the door behind him. 
 
Scully exhaled and pulled up her train of blankets, and walked slowly back to 
the bedroom. She'd waited for three days in their tiny apartment for Mulder, and 
when the police finally came she'd known what had become of him without 
them having to say more. 
 
That would not happen with Doggett, if anything should occur. He had friends 
here. He meant something to people. He was The Law: if anyone tried to hurt 
him they'd be hunted down until justice was served. 
 
In some ways, maybe, it was not fair that Mulder had died so ignobly and was 
buried in a pauper's grave. But Scully had stopped believing life could be fair 
long ago -- instead it was strange, mysterious, terrifying, sparked with brief 
periods of joy and wonder. 
 
And, she thought with a touch of ferocity, if life were fair John Doggett would 
not be hers today. She would not relinquish him to any universal law, to any 
requirements of karma or fate or balance. She hadn't earned him, didn't deserve 
him, but she wanted him just the same. 
 
Scully dropped the blankets on the mattress and picked up the bathrobe he had 
lent her the night before. She would prefer, really, to keep the scent of Doggett's 
body on her skin, but she imagined that might shock whoever she may meet 
today. It was tempting, too, to just stay in the house, but he wanted her not to 
hide and for him, she'd try. She'd buy some groceries and fill up her gas tank, 
and if anyone asked she'd introduce herself as Deputy Doggett's friend Dana. 
 
She did find herself hoping, however, that no one would ask.
*~*~*~*~
 
The call had come for Doggett early, so Scully took her time showering, 
brewing a pot of coffee -- John bought whole beans and had a power grinder -- 
and having breakfast. She scrambled an egg with some cheddar cheese, and 
looked through Doggett's refrigerator and pantry for what he might like for 
dinner. 
 
He had a lot of frozen and prepacked food that would be quick and easy to 
prepare. It seemed the only thing he indulged himself in was coffee. He'd meant 
it when he said anything homemade would be good. 
 
Then she'd make him something homey and hearty: roast beef or a meat loaf, 
mashed potatoes, vegetables and fresh bakery bread. 
 
Finally it was nine o'clock, time enough for stores to be open. She took the keys 
from the key rack and opened the cookie jar. 
 
She'd expected thirty or forty dollars, but there was a large wad of bills in a 
plastic sandwich bag on top of the Oreos. She opened the bag and counted the 
money, then counted it again, unable to believe he kept almost five thousand 
dollars in his cookie jar. Doggett, it seemed, had lost his trust in banks. 
 
Scully took a few twenties and a few Oreos for later, closed the bag and nestled 
it back among the cookies. When they'd talked the night before he had sounded 
settled, but maybe he was more prepared to run than he'd led her to believe. 
They would have to talk about this, at some point. It never hurt to have a plan. 
 
She pulled on her jacket and buttoned it up, made sure the door was locked and 
went out to her car. There was a young girl out on the sidewalk, waiting for her 
bus in a pink down coat and knitted cap. She looked bored standing there, 
swinging her lunch box, but perked up when she saw Scully. "Hello," she said. 
 
"Hi," Scully answered as she unlocked the Jeep. 
 
"Who are you?" 
 
"I'm Deputy Doggett's friend. Dana." 
 
"You were here yesterday. You sat in your car a while and then you left." 
 
"Yes, I did." She'd need a warmer coat if she was going to stay here: she was 
already starting to shiver. 
 
"So you came back." 
 
"Yes, I did." 
 
"And you're staying with the Deputy now." 
 
"Yes, I am." 
 
"Are you going to marry him?" the girl said abruptly, and Scully couldn't help 
but laugh. 
 
"Um, I don't think so." 
 
"Why not?" 
 
Scully sighed and said, "I haven't seen him for five years. We're still working on 
being friends again." 
 
The girl sighed too. "I wish I was older." 
 
"You'll find somebody, when you get to that point in your life." 
 
"That's what my mom says, but there's nobody as nice as Deputy Doggett." 
 
"Oh, there are. They're just hard to find." 
 
"Yeah. He's as old as my dad, anyway." The school bus came gusting up the 
street and the girl waved goodbye to Scully as she got on. "Tell the deputy I said 
hi!" 
 
Scully waved back, then waited for the bus to leave before pulling her Jeep out 
of the drive. 
 
The first item on her to-do list was to gas up her car -- she'd gotten it to 
Doggett's house on fumes and willpower -- but when she glanced down at her 
fuel gauge the needle was firmly at F instead of E. Doggett, while she slept in 
the bathtub the night before, had filled her gas tank. 
 
Scully smiled and switched off her turn signal, thinking that he had just earned 
himself homemade apple pie. And possibly quite a bit more. 

Doggett let himself into the house and paused, inhaling. Yesterday he had come 
home to a cold house and microwaved food--today the house was cozy and 
warm, smelling of spices and cooking beef. I could get used to this, he thought. 
 
He could also get used to finding Scully asleep on the sofa, her lips parted and 
her shirt riding up to expose a strip of creamy skin. Doggett took off his hat and 
jacket and knelt on the floor at her side, watching her sleep with a smile. He 
kissed her stomach and rested his head on it, listening to her breathe and her 
heart steadily beating. 
 
He felt her hand in his hair. "Mm. Hi." 
 
"Hi." He raised his head and leaned on his elbow over her waist. "Busy day?" 
 
"Mm," she hummed again. "A bit busy. Mostly I think I'm a little worn out." 
 
"I bet. What did you do today?" 
 
Her fingertip started lightly flicking his cheek. "I found your wood glue and 
clamps, and put the bed back together." 
 
"You did? You're very handy." 
 
"I've been a single woman for a long time. I hope it'll be ready by bedtime." 
 
"We should leave the clamps on for twenty-four hours, just to be sure the glue 
has completely dried." 
 
"Okay. I also bought groceries and a new coat. I hope that's okay." 
 
"Of course. I told you to help yourself." 
 
"You've got a lot of cash in that cookie jar." 
 
"I know. It never hurts to be prepared." 
 
"If civilization falls cash isn't it going to be worth much." 
 
"Then let's hope civilization doesn't fall. What else did you do?" 
 
She smiled at his blatant move to change the subject and said, "I've got some 
beef stew going in the crock pot for dinner, with potatoes and carrots. Does that 
sound good?" 
 
"It sounds very good." 
 
"And there's pie." 
 
"You made me pie? Yum. Thanks." 
 
"You're welcome. I hope it's good, I haven't been cooking much lately." 
 
"I'm sure it's delicious." 
 
"What have you been doing today? Are you all right? Was it a bad accident this 
morning?" 
 
"Not too bad," Doggett said, laying his head on her stomach again. "Minor 
injuries. A family was trying to drive to Seattle from Fargo at one go and the 
driver fell asleep." 
 
"Oh, no." She began to comb her fingers slowly through his hair. "But they're all 
right?" 
 
"Yep. They're all right. They have family in Cheyanne and someone's heading 
out to help." 
 
"Do they have a place to stay tonight?" 
 
"Yeah." He kissed her stomach again. "They're in one of the motels downtown." 
 
"Good," Scully murmured. When he looked at her face her eyes were closed, her 
face peaceful. 
 
"Do you need to sleep some more? Do you feel okay?" 
 
"I've got a little headache. I took some aspirin but it hasn't hit me yet." 
 
"Here," Doggett said, getting onto the couch. "Sit up a second -- there we go." 
She sat up enough to lay her head in his lap. "Close your eyes." She closed them, 
and smiled when he began to rub her temples with his thumbs. 
 
"That feels really good." 
 
"Good." He went on rubbing her temples, then stroking her forehead and face 
with his flat hands. "My wife used to get these awful tension headaches. This 
would help, sometimes. It would depend on what she was tense about." 
 
"She would get tense about you? I find that hard to believe." 
 
"Thanks. I wasn't always a very good husband, though." 
 
"Why?" 
 
"Well . . . we were married for fifteen years and only actually together for about 
eight of them. I was always stationed somewhere she couldn't follow. And then 
after I left the Marines and was working on my degree I was in her hair all the 
time, and Luke came along right when we decided we weren't ready for kids yet. 
So she was working full time and I was working part-time and going to school, 
and we had a baby and no money--sometimes I think it's a wonder she didn't 
take a baseball bat to me." 
 
Scully chuckled. "But you still wouldn't change a thing." 
 
"Most of it. Yeah. You can't honestly say you regret loving someone. I can't, 
anyway. Sometimes I wish we hadn't put off having children so long, that we'd 
had more than one, then maybe we would have made it through Luke's death 
intact. Maybe not. But I did love her. I just didn't know her very well." 
 
Scully sat up, put her arms around his neck and kissed him. "What was that for?" 
Doggett said, surprised. 
 
"Because I can." She hauled herself onto his lap and laid her head on his 
shoulder. He put his arms around her waist and closed his eyes. "You're right," 
she said quietly. "You can't regret loving someone, not if you really loved 
them." 
 
"Yeah." 
 
Abruptly she rose from his lap. "Are you hungry? It should be ready to eat by 
now." 
 
"Dana," he said, and she turned around, her arms crossed. "Look. I--whatever 
this is between us? I'm trying not to read too much into it. I'm just enjoying it, 
whatever happens. I really missed you. I'm so happy you're here and I just want 
to enjoy being with you. No regrets." 
 
Scully gave one short nod. "Let's eat," she said and went into the kitchen. 
 
Maybe, Doggett thought, that was not the right thing to say. It had sounded 
brilliant when he thought of it, but her expression--well, her expression was 
what it always was, inscrutible. 
 
He followed her into the kitchen, where she was stirring the stew in the crock 
pot. "That smells great," he said. 
 
"Good." 
 
Doggett put his hands on her waist. "We slept together too soon, didn't we," he 
said quietly. 
 
"I don't think so." 
 
"Then why are you mad at me?" 
 
"I'm not mad." 
 
"Then what are you?" 
 
"Hungry. Taste this." She turned with the spoon in her hand, and he obediently 
tasted it. 
 
"Delicious." 
 
"So let's eat." She started to move out of his grip and he held onto her. 
 
"Dana, talk to me." 
 
"John--" She sighed in exasperation. "I've been on a roller coaster for the last 
few days and I just want want to do something simple right now. I just want to 
eat some stew and--and maybe have sex later. Okay? Please? Can we just do 
that?" 
 
"Okay," Doggett said quietly, letting go of her waist. "But I make no promises 
about sex later." 
 
Scully laughed as she lifted the crock pot and set it on a trivet on the table. 
"Right. You want it as much as I do." 
 
"Maybe. I can play hard to get sometimes." 
 
"No, you can't. You're not that good of an actor." 
 
"But I can pretend that I don't want you twenty-four seven." 
 
"No, you can't do that either." She smiled at him and pointed at the chair. "Sit." 
 
He sat, watching her dish up stew into wide shallow bowls. "It's going to be an 
adventure, having you here, isn't it." 
 
"Will you slice the bread, please?" 
 
"Tell me the truth. You have plans." 
 
"I have nothing. I have no plans. I have a pie in the oven, that's really it. You 
already know I'm not going to take off in the middle of the night with your stash 
of Oreos." 
 
"It might actually be fun to chase you." 
 
She smiled again. "Bread." 
 
"Bread," he echoed, and took up the knife. 

"Sara? It's John. I'm doing fine, how are you folks doing?" He listened for a few 
minutes, grinning. "That kid. What a character. Hey, listen--I've got a friend 
visiting and I would like her to meet Ranger . . . Exactly. Would it be okay if we 
borrowed Misty, too? My friend hasn't ridden much and should start with 
something gentle. Will nine be okay?" He caught sight of Scully, who had 
paused in the kitchen doorway after coming back from the bathroom, uncertain 
if she should listen to this call or not. He held out his hand to her and she came 
to him and wrapped both of her hands around hers. "Great. We'll see you 
Saturday morning. Yeah, tell him John-Dog will stop by. Thanks, Sara!" He 
hung up the phone. "Would you like to go horseback riding?" 
 
"That sounds wonderful." 
 
"We'll need to get you sturdier shoes--those little moccasins won't cut it. " 
 
"John," she began but he cut in, "No protests. I can, so let me." 
 
"Thanks," Scully murmured, then stepped close and kissed him, inhaling the 
smoke and spice scent of his neck. Doggett put his hands on her waist and softly 
hummed, leaning his cheek against her forehead. "Are you . . . Are you ready to 
go to bed?" she whispered, her heartbeat increasing. 
 
"It's early yet," he said, holding her even closer. "I thought it would be nice to 
watch a movie." 
 
"Do you want to go out?" 
 
"We could do that. There's only one theater in town, though. Or we could stay 
in. I've got tons of D.V.Ds. Would you like something funny, swashbuckling or 
with bad dubbing?" 
 
"You choose," Scully said. She held onto his hand as she followed him into his 
living room. 
 
Scully had expected to go straight to bed after dinner--was almost hoping they 
would, in fact--but Doggett had changed his uniform for a sweater and jeans, lit 
the fire again and turned on the TV. He held out his arms to her. "Come on, let's 
just relax a little." 
 
"I'm not sure I can relax," Scully said, but lay down on the couch with him 
anyway. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and smiled as he began to 
slowly rub her scalp with his fingertips. "Okay . . . That does help," she 
murmured. 
 
"I knew it would." His other hand began to rub her stomach the same way, in 
gentle, soothing circles. 
 
The TV was on but Scully paid it no attention--his hands moved over her as if he 
were giving her a full-body massage: belly, shoulders, neck, ribs. She moaned 
aloud, then shut her mouth, embaressed. 
 
"Does it feel good, baby?" he whispered into her ear. 
 
"Yes." She licked her lips. 
 
"Tell me. Tell me how good it feels." 
 
"Oh, John . . ." 
 
He rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him. She felt a flash of panic but 
he was whispering in her ear, "Relax, baby. This is for you. Let me do this for 
you." 
 
"What are you planning to do?" she whispered. 
 
He said in a low voice, "Whatever you want me to." His hands slid up her shirt 
and cupped her breasts, making her moan again. "That's it. That's it. Tell me 
what feels good." 
 
"This. This feels good." She placed her hands on top of his, feeling the muscles 
in his hands move as he kneaded and squeezed her breasts. His hips began to 
rise against her ass, his erection hardening through his jeans. "Oh, God," she 
moaned again, her head lolling back and forth on his shoulder. 
 
"I just want you to feel good." He kissed her hair. "I just want you to trust me." 
 
"I do. I trust you." 
 
"Beautiful girl." One hand stayed on her breast and the other slid over her ribs 
and down her stomach to the waistband of her jeans. His fingers popped open 
her fly and then slid beneath her panties, through her pubic curls and between 
her lower lips. He parted them gently and explored her crevices, seeking out 
wetness and heat and the little bud of her clitoris. Scully's hips squirmed, getting 
his erect cock from one side and his strong fingers at the other, his other hand 
sliding from breast to breast, squeezing her nipples. "I wanna make you come," 
he muttered, his voice even lower and rougher than before. "You're so beautiful 
when you come, baby. So beautiful." 
 
Scully groaned, her hips pumping, her body shaking. Fully dressed like this, lit 
only by the television and the fire, only the dark and the back of the sofa 
blocking them from the neighbors--it felt forbidden, it felt dangerous, it felt as 
delicious as her first makeout session in a parked car. 
 
"In me," Scully gasped, pressing her hips against his hand. "Your fingers. In me. 
Please. Hard." 
 
One long finger slid into her, the palm of his hand still insistent and rough on 
her clit. Her hand reached back and thrust into his hair, tugging on it as she 
thrashed in his arms. 
 
She felt her body rising, fighting the orgasm and struggling for it at the same 
time--wanting the release, wanting to prolong the ecstasy--she rocked back and 
forth and her head slammed against Doggett's shoulder as she gasped and 
groaned. 
 
Doggett's hand stilled between her legs, and the other smoothed her heaving 
ribs. "Shh, baby. That's my girl. That's my beautiful girl. It's okay." 
 
Scully turned onto her stomach to look into his eyes. They were as dark as the 
sky before a summer thunderstorm--far different from their usual warm blue, but 
still comforting, still welcoming. 
 
She framed his face in her hands. Eyes, beard, nose, lips -- both familiar and 
strange, this face of her friend. "I love your face," she whispered, making him 
smile. 
 
"I love yours." He cupped her face too. "Kiss me." 
 
She kissed him hard, his mouth sweet to her tongue. She took his hand and 
sucked the salt from his fingers, smiling when he groaned. "Ohhh . . . baby. You 
are somethin' else." 
 
"Let's go to bed," she said, rising up to her knees. 
 
"Let's stay here," Doggett answered. "You're so pretty like this, Dana." 
 
She was too moved to respond, and bent to kiss him again. "I'll be right back," 
she whispered, sliding off him, and his hand clung to hers until he had to let it 
drop. 
 
You realize, Dana Katherine, she thought as she bounded up the stairs, that this 
makes no sense whatsoever. You weren't attracted to him five years ago. You 
didn't want him, didn't like him-- 
 
She grabbed a condom out of the box on the bed table, then turned back and 
grabbed another, just in case. Okay, maybe she had wanted him, a little. Maybe 
she had liked him more than she'd let on to herself and to him. Because she 
*had* missed him, she *had* thought about him, and she wanted him now. And 
wasn't now all that mattered? 
 
Scully was about to run back down the stairs to where Doggett was waiting for 
her, but stopped at the top: the light was on and the front door was open, and she 
could hear another voice in addition to Doggett's. She buttoned up her jeans, 
smoothed her hair, swallowed hard, and descended the stairs at a more dignifed 
pace. 
 
"Hey, Dana," Doggett said when he saw her. "This is Brett Beauchesne, Jessup 
Country sheriff." 
 
The sheriff took off his hat and smiled at her faintly. He looked a few years 
younger than Doggett, tall with ash-blond hair, severe in his black uniform. "Hi. 
John mentioned he had a visitor." 
 
"Hi. I'm Dana," she said, holding out her hand. He gave it a firm, quick shake. 
 
"Are you going to be visiting long?" 
 
She glanced at Doggett, who looked at her as if he wanted to knowthe answer to 
that question too. "I, um, haven't decided that yet." 
 
"Your job must be very forgiving." 
 
"I'm between jobs right now." 
 
"Dana used to work at a bookstore," Doggett interjected. "And I remember 
seeing they were looking for somebody part-time at the library." 
 
"Yeah," the sheriff said, "I remember that too." 
 
"I'll get that book," Doggett said, and went upstairs. 
 
Scully and the sheriff both waited in silence, Scully studying her bare feet. 
When she looked up he was staring her at her critically and steadily. "Do I know 
you from somewhere?" he said. 
 
"I don't think so." 
 
"Your face looks familiar." 
 
"I think I have one of those faces." 
 
"No, I would remember a woman like you." She raised her eyebrow at him and 
he said, "Look. I want to make one thing perfectly clear. Doggett is one of the 
best deputies I've ever had and I like him a hell of a lot. But I was told when he 
moved here that if any of his old friends should show up, I should encourage 
them to move on. I don't know why, and I don't know what kind of trouble you 
all are in--" 
 
"I'm not. I'm not going to do anything to John. I'm not going to hurt him." 
 
"He's my friend." 
 
"He's mine too." 
 
They were almost in each other's faces, and the sound of Doggett's footsteps on 
the landing drove them apart. Scully couldn't stop herself from frowning. What 
right did *he*, this stranger, have to tell her how to treat her friend? 
 
"Here it is. I haven't looked at these old case studies for a while. It should be 
helpful." 
 
"Thanks. Well. Welcome to Jessup, Dana. I'll see you tomorrow, John." He gave 
Scully a final once-over and opened the door to let himself out. 
 
"Good night, Brett." The door slammed shut and Doggett shrugged. "That was 
strange." 
 
"Maybe he knew he was interupting something," Scully said, slipping her arm 
around his waist. He had pulled his sweater low to cover his erection, and she 
felt him hard against her belly when he pulled her close for a kiss. 
 
"Nah, I don't think that's it," Doggett muttered as he started kissing her face. 
"But I'm glad he left fast." 
 
"Are you sure you don't want to go upstairs?" 
 
He sighed, rubbing her arms, and said, "That'll probably be a good idea, 
actually. Why don't you go on and I'll be up when everything's closed up here." 
 
"All right," Scully said. She gave him a lingering kiss and headed up the stairs, 
knowing that his eyes were following her every step. 
 
She thought, One more night wont hurt him, will it? Can't I have one more 
night? 

Doggett left Scully asleep in bed, put on some warm pajamas and went 
downstairs to make coffee. He yawned hugely--they'd been awake most of the 
night--put a C.D. in the stereo and stared absently out the window as he ran the 
coffee bean grinder. 
 
"'There's nothin' here to be afraid of, it's just the mornin','" he sang softly. "'It's 
just the mornin', the coffee's almost done. You can smell it crawling in here, 
from the kitchen. It's just the mornin', fallin' though the window, and the floor, 
it's always cold.'" 
 
It was still dark out, the world grey and pale pink. It looked like snow again, and 
Doggett sighed, not relishing the thought of driving around in a storm all day. 
 
But he had something to come home to. That made it worthwhile. 
 
They had talked a little between kisses the night before, while he tried to 
wheedle out of her how long she intended to stay in Jessup. She would commit 
to nothing, only saying "Maybe," when he said, "Will you stay a month? Will 
you stay until the snow melts? Will you stay until your birthday? Will you stay 
until mine?" But when he said, "Will you stay forever?" she just turned her face 
away. 
 
She would fuck him, she would sleep in his bed, she would cook for him and 
call him "baby"--but she would give him no hint of her thoughts or what she was 
feeling. He didn't know what Scully wanted from him, or what she wanted at all. 
 
Except breakfast. She liked breakfast. 
 
When the coffee beans were fully ground Doggett dumped them into the coffee 
maker and started it percolating. He put a pot of water on the stove top to boil, 
and got out a carton of oatmeal and some bread, and some sugar and cinnamon 
for cinnamon toast. He peeled and sliced an apple too, and put the slices in some 
water with a few drops of lemon juice to keep them from browning. 
 
"'So lie beside me, and whisper to me that you know me. Arms around me, 
whisper to me that you know me. There's nothin' here to be afraid of, it's just the 
mornin'.'" 
 
The water for oatmeal was boiling and the kitchen smelled richly of cinnamon 
and fresh coffee when Scully came downstairs, pink and touseled from sleep. 
She had put on the flannel pajamas he'd lent her again, which were far too large: 
she had to hitch up the waistband and roll the cuffs to keep from tripping over 
them as she walked. "'I like cream in my coffee, and I like to sleep late on 
Sundays,'" Doggett sang to her, because it had reached that part of the C.D. 
"'And nobody knows me like my baby.'" 
 
"You're in a good mood." She ran a hand through her hair and folded her arms 
over her chest. 
 
"'I like eggs over-easy, with a flour tortilla. And nobody knows me, like my 
baby. Nobody holds me like my baby.'" 
 
She smiled at him uncertainly. "Who is this?" 
 
"The one and only Lyle Lovett. Face like a apple left out in the sun and a voice 
like God's favorite angel." He sang, "'I like cream in my coffee, and I hate to be 
alone on Sunday. And nobody knows me, like my baby.'" The song ended and 
he gave her a quick kiss. "Good morning." 
 
"Good morning. Whatever you are making, it smells wonderful." 
 
"Just oatmeal and cinnamon toast." 
 
"I haven't had that since I was a kid." 
 
"I like it," Doggett said. "It's comforting." 
 
She watched him stirring the hot cereal for a few minutes, then said, "Do you 
work today?" 
 
"Yeah. Just the usual stuff today." 
 
"Nothing much happens around here, does it," she observed. 
 
"Nope. Nothing much. The only time I've had to fire my gun is to kill a rabid 
dog. I give speeding tickets and make sure the hunting laws are enforced, and 
that's pretty much it." 
 
"Do you like it here?" she asked quietly. 
 
"Yeah. I do." 
 
"But you've still got an emergency fund." 
 
"Be prepared, baby." He started the bread into the toaster. "Will you set the 
table?" 
 
"Sure." Scully got down bowls and mugs, and saucers for the toast. She poured 
coffee, remembering the sprinkle of sugar that Doggett liked; and when the toast 
popped up she buttered them and spooned on the cinnamon mix he'd prepared. 
 
The oatmeal was cooked through, ready to eat, so Doggett put the pot on the 
table along with butter, brown sugar and more cinnamon. Scully sat in her chair 
with her legs crossed, looking as eager as a child. "This is a treat." 
 
"Good." 
 
They ate for a few minutes, then Doggett said quietly, "Dana. I . . . I want you to 
stay for as long as you want to be here. I don't care if that's a week or twenty 
years. I would just feel better, knowing you're someplace safe." 
 
Scully wiped her mouth with her napkin. "It's not just about my safety, though." 
 
"Is there someone waiting for you in--wherever?" 
 
"Taos," she said quietly. 
 
"In Taos? Your roommate, maybe?" 
 
"No. He's a nice guy, but not into vaginas." 
 
"Okay," he said slowly. 
 
"I just don't want you to think something's going on that isn't. There isn't 
anybody waiting for me anywhere. I don't have anywhere else to go. I could go 
back to Taos but there's nothing for me there." 
 
"Then stay." 
 
"And mooch off you? I don't think so." 
 
"You're not mooching." 
 
"I can't even pay you back for the coat I bought yesterday." 
 
"It doesn't matter. You needed a coat." 
 
"It matters to me." 
 
They both were silent. Doggett ate, sopping up the melted butter from his 
oatmeal with his toast. Scully lifted the coffee cup to her mouth a few times but 
didn't drink. 
 
Finally she put it down and said, "I should go." 
 
"Dana--" 
 
"It's okay. I'm so glad to see you, and I'm glad you're happy, and the next time 
you talk to Monica tell her I miss her, okay?" 
 
"But what about horseback riding tomorrow? And I wanted to take you 
camping--and I have friends I want you to meet--" 
 
"John. Stop. Please." Her voice was trembling and she frowned deeply. 
 
"How can I sleep," Doggett said in a low voice, "knowing that you're cold? How 
can I eat, knowing you're hungry? How can I let you go, when I know you really 
want to stay?" 
 
Scully pressed her trembling lips together, and when she blinked a tear fell from 
her eye and slipped down her cheek. "You just want me to stay because of the 
sex." 
 
"No. I want you to stay because I don't want to live without you again. The sex 
is great, don't get me wrong. It's just not everything." 
 
Scully wiped her face and said, "There's something I need to tell you. But I don't 
want to." 
 
"Keep your secrets, honey. I don't want those." 
 
"You want everything else." 
 
"I want to know you're safe. The only way I'll know you are is by making you 
safe myself." 
 
"You can't fight the whole world for me." 
 
"Yes, I can." 
 
Scully pushed herself up from the table and said, "I need to be alone," before all 
but running upstairs. 
 
Doggett rested his chin on his hands, completely confused. How does a woman 
go from teasing, laughing lover to frightened child, in the course of a 
conversation? 
 
She was not someone to share herself easily. He knew this. She was not 
someone to trust easily, he knew this as well. But somehow over the course of 
the last five years, she had changed from the unstoppable woman he 
remembered to this . . . lost little bird. 
 
Well, she had lost everything she loved. He couldn't let himself forget that. She 
would be more afraid of endangering someone she cared about than of being 
alone. 
 
Doggett got up from the table and went upstairs, where he found Scully back in 
bed, the blankets pulled up to her chin. He was afraid she'd been crying, but her 
eyes were dry. He lay down behind her and put his arm lightly over her, kissing 
her hair. 
 
He said quietly, "I can't force you to stay. I don't want you to leave, but I can't 
keep you." She didn't answer, just tucked her head deeper into the blankets, so 
he went on, "I just want what's best for you. I happen to think what's best for 
you is me." 
 
"But what if I'm not what's best for you?" 
 
"You let me decide that." He kissed her hair again. "I won't let anyone say 
otherwise." 
 
Scully lay in his arms, breathing as if she'd been running, and then abruptly 
turned over and buried her face in his chest. "I want you," she said, her voice 
muffled. "I want to stay with you. I shouldn't--" 
 
"You should. Hey. Would you like me to call in to work today and stay with 
you? I've got some personal time I can use." He rubbed her back slowly. "Would 
you like me to stay home today?" 
 
"No," she said after a moment. "You should go. They're counting on you. You 
have tomorrow off, right?" 
 
"Yeah. It starts my weekend. Ten days on, four days off." 
 
She nodded and gave him a trembling smile. "Just be careful out there, okay?" 
 
"I will. " He kissed her forehead and her lips. He lay with her as long as he 
could, putting off getting ready for work until the last minute, and gave her a 
good thorough kissing before he left. "I'll be home about seven," he said. "Will 
you be here?" 
 
"I will," she said. "I promise." 

Scully wanted to draw all of the curtains and creep around in the darkened 
house. Beauchesne had frightened her badly, moreso than she'd admitted to 
herself the night before. It made sense to her, though, in a terrible way: Doggett 
had been sent here as a precaution against exposure, and her presence made 
exposure likely again. If They knew someone had sent her here-- 
 
Her thoughts knotted, Scully stepped into the shower and lowered her head 
beneath the spray. Maybe it was not just exposure They were afraid of. Maybe it 
was knowledge. She and Mulder had always been stronger together than apart, 
and she believed he had been killed as a last desperate measure to keep them 
apart for good. Maybe They had realized it was true for the rest of them: if 
Skinner, Kersh, Reyes and Doggett were in the same room, they were invincible. 
 
So, send Skinner to Los Angeles, send Reyes into hiding in South America, keep 
Kersh on a leash in Washington, send Doggett to the barrens of Wyoming, and 
tell them all to stay away from each other or else. 
 
"Genius," she muttered, then spat out the mouthful of soapy water that ran in. 
 
However, They hadn't counted on the person who sent her to Doggett--someone 
determined enough to find them both and canny enough to realize that two is 
stronger than one. Scully was still suspicious of this unknown person's motives, 
but whatever he or she had intended, the results were good. 
 
So, it was settled, then. She would stay with him for an extended period. And 
while she was with him she'd have to do more than keep his house, even if he 
thought it was not necessary: even a little nothing of a job was better than no job 
at all. It would be good, too, to get to know his neighbors and the people in the 
county: they could help her look after him. No one would dare hurt him with 
thousand eyes watching, would they? 
 
Scully leaned her head against the shower wall with the gloomy thought, Yes, 
they will. If they want to badly enough, they will. It won't matter how many 
people are watching. If they want to, they'll do it, and tell us not to believe our 
own eyes. 
 
She took a deep breath and slowly let it out, counting backwards from ten. She 
did not think she could persuade Doggett to go into hiding with her. It was not in 
his nature: he'd only go if there were no other choice. Even then, he might prefer 
to face death than to run. 
 
He wanted to give her a normal life, and it was so tempting to put aside her fears 
and just enjoy whatever time they might have. Another six years or another 
sixty, maybe? In this little clapboard house under apple trees, with a man who 
just accepted her no matter what? 
 
Some people would call it heaven. Scully suspected she was one of them. 
 
All right. No more running. She'd use her own name, somehow, and maybe she 
could even find a job in medicine again. She missed that as much as she missed 
everything else about her old life--but even that pain was lessening, and she 
knew it was due to her blue-eyed man. 
 
Hers. She smiled at that. He was hers, and somehow over the last two days she'd 
become his. Intentional or not, it was a satisfactory outcome to this strange 
experience. 
 
Try and take him from me, she thought, daring whatever unseen enemies might 
be lurking. Just try.
*~*~*~*~
 
The local newspaper that arrived every morning was a thin document: stories of 
the high school football team and 4-H clubs, a few ads for tractor parts, articles 
about grain prices and weather cycles. 
 
Doggett did have a computer, though, and a look at his bookmarks list told 
Scully he was keeping in touch with the outside world. He had marked not just 
nationwide papers but international ones too, and saved articles about strange 
disappearances and mysterious happenings. He had been doing a better job of 
keeping track of the unseen world of the X-Files than she had, in fact, though 
she couldn't find a thing about how he interpreted these events or what he 
thought about them. 
 
That didn't surprise her much, really. He had always been more of an observer 
than an analyst. 
 
Scully read a few news sites, surprised at how out of touch she was, then turned 
off the computer and went back to the local paper. Doggett had mentioned a 
part-time opening at the library, which sounded like a good possibility, and 
maybe there was a clinic in town that could use her skills. 
 
She read a few ads--Wal-Mart was hiring, which didn't surprise her--then put the 
paper down and turned on the computer again. She called up Google and entered 
her own name, just to see what it brought. 
 
Dana Scully was a more common name that she'd realized: there were dozens of 
pages, hundreds of references. But she only had to page through a few entries 
before finding a references to herself: her obituary in the Washington Post, 
along with Mulder's. Killed in the line of duty, it said. Mourned by family and 
friends. 
 
While it was good to read the glowing words about herself--she wondered who 
had written it, and suspected Skinner may have had a hand in it--it presented a 
problem. If she tried to get a job here, under her own name, would they think to 
research her past this deeply? How would she prove she was herself, not a con 
artist borrowing a dead woman's name? 
 
It would be easier to be someone else, she thought gloomily, than to be herself 
again. 
 
Well, she'd talk to Doggett about it when he got home, and they could come up 
with a plan between the two of them. His vouching for her character might be 
enough if she applied for something simple, but if she wanted to work in 
medicine again . . ? 
 
She pulled up her knees and rested her chin on them. She did want to work in 
medicine again. She wanted a lot of things she'd denied herself for the past five 
years. One thing at a time, Dana, she told herself. 
 
Doggett would be home soon, she realized with a tingle of anticipation. She 
wanted to give him a good dinner, to keep that wonderful stamina up--for a man 
staring fifty in the eye he had proved himself a remarkable lover--and it was 
time to start cooking. 
 
This was another thing she wanted, too. Home. Her own home. She had never 
thought she'd find it with John Doggett--but he probably never thought he would 
find his with Dana Scully.
*~*~*~*~
 
Whatever Doggett thought of himself as a husband, Scully thought any woman 
would be a fool to think he was bad at it. "Mm," he said first thing, embracing 
her from behind at the stove. "I don't know what that is but I could smell it all 
the way up the front walk." 
 
"Chicken, grilled with bacon for flavor. Mashed potatoes and chicken gravy, and 
cornbread. I recall that you like that." 
 
"I do. Especially the home-made kind. You're spoiling me, Dana." 
 
"I can," she echoed him, "so let me." 
 
He turned her to face him and kissed her, grinning. "Hi." 
 
"Hi." 
 
"You must be feeling better than yesterday. Or this morning, even." 
 
"I've done a lot of thinking." 
 
"Oh?" he said with some trepidation, holding her like she was about to say 
goodbye. 
 
Scully put her arms around his neck and kissed him. "I want to stay with you," 
she said seriously. "I'm not sure it's the wisest thing to do, but it also feels like 
the only thing to do. You're right: I would only worry if we were apart, and I 
would miss you. I think--in some way that I haven't figured out yet -- we'd all be 
better if we were together instead of scattered--but for now I'm happy with just 
the two of us." 
 
"If all of us were together? How do you mean?" 
 
"I think--it's not a theory or anything, just a suspicion--that the reason They want 
to keep us all apart is because we would be able to stop them better if we were 
together. All of us, we add up to more than the sum of our parts, you know?" 
 
"No," Doggett said, his expression puzzled. "You mean you and me, and 
Skinner and Monica? That we could accomplish something together, but you are 
not sure what?" 
 
"Yes." 
 
"Huh," he said, nonplussed. 
 
"Well, I've had a lot of odd thoughts today, John. But my main thing is this: I 
want to be with you." 
 
"Okay. Good." 
 
"And I want to find a job here. I know you're going to say you can take care of 
me, but I don't want to be taken care of. I want a little independence. I'm not 
sure how a legally dead woman can find a job, even out here, but we can work 
on that." 
 
"Just don't tell anybody you're dead." 
 
"It will take more than that--" 
 
"I know, babe, I'm teasing you. I'm sure we can find a way to get around the 
dead issue and prove you're you. Meantime, maybe something low-key, where 
they won't ask a lot of questions? We're so remote we don't get many drifters but 
with me to back you up maybe it won't come up at all." 
 
"Maybe," Scully said. "There are some other things besides the dead issue--but 
let's worry about that later." 
 
"Deal. Anything more that you've decided today?" 
 
"No, that's it. You and my own income. That's everything I need." 
 
Doggett nodded and said, "I have one thing." 
 
"Oh?" 
 
He tangled his hands in her hair. "This. I miss the red. Will you let it grow 
back?" 
 
"Absolutely," Scully said, hoping all his wishes would be that easy to grant. 

Scully needed two things: a decent pair of boots and something to strip off the 
brown hair dye. The hair dye was easy: they stopped at a drugstore and she spent 
a minute or two walking up and down the aisle to find what she wanted. Doggett 
picked up another box of condoms while they were there, and just shrugged 
when Scully raised her eyebrow at him. 
 
Boots were a little more difficult: most stores were already closed by the time 
they had finished dinner. But Wal-Mart was open, and there they found a pair of 
boots small enough for Scully's feet and that Doggett felt would be comfortable 
enough to not cause her pain while they rode. He added gloves, a scarf and a 
knitted hat to his armful, and though Scully looked like she wished she could 
refuse she said simply, "Thank you," and kissed him. 
 
They stopped by camping supplies on their way to checkout, and Doggett said, 
"I'd like to take you snow camping. Have you ever done that?" 
 
"Not voluntarily." 
 
"It's a lot better when you're properly equipped." He picked up a down sleeping 
bag. "Like this. This is supposed to keep you warm to sixty below zero." 
 
"I would rather sleep in a bed." 
 
"You'd also have me to help you warm," he added. "But it's a lot of fun, really. 
Cooking and hiking in the snow . . ." 
 
"No, thank you." She eyed a tent skeptically. "If you want to go in the 
summertime, though, I wouldn't mind that." 
 
"It's a date. We'll go camping when it's warm." 
 
They started on their way out again, but again Doggett stopped, this time at the 
jewelry counter. Scully made a patiently impatient sound, and Doggett said to 
the clerk, "Can I see that one?" as he pointed to a diamond solitaire ring. 
 
The girl took the ring from its velvet display tray and handed it to Doggett, with 
an encouraging smile to Scully. "This is point one five carats on twelve carat 
gold. The solitaire is a traditional style for engagement rings, and we have a 
selection of matching wedding bands." 
 
He took Scully's left hand and started to put the ring on her fourth finger. 
"John," she said warningly. 
 
"I just want to see it. Let's just see how it looks." 
 
She sighed again but held her hand steady, and he slipped the ring onto her 
finger. It looked lovely, a sparkling diamond and soft gold on her milky skin. 
 
"What do you think?" he asked softly. "Too small? Too big?" 
 
Scully looked down at the ring and then pulled it off. "Too early," she said as 
she handed it back to the clerk. 
 
"Thanks," Doggett said to the girl, and followed Scully's rapid footsteps towards 
the exit. "Dana. Dana!" He grabbed her elbow and pulled her back to him. 
"What's wrong?" 
 
She was frowning and her eyes were full. "What was the point of that?" she 
whispered harshly. "That was so embarassing! What are you trying to prove?" 
 
"I didn't--it seemed like a good idea--I'm sorry. I just wanted to see a ring on 
you. I'm sorry. I didn't think it would upset you." 
 
"It's not funny." 
 
"I didn't mean it to be funny." He touched her cheek but she still frowned. 
"Honey. Dana. Let's go home. Okay? Let's just go home. It'll be a fun day 
tomorrow. Let's just . . . look forward to that." Scully nodded and then stepped 
into his arms and buried her face in his chest a moment, taking a deep breath. "I 
didn't mean to embaress you, honey," Doggett said quietly. "I didn't mean that at 
all." 
 
"I'm excited about tomorrow," she said into his shirt. "I am." 
 
He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. "Okay. Let's go home." 
 
She nodded, and kept her arms around his waist as they went through checkout 
and out to his truck.
*~*~*~*~
 
Scully decided to do her hair that night, and Doggett, to make up for the ring 
incident, offered to help. She took off her shirt and held her head under the 
running tap in the bathtub, squeezed the water from her hair and asked him to 
open the bottle of dye stripper. It filled the small bathroom with the smell of 
ammonia, and Doggett coughed dramatically and opened the bathroom door. 
 
Scully draped a towel over her shoulders with a wry half-smile, sitting in the 
chair she'd brought in, and simply said, "Just try to keep it out of my eyes." 
 
"Yes, ma'am." He tilted back her head and began to squeeze the strong-smelling 
liquid into her hair at her hairline. He'd scorned the thin plastic gloves that came 
with the kit, but realized as he worked that this scent was going to linger on his 
hands for hours. It was, however, a sacrifice he was willing to make. 
 
"So, why did you dye it in the first place?" he asked quietly as he worked the 
stripper into her hair. 
 
"Red stands out too much. People remember a redhead." 
 
"It doesn't suit you." 
 
She chuckled. "That wasn't my main concern." 
 
"You never . . ." He paused, massaging her scalp with his fingers and gathering 
his thoughts. 
 
"I never what?" 
 
"Some beautiful women use their beauty. You never do that." 
 
Scully didn't answer for a moment, then quietly: "I'm not beautiful." 
 
"Yes, you are," Doggett scolded gently. "Don't even say that." 
 
"About a year ago I broke my nose. There's a little bump, here at the bridge." 
She ran her fingertip down the slope of her nose to illustrate. 
 
He squinted at her reflection in the mirror. "Nope. I don't see it." 
 
"I see it." She opened her eyes and studied her reflection critically. She ran her 
hands up the sides of her face, opening her mouth to stretch out her skin. "I look 
tired." 
 
"It's late. We both could use a good night's sleep." 
 
"Stop trying to make me feel better," she said, but she was smiling enough for 
him to know she didn't mean it. 
 
"Close your eyes," he said simply, and she obeyed, tilting back her head again.
*~*~*~*~
 
She insisted on doing the last part herself, so Doggett waited downstairs, the 
lights off, a fire in the fireplace and music on the stereo. He remembered that 
she liked classical; the closest he had was classic rock, but a little R&B would 
do in a pinch. 
 
He looked up when the water stopped running and the bathroom door opened, 
and watched her come down the stairs. Her hair was still wet and she'd put the 
bathrobe back on, the towel over her shoulder. 
 
"Well?" she said, running her hands over her sleek head. "Is it red again?" 
 
"It's . . . more red." He stroked her head. "It'll show better when it's dry." 
 
"True. Will you help me brush it out?" 
 
"Sure." He took the hairbrush, and they both go comfortable in front of the 
fireplace. She sat with her back to him, and after a moment lowered the robe so 
that her wet hair was against her skin, her shoulders bare. Doggett had to just 
stare for a moment, and then traced the scar he had made on the back of her neck 
with his fingertips. 
 
"I rememeber that," Scully murmured. 
 
"I remember too. I wish I'd done a better job." 
 
"There really wasn't time for finesse. It's just another scar. It wasn't the first, it 
won't be the last." 
 
Not if I have anything to say about it, Doggett thought, but just started carefully 
brushing out her wet hair. Scully closed her eyes, and as he brushed she made 
soft sounds in her throat, turning her head this way and that. 
 
"Are you warm enough?" Doggett murmured. 
 
"Yes." A moment or two passed. "It's just fine." 
 
"You're getting sleepy," he observed. 
 
"Mm. It's very relaxing, getting your hair brushed." 
 
"Good," Doggett said softly. "Just relax, sweet girl." 
 
Scully moaned quietly again, and leaned back against him a little, wrapping her 
arm around his bent leg. The blankets she'd slept under--or dozed under for a 
few hours--were still folded on the sofa. Doggett reached over and pulled one 
out to spread over her, and Scully smiled at him over her shoulder. "I don't want 
you getting cold," he explained. 
 
"Not an issue," she murmured, but didn't move the blanket away. 
 
Doggett smiled and continued brushing her hair, careful not to pull on any 
tangles or tug too hard on her scalp. Her hair was thick and soft, curling as it 
dried, falling to just past her shoulders, more auburn than red in this dim light. It 
was not, he thought, her most beautiful feature, but it was one of his favorites. 
 
He couldn't chose her most beautiful feature: there were too many. Her 
hourglass figure, her sweet round breasts, the freckles scattered across her nose 
or the beauty mark above her mouth, her pink toes or her elegant fingers-- 
 
He chuckled at himself and kissed her shoulder. He'd had it bad for her from the 
first day they met. It hadn't changed--it simply had an outlet now. 
 
He kissed her shoulder again and the back of her neck, and nuzzled her ear with 
his nose. "Are you still mad about the ring?" 
 
"I'm not mad. You just . . ." She tilted her head to the side, inviting more kisses 
to her neck. "Confused me." 
 
"I don't want you to be confused." 
 
"Then explain it to me," she said in a more steady voice. "You're always asking 
me what I want. What do you want, John?" 
 
"Just you," he said. "For as long as you'll have me." 
 
Scully looked at him over her shoulder again, then turned and knelt between his 
legs. She held his face between her hands and looked seriously into his eyes, 
stroking his cheekbones with her thumbs. "So it's agreed," she whispered. "We 
want each other. Is it enough, John?" 
 
"I hope so." 
 
She nodded, her eyes leaving his for a moment, then met his again and she 
smiled. She wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder 
with a small sigh. He kissed her cheek and hugged her back--and realized, as he 
felt her through the boiled wool of the robe, that she was not wearing her bra 
and jeans as he'd assumed--apparently beneath the robe was nothing at all. 
 
His heart began to hammer in his chest. He wanted her, of course--it amazed 
him how much he wanted her--and just the thought of her naked body was 
enough to start him again. He loved her curves, her dips and crevices, her moist 
secret places, her softness and warmth. 
 
It felt like too much for her tonight, though. Her emotions had been all over the 
map all day--he didn't think she'd want to have sex tonight. At most, he thought, 
she'd want him to hold her while she slept , and he'd be lucky to have that much. 
 
He kissed her cheek again and pushed back her curls from her face. She looked 
up at him, her eyelids heavy and her eyes dark. She licked her lips and smiled 
faintly, her fingers lightly kneading his shoulders. 
 
"Can I?" he whispered, pulling the robe lower on her arms. 
 
"Can you," she teased. "You may." 
 
"May I," he echoed, and bent to kiss the upper slope of her breast. Scully leaned 
against his supporting hands, arching her back. She still held onto his shoulders, 
her nails digging into his skin as he licked her nipple up into his mouth. She 
groaned out loud as he began to suckle her. 
 
If he had to chose his favorite part of her body, it would probably be her 
strawberry nipples. 
 
Or maybe the dimple of her belly button, or the satiny skin across her ribs, or her 
round little knees or the perfect handfuls of her ass. 
 
No, no--it was definately between her legs, the peachy flesh and fragrant oil and 
dense, thick curls, the swollen folds and plump clitoris that fit perfectly between 
his lips. This was his favorite place, his favorite taste, his favorite scent. This 
was what he wanted to do until his heart stopped beating. 
 
Or at least until Scully came, which she did with a groan and her hands tugging 
on his hair, her thighs trembling on on either side of his head. "Oh John," she 
breathed as if it were one word. "Oh John." 
 
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Am I forgiven?" 
 
"I told you I'm not mad." 
 
"Just say I'm forgiven." 
 
"You're forgiven." She climbed into his lap and kissed him, tugging off his 
sweater. He had to pull back to get the sweater over his head, and she carressed 
his face, stroking his beard. "You are very forgiven." 
 
"Stay right there," he said, kissing the tip of her nose, and set her on the blankets 
to go upstairs for condoms and maybe a pillow. On the stairs he turned to look at 
her: her hair wild, the robe wantonly spread around her body, her lips swollen 
from kisses. 
 
"What is it?" she asked softly. 
 
"Just you, girl." He went into the bedroom. 
 
When he was downstairs again, Scully leaned against the hearth and watched 
him finished undressing. She had abandoned the robe, spread out the blanket on 
the floor, and pulled over another for warmth. But Doggett could see drops of 
perspiration rolling down the side of her face and between her breasts, glinting 
in the firelight. She watched him undress with an eager expression, her hands 
restless over her neck and calves. 
 
Nude, Doggett got on his knees and took her face in his hands. His thumb swept 
over her plump lower lip, and her eyelids fluttered closed. 
 
"This doesn't make much sense to me," she confessed quielty. 
 
"What doesn't?" 
 
"Us. You and me. I want you so much and I'm not really sure why." She put her 
hands on his hips, rubbing her palms over the knobby bones of his pelvis. 
"Aside from simple lust, maybe." 
 
"I can deal with lust," he whispered, tilting up her face. 
 
"I can't wait anymore," she muttered as she rose onto her knees: she claimed his 
mouth with a hungry kiss. Doggett shifted from kneeling to sitting and pulled 
her onto his lap, kissing her still, and let her go only reluctantly to watch her 
unroll the condom over his erection. 
 
He swallowed hard and had to look away. He loved her hands too--he'd dreamed 
about these hands touching him, gentle, skillful, loving--he'd dreamed of her 
touching him like she was touching him now, weighing his balls and stroking his 
thighs and stomach. 
 
"I love this," she whispered, tracing the fine arrow of hair that led down his 
stomach to his groin. "This always says 'sex' to me." 
 
"Yeah," he muttered and she smiled up at him. 
 
"Less talk, more fuck?" 
 
"Hey, you can talk and touch me all you want, baby." 
 
"Unless my mouth's full," she said and stooped to take his cock into her mouth. 
 
"Oh my god." Doggett's hand flailed out for something--anything--to balance 
himself on, and grabbed hold of the brick hearth. "Holy . . . God." 
 
He felt Scully chuckle, and looked down to watch her sleek head bobbing on his 
cock. He ran his hand tenderly over her hair. 
 
Few things, he thought, were better than a blowjob from someone who wanted 
to and knew how. 
 
He tilted back his head and closed his eyes, surrendering to the pleasure of her 
mouth, groaning simply, "Oh, yes. Oh, baby. Oh, that's it." She was touching 
herself, he realized dimly, her hand was was working between her legs and she 
was moaning, so turned on she had to come again. Doggett shuddered, gripping 
her shoulder and trying not to groan in disappointment when she lifted her head. 
 
"I want--I want--" She pushed on his hips and he sat cross-legged on the blanket 
. Scully positioned herself over him, her legs around his waist, and guided his 
cock into her. 
 
She ground herself against him slowly, her hands in his hair and her head 
thrown back, and Doggett watched her, stunned silent by her beauty, her 
sensuality, the force of her passion. In the firelight she seemed like something 
otherworldly, a dream, a fantasy, a goddess. 
 
She came quietly, just her fingers digging into his scalp a moment as she 
moaned through parted lips. Doggett followed, giving into his climax with relief. 
Her head rested on his shoulder and her hands skimmed over his back. 
 
"You know," he whispered, "I'm beginning to think you're too much woman for 
me." 
 
She chuckled. "I'm not sure what that means but I think I like it." 
 
"You overwhelm me, babe." He took a deep breath, filling his lungs, and slowly 
let it out. "You make me feel like a kid again." 
 
"There's no need for that," she said, kissing his neck. "I'm not alone here, you 
know." 
 
"I know. I just . . . I feel like I'm following your lead." 
 
"Is that bad?" She raised her head and started stroking his face again. 
 
"No." He kissed her. "I guess I was feeling jaded--but you--with you everything 
is new." 
 
Her eyes, more expressive than he thought she knew, suddenly filled. She kissed 
him and hid her face in his neck. "Do you want to sleep down here?" 
 
"Yeah. Are you going to be warm enough?" 
 
"Yes." She raised herself carefully, and pulled off the condom. "I'll take care of 
this." 
 
"Thanks." He lay down, then thought better of it and smoothed out the blankets 
so they could sleep comfortably. He watched her walk back to him. She was not 
a high-breasted, long-limbed ideal--but he couldn't imagine her beauty could be 
any more complete. 
 
You're still in love with her, he thought. You're more in love with her than ever. 
 
Doggett didn't lie down until she joined him on the makeshift bed, and he put his 
arm around her and held her hand to his chest. "Okay?" 
 
"Yes." She kissed his chest and laid down her head with a small sigh. 
 
"You're amazing, you know," he whispered after a few minutes. Scully chuckled 
but didn't answer. 
 
Scully awoke to the sound of a log falling apart. She raised her head and 
blinked, disoriented -- then smiled at the sight of Doggett's peaceful, sleeping 
face. She kissed between his brows and pulled the blankets over him, rose and 
put on the abandoned bathrobe. 
 
It was still dark out and felt early--so early in the morning it was still considered 
night. She went into the kitchen and poured a glass of water, listening to the 
quiet house as she drank and ran her hand absently through her hair. 
 
In the last twenty-four hours, she thought, nothing had changed on the outside. 
To anyone observing they might appear to be nothing more than fuck buddies, at 
most friends finding comfort in each others' arms. 
 
But, she thought. But. 
 
She'd been proposed to before, but had said no until it was too late to say yes. 
She and Mulder had passed themselves off as a married couple while on the run, 
but never made it official. 
 
But with Doggett it was different. She liked him--a lot more than she 
remembered, too--and he inspired enormous passion in her, but--but--marriage? 
 
He was not the kind of make light of such things. It was not in his character to 
lead someone on, to use them or string them along with false promises. 
 
And while in her heart she knew it was too soon, part of her simply wanted to lie 
down beside him and say, "Yes." 
 
Scully finished her water and placed the glass in the dishwasher. Outside the 
window snow silently fell, covering the world with a clean layer of white. Like a 
new beginning, she thought. Like a new life. 
 
It was too soon to decide--but if he did ask, seriously, meaning it, she would 
give it intense thought. 
 
She went back to the living room, took off the bathrobe and joined Doggett 
beneath the blankets again. He turned toward her in his sleep, draping his arm 
over her and muttering nonsense. "Shh," she soothed, stroking his face. "Go 
back to sleep." He breathed deeply, falling easily into sleep again.
*~*~*~*~
 
The Van der Kamps lived in a black-hilled valley about forty minutes' drive 
south of Jessup. Scully watched the countryside roll past as Doggett drove, her 
chin on her hand. She saw weather-stained barns, large bales of hay covered in 
snow, cattle nudging snow aside to crop at brown grass, sometimes a lone tree in 
a vast flat field. In the summertime, she thought, it would be lush with growing 
crops and busy with activity--but now the earth slept beneath its blanket of 
snow. 
 
The farmhouse was at the end of a long, tree-lined drive--a homey-looking 
house, simple in the style of a hundred years before, the lights in its windows 
burning golden and welcoming. 
 
"Jeff and Sara were the first friends I made here," Doggett said. "Because of 
their little boy, really. I was walking across the town square one morning and he 
came running across the street--scaring his parents, of course, but fortunately the 
cars on the street had stopped for the stop sign--he wrapped his arms around my 
legs and said, 'Hi!' like little kids do. Like he'd known me forever, you know? I 
was wearing my uniform so I think he just wanted to say hi to a policeman. So I 
picked him up and talked to him until his parents got across the street, and we've 
been friends ever since. They helped me buy Ranger. I hadn't owned a horse 
since I was a kid." 
 
"Mm," Scully said. The horse she didn't mind meeting--the friends worried her a 
little. Would they greet her with more mysterious warnings, like Sherriff 
Beauchesne? Horses, at least, wouldn't judge her or tell her she had to leave. 
 
"He calls me John-Dog," Doggett added. "He couldn't say the -ett part, and the 
nickname just stuck." 
 
"John-Dog," Scully repeated with a chuckle. "I like that." 
 
"Just call me Fido," Doggett said lightly. 
 
"It's better than Spot." She reached over and touched his hair. "You know what 
Fido means, don't you?" 
 
"It means something?" 
 
"It's Latin for 'I am faithful.'" 
 
"Well," Doggett said softly. "That's really nice." 
 
They smiled at each other, and Doggett pulled the truck up by the barn. 
 
A little boy banged out of the house and across the yard, and Doggett swung him 
up into his arms as soon as he was out of the truck. "John-Dog!" 
 
"Hi, William!" 
 
"You haven't come to visit me," the boy reproached him. 
 
"I know, I'm sorry. This is my first day off in a long time." 
 
"This many days," William said, holding up both his hands and counting off on 
his fingers. "Six, seven, eight, nine, ten." 
 
"That's right, ten days. Do you think Ranger remembers me?" 
 
"Yes," the boy said, laughing, and then stopped and put his arm around 
Doggett's neck, staring at Scully, who was hanging back by the truck, reluctant 
to interupt. 
 
"William, this is my friend Dana. She's come to meet Ranger." 
 
"Hi," Scully said, smiling uncertainly. The boy ducked his head and Doggett 
laughed, patting his stocking cap. 
 
"Let's go in and say hi to your mom and dad, okay?" 
 
"'Kay," William said, sliding down from his arms, and he ran into the house 
ahead of them. 
 
"He's not usually shy," Doggett said as they followed. "I don't know what 
brought that on." 
 
"And his name is William," Scully murmured. "You didn't mention that." 
 
"It's a common name. What isn't common, I guess, is that they don't call him 
Billy or something. He's always William. Sara told me once that his 
kindergarten teacher tried to call him Billy and he just corrected her, very 
seriously: 'My name is William.' He's a funny kid." 
 
"Mm," Scully said again, and had to look away a moment when Sara Van der 
Kamp removed William's stocking cap and gave a caress to his auburn hair.
*~*~*~*~
 
Ranger was a chestnut stallion, his mane and tail black, a white star on his 
forehead. He sniffed at Scully's hand, and she did her best to hold it steady to his 
warm breath and tickling hairs. 
 
"Don't be afraid of his size," Doggett said as he stroked Ranger's mane and 
strongly muscled neck. "Horses are a lot like dogs. They want to be friendly--it 
depends on how they're treated." 
 
"He's beautiful." She stroked his long face, and the horse nickered and nudged 
his head against her hand. 
 
"I was in 4-H as a kid," Doggett said. "F.F.A., too. I--" He hesitated, then 
chuckled at himself and said, "I envisioned life would be a lot simpler than it 
turned out to be." 
 
"We all do, when we're young." She passed her hand along Ranger's long neck, 
feeling the steady beat of his strong heart. A horse's heart weights twenty 
pounds, she thought, but didn't know where she'd picked up that bit of trivia or if 
it were true. "You're a beauty," she whispered to his velvet ear. 
 
"Do you want to try him?" 
 
"Oh, no, I couldn't. I've never really ridden, John. He'd throw me off in a 
second." 
 
"Not my boy," Doggett said, "but we'll start you on Misty, then. She's gentle and 
a good teacher. William's learning on her." 
 
"Interesting that a six-year-old boy would be a better rider than me." 
 
"You city kids miss out," Doggett said, grinning at her. "It wasn't idyllic, I won't 
deny it, but--God! I wouldn't trade it for anything." 
 
"So why the Marines?" Scully asked, as they moved to the next stall where 
dapple-gray Misty nosed through her trough. "Why didn't you stay?" 
 
Doggett didn't answer for a moment, running his fingers through the mare's pale 
mane. "My dad had to sell the farm when I was seventeen. The G.I. bill was the 
only way I would get an education. Our savings were gone, my grades weren't 
high enough for a scholarship--it was the Marines or a minimum wage job for 
the rest of my life. My mom wouldn't stand for that. She wanted more for us 
than just scraping by." 
 
"I'm glad for you," Scully said softly. "I'm glad she loved you enough to push 
you." 
 
"Yeah. Of course, at the time I thought I was signing my life away." He arched 
an eye brow at her. "Little did I know." 
 
Scully smiled at him as she stroked Misty's soft muzzle. "It's not easy, is it," she 
whispered, and when he looked at her curiously she elaborated, "To love them." 
 
"Ah," he said. "No. it isn't." 
 
"That little boy . . . it's a hell of a coincidence, isn't it it? A six-year-old, red-
haired boy named William?" 
 
"Yeah. I guess I never really noticed before." He stepped closer to her and put 
his hand on her back. "Do you want to go?" 
 
"No. It's not the first time I've seen a boy who reminded me of him." Doggett 
watched her as she continued patting the mare, and she said quietly, "I think 
about him every day. I miss him every day. I want to believe I did the right thing 
in giving him up, but--" She couldn't hold back her tears any longer. "I doubt it 
every day." 
 
"Dana," he said gently and pulled her into his arms. "Could you have protected 
him and taken care of him properly while you were living on the run?" She 
shook her head. "Exactly. I know you doubted it at the time but you did the right 
thing. Maybe he's living in a place like this, where he gets plenty of fresh air and 
love. Maybe his parents are like Sara and Jeff and the sun rises and sets for them 
because of him. You gave him everything, Dana. You gave him a home." 
 
"I got a tattoo," she said into his shirt. "About a year ago. I got his name tattooed 
on my back--I had to have his name on my skin. I can't explain it. I wanted him 
to be a part of me again." 
 
"I know," Doggett murmured, kissing her lips. "I understand." 
 
"I miss him so much." 
 
"I know, honey. I know." 
 
The barn was warm, smelling richly of hay and animals. The straw would be 
soft if they lay down--but they were guests here, Scully reminded herself. 
Wanting him would have to wait until they were home. 
 
Someone cleared his throat behind them, and Scully broke off the kiss, feeling 
herself blush. "Hey, Jeff," Doggett said casually. 
 
"Hey." Jeff Van der Kamp sounded amused as he approached them. "Did you 
find the tackle okay?" 
 
"Yeah. We're just trying to decide if we should wait until the weather's better for 
a riding lesson." 
 
"That might be best," Jeff said, squinting out the door towards the snowy yard. 
"What do you think of Misty, Dana?" 
 
"She's beautiful. They're all beautiful." 
 
"Thanks. You're welcome to ride her anytime." 
 
"Thank you. Your son is learning to ride on her, is that right?" 
 
"Yeah, but he's getting a pony for his birthday so she'll be riderless again soon. 
Sara uses her sometimes but she actually prefers Poluza over here." He stroked a 
palamino, who nudged his hand in response. 
 
"How exciting. When's his birthday?" 
 
"May twenty-fifth," Jeff said proudly. 
 
"Oh," Scully said, suddenly feeling that her heart was beating too loud and too 
fast. She heard Doggett say, "Dana? Dana!" and suddenly she was somewhere 
between squatting and kneeling on the floor of the barn. 
 
"Is she okay? What's happened?" 
 
"I'm not sure." Doggett knelt beside her, rubbing her face with the back of his 
hand. "Dana, honey. Say something." 
 
"I'm fine," she said faintly. "It's been a rough couple of days. I'm fine." 
 
"Let's get her inside," Jeff said, standing. "She can lie down in the guest room." 
 
"I think I should just get her home," Doggett said. 
 
"I'm fine," Scully said again, but her head felt too heavy to hold up any longer. 
She felt Doggett's arms go around her and lift her up, and she stared blankly at 
the falling snow. 
 
"She hasn't been eating enough," she heard Doggett say, and Jeff ran ahead of 
them to open the kitchen door. "Or sleeping, really, and she made that huge 
drive--" 
 
"What's happened?" Sara said, following them to the guest room. 
 
"I think she's fainted." 
 
"I'm fine," Scully muttered again, but Doggett was anxiously rubbing her hands 
and Sara was sending Jeff to the kitchen for water, and William was standing in 
the doorway, staring at her with a serious expression. "William," she said, and 
he said, "Mommy," and Sara said, "I'm right here, sweetie, why don't you go 
watch cartoons for a while?" and then the world disappeared.

The scent of coffee woke her, as Doggett knew it would. She inhaled and 
opened her eyes, blinking with confusion a moment. "What time is it?" 
 
"It's almost noon. Thirsty?" 
 
"Yes." Scully sat up and took the cup from him. Doggett sat on the edge of the 
bed and watched her sip. 
 
He said, "There's a clinic in town that's open every day. We should get you 
checked out." 
 
"It's not necessary. I'm fine." She blew across the top of the coffee to cool it. 
 
Doggett took a deep breath. "Fainting isn't it normal, is it?" 
 
"No, it isn't, but I'm fine." 
 
"Have you been fainting a lot lately?" 
 
"John," she said in her 'just drop it' voice. 
 
The time was long past, however, that he'd been careful of that voice. "I know 
doctors make the worst patients but if you're sick we need to do something about 
it now. What if it's serious?" 
 
"The only times I've ever fainted was when I got a big shock and when I was 
pregnant. And I'm not pregnant." 
 
"Are you sure?" Doggett said quietly, and went on despite her stony silence, 
"I'm not asking what you did before you got here. I just need to know you're 
okay." 
 
"I promise I'm okay. Could we go back to your house, John? I'm sure they're not 
wild about having me here." 
 
"They're worried about you," Doggett said quietly. "William's been sitting 
outside the door for the last hour. He wanted to wait with me but Sara told him 
to let you rest, so he's been sitting at the end of the hall." 
 
"That's very sweet," Scully murmured, and when she lifted her eyes to his he 
knew what she wanted to ask. 
 
"Coincidence, Dana." 
 
"A red-haired, six-year-old boy whose birthday is May twenty-fifth? It's an 
enormous coincidence, John. Is he adopted?" 
 
"I don't know. I've never asked. But it's still just coincidence. There are probably 
dozens of boys just like him out there. Hundreds." 
 
"But they're not all named William." 
 
"I don't know if his adoptive parents would have kept his name." 
 
"I asked them to." 
 
They looked at each other a moment, and Doggett sighed. "I wish I could snap 
my fingers and make everything perfect for you," he said, running his hand over 
her hair. 
 
"I wish you could too," Scully said, and put down the coffee cup on the bedside 
table. "Let's go home." 
 
"Do you want to try this again some time? I hate to let Ranger go too long 
without being ridden." 
 
"Maybe you should come by yourself." 
 
"Dana--" 
 
"I don't think it would be a good idea," she whispered. "If I came back." 
 
"Honey, I don't want you to be scared off by one bad experience." 
 
"How much do you really think they'll want me to come back? I frightened their 
son and--" She made a frustrated sound. "I just want to go home." 
 
"Okay." He picked up the coffee cup. "Are you done?" 
 
"Yes. I'll be ready in a minute." She pushed the covers aside and got out of bed. 
Her boots and jacket were on a chair on the other side of the room. 
 
"Sit down if you start feeling dizzy," he said, and she nodded shortly, already 
pulling on her boots. 
 
Doggett started towards the kitchen, slurping the rest of the coffee, but stopped 
when he saw that William was still sitting on the floor, listless and sad-faced. 
Doggett sat down on the floor beside him. "Hey, William." 
 
"Is she going to be okay?" William asked in a tiny voice. 
 
"Yeah. She's going to be fine. We're going to go home so she can rest." 
 
"She can rest here." 
 
"She wants to go home, William," Doggett said gently. "She wants to sleep in 
her own bed." 
 
"I want her to stay here." 
 
"Why?" 
 
William didn't say anything for a minute, fidgiting uncomfortably. Finally he 
said, "It's a secret." 
 
"Why is it a secret?" 
 
"Because . . . if I say it'll make people sad." 
 
"Would it make Dana sad?" 
 
"It would make Mommy sad," William whispered. 
 
"William," Doggett said, completely confused. "I don't understand." 
 
"I told you. It's a secret. Are you going to go to your house?" 
 
"Yeah." 
 
"I like your house." 
 
"Me too." 
 
"Does Dana live with you, in your house?" 
 
"Yeah, she does." 
 
William pulled on his shoelace, then leaned his head against Doggett's arm with 
a sigh. "Can I come visit, at your house?" 
 
"We can ask your mom if that's okay." 
 
"Okay." He said eagerly, "Can I've some coffee?" 
 
"No," Doggett said emphatically and got to his feet, heading for the kitchen with 
William skipping on ahead.
*~*~*~*~
 
Even though it was early afternoon Scully went straight to bed. Doggett thought 
about asking her if she wanted company, but he merely kissed her forehead and 
unplugged the phone. 
 
He spent the rest of the afternoon running errands: buying hearty, healthy food, 
finding books that he knew would be entertaining and challenging for Scully to 
read, renting some movies from the video place in case she wanted something 
that didn't require concenthation. 
 
He was driving back to the house when he passed a clothes shop, and paused for 
a moment. Jessup had few chain stores--mostly they were locally-owned mom-
and-pops, except for the enormous Wal-Mart. He hadn't bought clothes for a 
woman since his marriage ended, but as he pulled up in front of this little store 
he thought, She needs more clothes. I'll find something. 
 
The sales clerk looked startled but pleased when he came into the store. "How 
can I help you?" she said brightly. 
 
"Hi. Um. I've a friend who needs some clothes. But I'm not sure what size she 
is--she's--" He held his hands apart a foot or so, trying to remember the exact 
span of her waist. "And she comes to about here." He indicated the center of his 
chest. "She's kinda little. She's . . . little." 
 
"So maybe a size two?" 
 
"That sounds good. Her feet are about this big." He sized her feet with his hands. 
 
"Small," the clerk said, smiling. 
 
"Yeah. Small. Um, she needs warm clothes, mostly. Jeans, sweaters, maybe 
some warm pajamas. Underclothes." 
 
"Okay. Let's find some clothes for her, then. What color is her hair?" she said, 
moving towards a rack of sweaters. 
 
"Red. Her eyes are blue and she's --" He didn't want to say 'pale'. He touched his 
face. "She's creamy." 
 
"Okay," the clerk said again, smiling indulgently. "Green is a favorite with 
redheads, of course. I think this blue would look nice too." She took a sweater 
from the rack that was an icy, misty blue. Doggett touched the sleeve: the wool 
was soft and didn't feel like it would itch. 
 
"I like this one. Is there one in her size?" 
 
"Here you go." The clerk handed him a sweater that seemed small enough to fit 
a child. But its label said small and Scully definately was small. There's nothing 
to this shopping thing, he thought, and hung his first choice over his arm.
*~*~*~*~
 
When Doggett got home he put the groceries away quickly, put the books and 
movies in the living room, and carried the clothes upstairs to the bedroom. He 
hoped Scully was awake: he wanted to show her what he'd bought, and even 
more he wanted to hear that she liked them. 
 
She was still asleep, though, a serious frown on her face. He watched her for a 
moment, then kissed her to wake her up. 
 
After a moment Scully hummed and started kissing him back. "Hi." 
 
"Hi. I got you some stuff." 
 
"Aspirin?" she murmured. 
 
"Nah. Better. Come look." 
 
"What did you get?" she said, sitting up slowly and pushing her hair out of her 
face. 
 
"These." He put the clothes shop bags on the bed. "You needed some warmer 
clothes, so I got you some." 
 
She made no move to open the bags, staring at him with a troubled expression. 
 
"Go on, open them." Her lack of reaction was quickly dampening his 
enthusiasm. 
 
"John, I can't accept this." 
 
"Why not?" 
 
"It's too much. I can never pay you back for this." 
 
"I don't want you to pay me back. I want you to be warm." He touched her 
cheek. "I've seen what's in that duffel bag of yours. You've got three pairs of 
jeans and a couple t-shirts, and about a week's worth of underwear that's losing 
its elastic." 
 
"You're spending too much money on me." 
 
"Hey." He cupped her chin in his hand. "You let me be the judge of that, okay? 
I'll spend a lot more on you before I'm through." She sighed and he said, "I want 
to take you Jackson Hole for your birthday." He started stroking her hair and she 
closed her eyes. "Do you like skiing? The skiing's great there." 
 
"I've never done much skiing," she said quietly. 
 
"I'll teach you." 
 
"You're going to teach me a lot of things before we're though," she said, which 
made him smile. 
 
"I'll teach you anything you want to know." 
 
"And what are you going to want in return for all this?" she said, lifting her chin. 
 
Doggett furrowed his brows at her, then said, "Kiss me once." 
 
"John--" 
 
"Kiss me. And say thank you. That'll be enough." 
 
She looked at him, her lips trembling, then she got into her knees and placed her 
hands on his shoulders. She kissed him, quite calmly and gently, and leaned her 
forehead against his and whispered, "Thank you. Thank you, John." 

Sleep was a long time coming, and Scully ended up in the living room at three in 
the morning, watching the snow that still lazily fell. She wore the new pajamas 
Doggett had bought: again it was warm flannel, but this time baby pink with a 
tiny bit of lace at the placket, and properly fit instead of dragging on the floor as 
his pajamas had done. He hadn't bought her a robe, and she supposed he had 
given up his without a second thought. He had bought her slippers, too: printed 
cotton on the outside and lamb's wool on the inside. 
 
They were cozy garments, and while pink wouldn't have been her first choice 
she had to admit it was a flattering color. Pink made her look rosy and round -- 
as did, she had to admit, full meals, sleeping regularly and being kissed at least 
twice a day. 
 
She rested her chin on her hand. They hadn't made love that night: Doggett was 
too worried about her. He had kissed her many times, and fallen asleep the way 
he liked to hold her and that she admitted how she liked to be held: her head on 
his shoulder, her hand on his chest. He didn't grip or grasp her hand. He simply 
rested his hand on top of hers so she could move away if she wanted to. 
 
And she didn't want to. 
 
Why couldn't things ever be simple? Why couldn't she fall in love and settle 
down with him? But no--there had to be threats and a temptation and secrets. 
 
She would not go back to the Van der Kamp ranch. She would only frighten the 
boy if she tried to make friends with him, she was certain of that. She would 
want to hold him and sing to him and comfort him, and she had no right. No 
reason. 
 
He was just a red-haired boy named William. He was not hers. 
 
She heard footsteps on the stairs but didn't turn--just inclined her head towards 
Doggett when he sat down behind her and put his arm around his waist. 
 
"I had a dream," he said softly, "about Luke about two years after he died. I 
dreamed we were back in the field where we found him, and he turned his head 
toward me and and opened his eyes. He didn't say anything, and I stayed 
kneeling there, looking back at him. I could feel his sorrow--not that he was 
dead, but that we weren't a family anymore. In my dream, it was like Luke was 
telling me, You're still here. Stop living like you are not." 
 
"It's hard to stop mourning," she said. 
 
"You never really stop mourning," Doggett replied. "You just do it a little less 
every day." He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead, pulling her head to his 
shoulder. He stroked her forehead with his warm palm. 
 
"If we go back to the ranch, I would prefer the Van der Kamps not be there. If 
they'd let us ride when they're not home, I would be a lot more comfortable." 
 
"They did like you. William was very worried about you. He wants to visit you." 
 
Scully exhaled, rubbing her head against his shoulder. "I'd be too embaressed." 
 
"You have no reason to be embaressed. It scared all of us, you just fainting like 
that." 
 
"Yeah." She closed her eyes. 
 
"Are you ready to go back to bed?" 
 
"Yeah." She opened her eyes and unwound herself from the sofa, held out her 
hands to Doggett and kissed him quickly before he stood. He smiled, stood and 
kissed her back. 
 
Doggett had a simple approach to sleepwear: a tee shirt with the writing worn 
off, and flannel pants. Scully rubbed her cheek against his chest as they lay 
together in bed, and she said quietly, "Do you think they're hiring at that clinic?" 
 
"I don't know. Should we go find out tomorrow?" 
 
"Yes, I think we should." A few minutes passed and she said, "Jackson Hole, 
huh?" 
 
"Yeah," Doggett said sleepily. 
 
"And then camping in the summer." 
 
"Hm. We're not far from Yellowstone." 
 
"That sounds nice." 
 
"I hope so." He rubbed her shoulder. "Are you feeling better?" 
 
"Yes. A little." She raised herself up enough to place a kiss on his lips. "Sweet 
dreams." 
 
"You too, honey." He gave her chin a little tweak and closed his eyes. 
 
Scully lay down her head again with a deep sigh. He doesn't want anything from 
you but you, she reminded herself, and in a few breaths was asleep. 

"The only thing I don't like about living here," Doggett said, "is the food. Most 
people's idea of exotic is Taco Bell." 
 
"This isn't it bad," Scully said. The place was called Mama's Cafe but was more 
like a diner, serving comfort food like meatloaf and homemade apple pie with 
raisins and pecans. 
 
"No, it's not bad. I just miss tandori and potstickers and sushi. The nearest 
decent Chinese restaurant is in Fort Wayne, and if you want Indian, we've got to 
go all the way to Salt Lake. They do have good Ethopian and Greek restuarants 
there, though, so if you stay a weekend you can get a couple places in." 
 
"I'd forgotten what a big fan of ethnic food you are," Scully said. 
 
Doggett glanced up from his menu at her and said, "The odder the better," in a 
light tone. She was softening towards him again, which made him breathe a bit 
easier. If she was happy he was happy, which he supposed was not a very 
enlightened way of being, but he was too busy being happy to care. 
 
There were things about her that he'd forgotten too: that she could be brittle and 
distant, that she was not one for small talk--but he was learning things about her 
too. That she could be passionate, which he'd suspected from when they first 
met; that she could be affectionate and teasing at odd moments; that, like a cat, 
she wouldn't come when called but would approach you, if you were patient and 
unthreatening, of her own accord. 
 
There were still many untold stories behind her eyes, but Doggett knew better 
than to push. There was plenty of time for her to decide to trust him with those. 
 
It seemed strange to him, sometimes, that she was far more willing to share her 
body than herself, and the implications troubled him more than he cared to 
admit. He was troubled, too, at her suspicion that his treatment of her had an 
ulterior motive. But it was silly to expect him not to take care of her--he could 
no more stop that than he could fly. 
 
He could excuse it, though. She had been taking care of herself for years, long 
before she'd entered life on the run. Even if she was no longer running, it was 
hard to turn off the instinct--hard to stop looking over her shoulder, 
metaphorically speaking. 
 
Or literally, he thought, as she glanced at the door when the bell jangled. She'd 
sat with her back to the wall, too, her arms close to her body and her feet crossed 
as if trying to make herself as unobstrusive as possible. 
 
He could see what she meant about people remembering redheads: she'd turned 
more than one head when they walked in here. But, he thought proudly, that had 
just as much to do with her pretty face and tiny, neat figure as it did her vibrant 
hair. There'd been a brief silence in the diner when she'd removed her jacket--the 
proper respect shown when in the presence of something fine and rare. 
 
I'm with the prettiest girl in the room, he thought and grinned. 
 
"What?" she said, noticing. 
 
"Nothin'. Have you found what you want yet?" 
 
"It's hard to decide." Her eyes flicked toward the other diners and she said in a 
lowered voice, "Are you sure it's okay here? They look a little rough." 
 
"They're just cowboys. They're stopped because of the snow. I wouldn't want to 
drive far on a night like this, either." He added comfortingly, "You saw all those 
horse trailers out there. They're probably on their way back from a rodeo 
somewhere." 
 
"You're right," she murmured, bending her head over the menu again. "Just 
cowboys." 
 
"Salt of the earth, honey," he said. "There are a couple ranches in the county that 
raise bulls just for rodeos, or that train people how to ride. I've been out to one 
or two--I've ridden a couple of bulls, too." 
 
"Isn't it that dangerous?" She raised her eyebrow at him, and he shrugged. 
 
"So's walking, under the wrong circumstances." 
 
"John Doggett, grabbing life by the balls," she said with a tiny, wicked smile. 
 
He rejected several risque responses--they were in a public place, after all--and 
just grinned back and touched her leg with his foot beneath the table. The day 
before she'd applied to work at the county clinic, and interviewed with the head 
nurse that morning. Despite her worries about using her real name, nothing 
about Dana Scully being legally dead had arisen. The interview had gone well, 
leaving Scully in such a good mood that she let her playful streak show, 
however briefly. 
 
And, Doggett thought as he looked at her, the blue sweater he'd picked out for 
her really was perfect. Soft as a Scottish mist, a shade deeper than her eyes, 
clinging to her body and accentuating all the right places-- 
 
He sighed, and she smiled again, no doubt because she knew exactly what he 
was thinking. 
 
"Wolves mate for life," he blurted out. "Did you know that?" 
 
"Yes. Swans too. What made you think of that?" 
 
"I've no idea." Because I want to eat you up, he thought and sighed again, 
wishing the waitress would get back to their table. 
 
"Am I ever going to see you riding a bull?" 
 
"Sure. Broncos too, if you want. I got a buckle for amateur rodeo when I was 
sixteen--every couple of years I like to remind myself I can still do it." 
 
"What were you like at sixteen?" she said, which was not the question he was 
expecting--and not the question she thought she should ask, judging by her 
expression. 
 
"Wild. Hanging out with the wrong friends and dating the wrong girls. Drinking 
too much and not studying enough. Driving too fast, riding anything that would 
hold still long enough for me to climb on, and being thrown off just as fast." 
 
"Not every time, if you earned a buckle." He raised an eyebrow at her and she 
smiled demurely back. "I have brothers, you know. I'm not completely 
ignorant." 
 
"Yeah, but what do sailors know about rodeo?" 
 
"Charlie is a huge country music fan. I picked a few things up. I noticed that 
cowboy hat in your closet, too: do I ever get to see you in that?" 
 
"If you come out to the Van der Kamp ranch and go riding with me, sure." 
 
Bribery was not going to work: her face shut down and she said quietly, "No," 
lowering her head again. 
 
He sighed, and was about to try another tack when a couple came into the diner 
and the woman called out to him, "Hey, John!" 
 
"Hey," Doggett replied, as his sheriff and one of his fellow deputies came to 
their table. Scully tensed at once, her face blank. He'd have to ask her about that 
later--he said, "Dana, you remember Brett. This pretty lady is one of our other 
county deputies, Mary Ouida Logan. This is my friend Dana." 
 
"Hello," Scully said quietly. 
 
"Nice to meet you." She said to Doggett, "This is a coincidence, all of us 
deciding to come here on our night off." 
 
"Would you like to join us? We haven't ordered yet--may never get to, the girl's 
been ignoring us." 
 
"No," Beauchesne said simply, his hand on his deputy's back. 
 
"We may be a while," Logan explained, and the two of them exchanged faint 
smiles. 
 
"All right. See you." When they were gone Doggett shook his head faintly at 
Scully. "It's no surprise. This town is too small not to run into each other once in 
a while." 
 
"How long have they been sleeping together?" she asked calmly. 
 
"They're not, if you can believe that. Her husband used to be on the force but 
was killed in the line of duty, and he and Brett were friends, and . . . and it's a 
whole thing." 
 
"One of those tragic romances?" 
 
"I wouldn't go so far as to call it a romance. Just . . . circumstances that have 
never quite worked out." 
 
Scully looked over at the booth where Beauchesne and Logan had sequested 
themselves, and said quietly, "So you wait and you wait, and one day it's too 
late, and you've lived your life waiting for something that's never going to 
come." 
 
"Or," Doggett said, "you get a second chance." He tossed his menu aside. "We're 
going to miss our movie if we stay here. Do you want to just eat after?" 
 
"Yes," Scully said, and followed suit.
*~*~*~*~
 
Jessup had one movie theater: two screens on either side of the lobbey. Their 
choices tonight were between an animated kids' movie, or a romantic comedy 
that promised plenty of ribald fun and two leads that looked as young and eager 
as puppies. "It's too much to hope that there's a charming revival house tucked 
away somewhere," Scully remarked as she studied the posters with a critical eye. 
 
"Playing 'Cinema Paradiso', of course, in this perfect world." He rubbed the back 
of her neck. "Nope. Sorry." 
 
She sighed. "Maybe we should just rent something and go home." 
 
"Yeah. I'm sorry this celebration isn't it turning out to be very celebratory." 
 
"Well, it's probably too soon to celebrate anyway. We should probably wait to 
see if I get the job first." 
 
"You're going to get the job," Doggett said, and she smiled at him and hugged 
him around the waist. 
 
"Thanks." 
 
"Anytime, sweet girl. So, should we hit the video store and the pizza place and 
head for home?" 
 
"No peppers," she said. "I might want to kiss you later." 
 
He kissed her quickly and touched the tip of her chin. "No point in waiting," he 
said, and she grinned and kissed him back.
*~*~*~*~
 
She liked to be on top. It was easier for her to kiss him and for her to come, both 
good things as far as Doggett was concerned. 
 
The movie played on unnoticed in the background and the pizza was half-eaten 
on the kitchen table, their clothes were scattered on the floor and Scully's legs 
were wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck. The kitchen chair 
creaked in time to their movements, its legs thumping against the linoleum floor. 
 
As much as he liked the kissing and licking that came before, and the touching 
and smiles that came afterwards, he had to admit this was his favorite part. To 
be deep inside, feeling her hot and wet and tight around him, watching rapture 
flit across her face and knowing that he was the cause, that he could give her 
such intense pleasure--it was a good day to be John Doggett. Very good indeed. 
 
Doggett cupped the back of Scully's head in his hand, their gazes locked until 
her eyes rolled back into her head and she exhaled with a shudder, her 
fingernails digging into his neck. 
 
He stroked her heaving back, still panting but willing to wait for her to recover a 
bit more before continuing. "God, I love fucking you," he muttered and she 
laughed quietly. 
 
"And who says romance is dead." 
 
"You want romance you'll have to wait until my brain's working again." 
 
She rubbed her palm against his cheek and said, "It sounds like it's snapping 
back into place." 
 
Dogett pushed his jaw against her hand, puzzling at her. "Are you saying you 
want rose petals in bed or something?" 
 
"I'm saying . . . Well, I'm not saying anything, really. Don't worry about it." 
 
"'Cause whatever you want, you know, I want to do it." 
 
Scully smiled gently, still caressing his face. "I know." 
 
He ran his hands up her ribs, wishing he knew what more to say, and then 
groaned as she rocked her pelvis and tightened her inner muscles around him. 
"Oh," he breathed. 
 
"I want to do what you want, too," she whispered, rocking again, and Doggett 
clasped her hips and set his heels against the floor. She braced her feet on the 
rungs of the chair to raise and lower her body fiercely, her fingers in his hair and 
scraping over his scalp. The muscles in her thighs jumped and trembled under 
his hands. 
 
He came with a shout and slumped in the chair, mind pleasantly blank, body 
completely lose and spent. "Like that," Scully whispered. "I like doing that. " 
 
"Mm," Doggett hummed, which was as much conversation as he could make at 
this point. 
 
Scully leaned her head against his neck with a soft sigh, and Doggett tightened 
his arms around her to keep her from slipping off his lap. The kitchen was warm 
and their bodies were warmer, sweat-slickened and pink. "You don't have nosy 
neighbors, do you?" she whispered. 
 
"Nope--and no one can see in here unless they're smack against the windows." 
 
"We probably ought to stop doing it like this." 
 
"I don't know . . . I don't mind dropping everything for a good go." 
 
"Even dinner?" She lifted her head to smile at him and kiss his cheek. 
 
"Especially dinner. Which you still need to eat, pretty girl." 
 
"I had a slice," she protested, which was true--and then she'd gotten down on her 
knees and sucked him until he thought his brain would escape his body through 
his penis. Dinner went pretty much forgotten after that. 
 
"You need a bit more," Doggett said, wiping up drops of sweat from her collar 
bones with his fingertips. "Just a little bit so you don't wake me up with your 
stomach growling again." 
 
"Just that one time," she protested, laughing, but still lifted herself off him and 
carefully removed the used condom. She tied it off and dropped it in the 
garbage, and picked up his tee shirt and slipped it over her head. It covered her 
down to her thighs -- not decent by any means, but covered. She tossed him his 
undershorts and jeans, which he caught and pulled on with a grin, then grabbed 
her around the waist and kissed her deeply. Startled, she pulled back for a 
moment then wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. 
 
"Tomorrow William will be at school," he said quietly. "If we wanted to go 
riding it would be a perfect time." 
 
She shook her head. "No. If you want to go, go. But I really don't think I could 
face them again." 
 
"Honey--" 
 
"Please stop asking me, John." She stepped out of his arms and grabbed another 
slice of pizza, biting into it resolutely. The conversation is over, her body said 
clearly. Don't bring it up again. 
 
Doggett sighed and picked up another slice himself. Scully curled herself into 
one of the other kitchen chairs. Doggett reached over and wiped a drop of 
tomato sauce from the side of her mouth. Her eyes flicked up to his face, and she 
set the slice down and pulled him to her, leaning her forehead against his 
stomach. She exhaled, and he felt the tension leave her body as he rubbed her 
shoulders and stroked her hair. 
 
"I want time," she whispered without looking up. "That's what I want. More 
time." 

In the end Doggett capitulated: Ranger needed riding, and Doggett would go by 
himself. When Scully had recovered from her embaressment over the fainting 
spell she'd come along, but neither of them mentioned how long that might take. 
 
"Be good," she said to him when she kissed him goodbye. 
 
"Be safe," he answered and touched her cheek. "Sweetheart," he added, to try it 
out, and for that he got another kiss. 
 
He thought about this, and many related things, as he drove out to the ranch. He 
stopped at the house long enough to say hello to Sara, and saddled up Ranger, 
who was glad to see him, nuzzling him continually for sugar cubes or carrots. 
"Later, later," Doggett murmured, "later, that's a good boy." 
 
Scully had liked the cowboy hat when he put it on at the house. Doggett pulled it 
low over his ears -- the snow had stopped but it was still cold -- wrapped a 
muffler around his neck, pulled on a pair of gloves and urged Ranger out of the 
barn and away from the house. 
 
This--this was better than driving fast or flying low over trees, no matter how 
small the airplane or powerful the car. The sheer might of his stallion, the sound 
of hooves pounding against the snowy ground, Ranger's heart beating beneath 
his hands--it was freedom, more pure than anything he'd ever known. 
 
He let Ranger have his head and the horse took him into the hills that ringed the 
Rocking V, not stopping until they'd reached the crest. Here Doggett stopped 
Ranger's gallop, directing him to walk along the trail through the leafless trees. 
 
The air was still, the forest silent. Below he could see rows of trees, the apples 
and peaches that Sara and Jeff grew, and beyond that fields where their sheep 
fed in the summer. They were still growing back their wool from the last 
shearing season and were now kept in long barns a distance from the house. 
 
It was an idyllic place to grow up, Doggett thought. William was lucky: he was 
both loved without question and learning the satisfaction of hard work and 
making things grow. Doggett knew this life well: rising at dawn, working until 
your body ached, playing just as hard because the chance would not soon come 
again. 
 
When he left the east coast he had thought about buying a few acres and giving 
farming a try, but realized quickly he'd been away from the land too long. His 
feet were accustomed to concrete, not earth. His house had a little garden, a few 
apple trees, and he had to be content with that. 
 
Part of his decision, too, was knowing it was too late in life to start over in such 
a way, particularly with no one to pass the land onto. 
 
He sighed, leaning on the pommel of his saddle. Monica, at first, had been 
willing to start a family with him. As their relationship frayed she'd brought up 
the subject less and less; and it was, he knew, a major cause of their breakup. 
 
She deserved someone who would love her fully, Doggett thought, and 
ferverently hoped she had found that someone since they parted. 
 
He had long thought he didn't want another child--but now, as he watched the 
white, peaceful valley, he wondered if Scully did. 
 
He slid from Ranger's back and wrapped the reins around his hand, to walk a bit 
and lead Ranger behind him. The horse nudged his shoulder with his warm nose, 
and Doggett absently patted his jaw. 
 
This is what middle age does, he thought. You think about dying, and you think 
about what you'll leave behind. Some honor in careers, a murdered child, a 
failed marriage, a relationship that had never been what it could have--and on 
some level, perhaps should have been--and this--this whatever it was with 
Scully. 
 
This love. 
 
Ranger snorted against his shoulder and Doggett leaned his head against the 
horse's neck, comforted by his warm breath. This was how Monica had felt, 
every day for a year, loving him while knowing he didn't love her back. Silently 
he apologized for causing her this pain, hoping somehow she would sense it--
that somehow she would know he'd never meant to make her sad. He'd just 
never known how to make her happy. 
 
He could not make Scully love him. He might be able to persaude her, to prove 
himself deserving and even worthwhile. But emotions were tricky things, harder 
to tame than a wild pony, with no way of predicting them. 
 
He didn't know how she felt and would not make a guess. He would do what 
most he could, which was to treat her well, and hope. 
 
He gave Ranger an affectionate rub on his nose and swung up onto his back, to 
ride back to the Rocking V. He missed Scully. It was time to go home.
*~*~*~*~
 
Scully had spent a quiet morning, looking on the internet for news about medical 
developments. She wanted to be as up-to-date as she could be when she 
interviewed with the head of the clinic, if a second interview came about. 
Doggett was confident one would, and Scully felt his faith was feeding her own. 
 
He believed in her. It was a feeling she'd forgotten, and one she hadn't realized 
she missed. 
 
Early in the afternoon someone knocked on the door, and Scully put her reading 
glasses aside and got up to answer it. It was probably Mindy, coming over to say 
hello, or maybe someone from the sheriff's department looking for Doggett. 
 
When she opened the door however, on the front porch was a little boy in a thick 
snowsuit, with a scarf wrapped around his face. "Can I help you?" Scully said. 
 
He pulled the scarf away and smiled at her. "Hi, Dana." 
 
She gripped the door frame tightly. "Hi, William," she managed to say. He stood 
there, smiling at her expectantly. "What are you doing here?" 
 
"John-Dog said you were sick. Are you better?" 
 
"Yes--but--how did you--" 
 
He walked inside, unwrapping his scarf and dropping his backpack on the floor. 
"I got on a different bus. I know the way to John-Dog's house." 
 
"You've been here before?" 
 
"With my mom and dad. Sometimes he makes us dinner. In the summer he 
barbecues and we eat outside, and the neighbors come over to tell us how good 
it smells." He sat down on the floor to pull of his snow boots. 
 
"William," Scully said, finally remembering to close the door. "John-Dog--
John's not here. He went to your house to ride Ranger." 
 
"That's okay. I'll see him later. I came to see you." 
 
Scully sat down on the floor beside him and helped him take off his snowsuit. 
Underneath he was wearing a blue sweater and light brown courdoroy pants, and 
black boots. He was tall for his age, slender and long-limbed, his red hair cut 
short and his eyes crystal-blue. He had a nose he could only grow into, and a 
wide, generous mouth that was quick to smile--and, she suspected, quick to 
frown, with a pout to melt his mother's heart. 
 
"Do your parents know you're here?" she asked quietly, her hands on his 
shoulders. 
 
His eyes darted to the side. "Yes. I told Mommy this morning." 
 
"Uh-huh," Scully said, getting to her feet. She didn't believe him, but didn't think 
she ought to call him on it now. "So what do you want to do, William, now that 
you are here?" 
 
"What were you doing?" 
 
"Reading. I used to be a doctor, and I want to be again, so I was looking things 
up to see if there was anything new I needed to learn. You don't want to watch 
me read, that would be boring." She looked down at him, wanting to run her 
hand over his hair as she had seen Sara do. "Would you like to help me cook 
dinner for John?" 
 
"Okay." He followed her into the kitchen. "What are you making?" 
 
"I don't know, exactly. We had pizza last night, and soup the night before. Do 
you think he'd like fried chicken?" 
 
"I like fried chicken." He stood up on his toes to look over the counter. 
 
She smiled at him. "Me too. Let's fry some chicken." She got a package of 
precut chicken parts out of the refrigerator. "We'll need to warm up some oil . . . 
and put some spices in some flour and a little corn meal . . . " 
 
They had chicken draining on a baking rack and were gathering ingredients for 
chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies when they heard the front door open. 
"That'll be John," Scully said in a steady voice. 
 
"Yeah," William replied, his eager expression replaced with resignation. She put 
her hand on his shoulder and gave him a comforting squeeze. 
 
In a moment Doggett was in the kitchen doorway. "William," he said in surprise. 
"Hey. What are you doing here?" 
 
"I wanted to see Dana." 
 
"I see." He took off his cowboy hat and placed it on the counter. "Does your 
mom know you're here?" 
 
William squirmed, then said quietly, "No." 
 
"Don't you think she'd be worried about you, not knowing where you are? 
You're usually home from school by now, aren't you?" 
 
Wiliam nodded, his eyes downcast. 
 
"Get your coat," Doggett said, gently but firmly. "We'll drive you home." 
 
"Okay," William said, and went into the front hall. 
 
Doggett sighed and looked at Scully for an explanation. "He just showed up," 
she said. "You don't have an address book so I couldn't call them, and I don't 
really know the way out to their ranch." 
 
"Did you ask him if he knows his phone number? He should. We do a program 
with the kindergarteners every year about safety and make sure they know 
things like their parents' names and their phone number." 
 
"I didn't ask. We were having fun," she added with an uncertain smile. 
 
"You of all people should know better, Dana." 
 
"I knew you'd be home soon. I figured we'd take of it when you got here." 
 
"He is not your child, Dana," Doggett whispered fiercely. 
 
"I know that," she whispered back just as fiercely. "We were just making 
cookies. I wasn't trying anything underhanded." 
 
Doggett pressed his lips together and slowly inhaled. "I'm going to call Sara and 
tell her we're on our way with him," he said shortly, and moved to the phone.
*~*~*~*~
 
Sara was both overjoyed to see William and furious with him, and he got the 
mother-bear hug/"Don't you ever do that again!" combination that Doggett knew 
he would. 
 
"Thank you so much for watching over him," Sara said to Scully when William 
had escaped to his room upstairs. "He will wander off sometimes, even though 
we tell him over and over it's not safe. It's like he doesn't believe us." 
 
"He's a delight," Scully said quietly. "We were having a good time." 
 
"He is a good boy at heart," Sara said. "He's just--willful." 
 
They left with repeated invitations to come over any time, and drove back to 
Jessup in silence. Doggett found he hadn't a thing to say and Scully was never 
one for chitchat, anyway. 
 
Back at his house she picked up the pieces of fried chicken and said, "I don't 
know if these are edible anymore." 
 
"They look fine. They smell good." 
 
"Thanks," she murmured and placed them on a plate. Doggett got out plates and 
cups to set the table, but set them down again at the quiet sob that he heard 
behind him. He went to Scully and touched her shoulder but she refused to turn 
towards him. 
 
"You're angry with me," she accused him. 
 
"A little," he admitted. 
 
"I didn't mean him any harm, John! He came here and he was so sweet and I mi-
-I just wanted to see what he's like." 
 
Doggett sighed and folded his arms over his chest, but before he could speak 
Scully interjected, "I know what you are going to say, and maybe you're right, 
maybe it all is just coincidence. But he's got Mulder's mouth and Mulder's nose 
and my eyes and my hair, and I bet he's a got a birthmark on his back, just below 
his left shoulderblade. I used to kiss it when I was giving him his bath." 
 
"Dana," Doggett said. The tears in her eyes were too much: he put his arms 
around her and pulled her close. 
 
"I know I'll never be more than your friend to him," she whispered. "But he'll 
never stop being my child." 
 
"Dana, I know you want it to be true, but--" 
 
"I have never in my life let what I wanted to believe be what convinced me. He 
has Mulder's body, Mulder's features, and there's no one else he could be unless 
Mulder had another son he never told me about." 
 
Doggett had a very unkind thought towards Mulder, but said only, "All right. All 
right. What if he is? What are you going to do about it?" 
 
Scully wiped her eyes and said, "Nothing. There's nothing I can do. I'm going to 
hope he wants to see me sometimes and--and that will have to be it. Every few 
weeks won't be so bad, will it?" 
 
"I don't know," Doggett said, cupping the back of her head in his hand. He drew 
her to him and kisssed her forehead. She gave a little nod and wrapped her arms 
around his chest, laying her cheek against his shirt. 
 
"If I can just see him--see that he's happy--help him, if I can--that will be okay, 
won't it?" 
 
"I don't know, honey," Doggett said honestly, but kissed her again and smiled 
when she smiled. He could not imagine how he'd explain this to Jeff and Sara. 

January became February, still bitterly cold and constantly snowy. Across the 
country the groundhog saw his shadow, but no one in Jessup needed a rodent to 
tell them they should expect six more weeks of winter. The last few years had 
been long and harsh like this, and when the cranes from Canada had flown south 
the previous fall they flew high and fast. 
 
Every working day Doggett left early and returned home late, glad for home 
cooking and a bit of conversation before bedtime. He often fell asleep with his 
head in Scully's lap, whether she was reading or watching TV or trying her hand 
at sewing. She liked that too, petting his head like a sleepy cat. 
 
Scully liked his warm, strong body next to hers, and the way the lines smoothed 
from his face when he slept. She liked the touch of gray in the hair at his 
temples, and the way his beard felt when he rubbed it against her neck. She liked 
his gravelly chuckle and how he would run his hand through her hair. 
 
She liked making love to him on weekend mornings, lazily, slowly, taking their 
time to reach their pleasure. She liked making love to him at night, laughing as 
they undressed and kissed, watching each other with the lights down low. She 
liked falling asleep on top of him, his heartbeat her lullaby. 
 
It occured to her that this was a love affair, that they were lovers in every way 
except the word itself. She didn't know if she loved him or not--she did know 
she liked him, needed him, wanted him in ways she'd thought she'd lost. 
 
"I thought I was dead inside," she whispered to him once while he slept. "You 
brought me back to life." 
 
But she could not say such things out loud to him. She could--and did--tease 
him, talk to him about his work and whatever issues interested them, but she 
couldn't put into words what was in her heart.
*~*~*~*~
 
The second interview at the clinic went well, and Scully was relieved that she 
was asked few questions about the five-year gap in her resume. "My late 
husband and I were travelling," she said, which was close enough to the truth. 
 
"Should I be worried about how easily this is going?" she asked Doggett later. 
"You'd think that somewhere it would come up that Dana Scully, M.D., no 
longer exists." 
 
"Your degree is real," Doggett said. "Your knowledge and your training are real. 
I doubt it's occured to any of them to see if you're dead, since you're right there 
in front of them." 
 
"Thanks," she said quietly, taking her hand out of her pocket long enough to 
touch his hand. 
 
They had gone for a walk after dinner. Their boots crunched on the frozen snow 
on the sidewalk, and Scully felt Doggett's gloved hand hovering near her elbow 
more than once to protect her in case she slipped on the ice. 
 
She exhaled a breath of frozen air. "When we were kids my father was stationed 
in Maine for a while, and we used to play at blowing smoke rings when it got 
cold like this," she said, and gave it a try now. Nothing: her mouth had cooled 
down too much for her breath to freeze again. 
 
"You know, I think that's the first thing you've ever told me about your 
childhood," Doggett said. 
 
"Is it? That can't be right. Have I told you about the braces?" 
 
"No." 
 
"My sister?" 
 
"No." 
 
"Stealing my mother's cigarettes?" 
 
He raised his eybrows at her. "Definately not. Okay: you did tell me about your 
brother being a country music fan, which is how you know a little about rodeo. 
Other than that, you play your cards close to the vest." 
 
"Stealing cigarettes was my thirteen-year-old act of rebellion. That's pretty much 
all there is to it. I smoked a little in med school, mainly to keep myself awake, 
and sometimes afterwards when I needed to relax." 
 
"Or when you felt rebellious?" 
 
"No," she said, then reconsidered. "Yes. Sometimes. Well, when the man who is 
out to either ruin your life or run it is defined by his tobacco habit it's hard to 
want to smoke." 
 
"I quit smoking when my wife got pregnant with Luke," Doggett said. "The 
studies were just starting to come out about second-hand smoke and she was 
convinced if I continued smoking we'd have a deformed child." 
 
Scully paused, studying his sharp profile. "Why do you do that?" 
 
"Do what?" 
 
"You always call her 'my wife'. You never say her name." 
 
Doggett looked at her a moment. "Barbara. Her name is Barbara." 
 
"I know, I met her once, remember?" 
 
"Yeah." 
 
"But you still never call her by name. You haven't been married to her for ten 
years and you still call her 'my wife'." 
 
"We were married a long time. It's a hard habit to break." 
 
"And if you ever get married again?" 
 
"Then she'll become 'my wife', I guess. And Barbara will become 'my first 
wife.'" 
 
"'My first wife'," Scully murmured and sighed. Daniel, Mulder, now Doggett--
why couldn't she ever fall for a man who hadn't been deeply in love before? 
Why couldn't she be the first love of someone's life? 
 
"There's no shame in being a second wife," Doggett said comfortingly. 
 
"There's a reason they tend to be called trophy wives, you know." 
 
"I know, but sometimes you have to screw up a marriage to get it right the next 
time. I know things better now than I did at twenty-one." 
 
"You were twenty-one? You *were* just kids." 
 
"Yeah. She was nineteen. We knew nothing about what it really takes to make a 
marriage. But I've told you about that before." 
 
"Yes," Scully murmured, and wondered if she'd truly learned those lessons 
herself yet. He seemed to have it down: the patience, the support, the being in 
love even when you weren't feeling very loving. He was, she thought, better at it 
than she could ever be. 
 
She stopped walking, two houses away from their destination, and said, "John. 
Be honest. Do you want to marry me?" 
 
He stopped walking too and didn't answer for a moment, just looked at her with 
his hands in his pockets. 
 
"Because," she said, because she had to say it, "there are a lot of things about me 
that you don't know." 
 
"Like your rebellious streak." 
 
"Besides that. Important things that I haven't told anybody about. And I'm afraid 
that you'll stop wanting me if I'm completely honest with you--but you 
definately will if I'm not." 
 
He tilted his head to one side a moment, still puzzling at her. "Dana," he said 
quietly, "I wonder sometimes if you've ever loved somebody who really 
deserved you." 
 
"What are you talking about?" 
 
"I'm talking about you and this expectation you have of being tossed out on your 
ass if you upset me. You're not, just for the record." 
 
"Oh," she murmured. 
 
"I'd be lying if I said I had never thought about marrying you. I've thought about 
it a lot--when we first met, in fact, if I thought you'd have me I would have 
proposed in a heartbeat." 
 
"And all that's changed now," Scully whispered painfully. 
 
"No," Doggett said, taking her face in his hands and giving her a sweet kiss. 
"God, no. I just don't want to ask until I know you'll say yes." 
 
"Oh," Scully murmured again, focusing somewhere in the center of his chest. 
 
"If I asked you now, what would you say?" His gloved thumbs caressed her 
cheekbones. 
 
Scully looked into his eyes--friendly, warm; looking at her, she knew, with more 
than just desire--and spoke the truth. "I don't know." 
 
He looked faintly disappointed, but nodded and kissed her again. His hands 
dropped from her face and he started up the sidewalk. "Let's go home," he said. 
"I'm freezing." 
 
"It's not because I don't trust you. I do trust you." 
 
"It's cold, Dana." 
 
"I'm just not ready," she said, and he paused a few steps away from her and 
lowered his head a moment. 
 
"I know. And I hope someday you will be. " He held out his hand to her. She 
placed it in his and leaned her head against his arm as they walked home.
*~*~*~*~
 
On Valentine's Day Doggett woke her with kisses and a bouquet of red and 
yellow tulips. He didn't have the day off, but whispered to her, "I want to take 
you out tonight. Someplace nice, someplace special. Will you like that?" 
 
"I'll love that." 
 
She had her own surprise prepared for him, something she hadn't done for a 
lover for years: just a scrap of velvet with roses burnt out of the nap, that was 
low at the neck and high at the thighs, a deep red like the heart of a ruby. She 
had bought a demure, long-sleeved dress of the same color and fabric to wear 
over it, hoping to surprise Doggett when he unzipped it to find the little lingerie 
beneath. 
 
But that was for later--for now he left her with kisses full of promise and tulips 
scattered over the bed. Scully wanted to loll in the warm sheets all day, 
daydreaming of his return, but instead got up, bathed, dressed, ate a quick 
breakfast and started her daily research. 
 
The clinic was taking its time deciding whether to hire her. She got periodic 
phone calls from the director, who was a friend of Doggett's and wanted to keep 
them updated on the process; and he told her all her credentials checked out, it 
was mostly a question of budget. "We want you," he told her. "We're just not 
sure we can afford you." 
 
While she waited, she researched--not just medicine but anything unexplained. It 
seemed to 
her the general level of weirdness hadn't fallen in the world, though less and less 
could be blamed on conspiratorial interference. "The end is near!" was not the 
cry of just the insane and paranoid anymore. 
 
Scully smiled wryly at herself, wondering which camp she fell into, and turned 
off the computer. 
 
She read for a while, then in the afternoon went out to the mailbox. A bill or 
two, an offer to subscribe to a magazine, and a large envelope with "Dana, John 
Doggett's house" written on it in crooked letters. There was no stamp: it must 
have been dropped off by hand. 
 
Scully smiled and sat down on the porch steps to open the envelope. Inside was 
a valentine, made of red and pink construction paper cut into lopsided hearts, 
pasted with glitter and paper doilies, crayoned purple and pink. Written on the 
valentine, in the same crooked letters as on the envelope, was "Dear Dana, Hapy 
Valtines Day, Love William." 

Driving. 
 
Doggett liked driving. He liked his truck: the power of its engine rumbling 
beneath his feet, the warm purr as it came to life, the whirr of the tires along a 
well-worn highway. 
 
There had been times while he was in the Marines when he'd driven over 
stretches of the desert, and the sheer size of it had amazed him. Miles and miles 
of sand, only a hard-packed road to guide him, a sudden mountain of bare rock 
or a ruined, abandonded village only a rare landmark--he loved it. He'd wished 
he could drive it forever, just himself and the desert. 
 
He'd missed driving when he lived in New York: he took the train into the city 
from Long Island so Barbara could have the car. Riding on a train just was not 
the same: someone else was in control, and no trains' wheels sounded quite right 
as they ran along the track. 
 
But living out here--where cities were hours apart, separated by long stretches of 
country empty except for cattle and sheep--a body could just drive for hours and 
not see another human face. 
 
Doggett glanced at Scully, who had fallen asleep as soon as the truck pulled out 
of the driveway. All right, he could live with seeing this particular human face. 
His favorite face, in fact. 
 
The highway was empty, so Doggett decided it was safe enough to lean over and 
give her a quick kiss. He loved watching her sleep as much as he loved driving, 
which, he knew, was a ridiculous way to feel--but love is supposed to make you 
ridiculous. Ridiculous, immature, uncertain, passionate, over-emotive and, 
strangely enough, hungry. Yes, he was also eating a lot more than usual, mainly 
to encourage her to get some flesh on her bones. But, considering how often 
they ended up having sex in the kitchen, he thought it was fair to say there was 
something sensual about food, about preparing food for each other and eating 
together. 
 
Of course, Scully could make eating an apple into the sexiest thing he'd ever 
seen--particularly if she was eating an apple while wearing nothing more than 
one of his dress shirts and a mischeivious look. 
 
Preferably a blue dress shirt, though the white ones were nice, too. 
 
Doggett fiddled with the radio, not turning up the volume because he wanted to 
let Scully sleep, but trying to find a radio station that was not a note or two of 
music between bursts of static, or all talk-radio. He'd had enough of that, too. 
There were days when he wanted to call up every one of these yahoos, sitting 
smugly in their studios, and tell them exactly what was going on in the country 
they claimed to love and understand. You think you're safe? he wanted to say. 
You think you're in charge? Think again, smart guy, because I'm about to blow 
your fuckin' mind. 
 
He never did, of course. It was something Mulder might do, but not John 
Doggett. Let them figure it out on their own--he was completely uniterested in 
interfering any longer. 
 
He wanted, at this moment, exactly three things: one, to give Scully a good 
birthday; two, to have some fun with her in the snow, hopefully involving skiing 
a bit; and three, to make love to her like she'd never been made love to before. It 
was one more thing he adored about her: she appreciated a night of passion. 
 
He twirled the dial some more, skipping past the latest celebrity trial (Guilty as 
sin, Doggett thought), local weather (snow, more snow, and some more snow 
after that), and finally settling on a station playing Johnny Cash. 
 
"'Because you're mine, I walk the line,'" he sang softly, and reached over to 
brush some curls out of Scully's face. 
 
He would not describe himself as a happy person, generally, but he had felt 
insanely happy lately. If Valentine's Day had proved anything to him, it was that 
Scully was willing to take their relationship seriously. She was willing to make 
an effort, to make the day special for him, to go out of her way to satisfy him. 
 
All right, it was only sex--but it was good sex. Passionate, lengthy, noisy sex 
with the lights on, starting just with the way Scully ate her strawberries at the 
restaurant, ending in the bedroom, and in between involving handcuffs, whipped 
cream, feathers, a bottle of red wine and Scully in a little nothing of a 
nightgown. The kind of sex that might make a guy embaressed to look his 
beloved in the face the next day--but Scully was far too practical for that sort of 
thing, just kissing him in the morning and whispering, "Mm . . . we've got to do 
that again sometime." 
 
This might be called being pussy-whipped, he thought, but then Scully woke up 
enough to move her head to his shoulder and he put his arm around her to hold 
her steady. He didn't mind belonging to somebody, for as long as she wanted to 
own him. 
 
"What time is it?" she murmured. 
 
"Almost nine." 
 
"Mm." She stretched: her arms above her head, her head rotating on her neck 
until it popped, her feet against the truck cab's floor. "When will we get there?" 
 
"About noon." 
 
"Mm," she said and fell asleep again, as suddenly and completely as a kitten. 
 
Doggett grinned, kissed her hair, and kept on driving.
*~*~*~*~
 
The resort Doggett had chosen was made up of a main lodge and several small 
cabins, nestled at the foot of the ski slopes. Doggett had reserved a cabin: they 
could eat at the lodge or cook for themselves, and so had brought a few 
groceries with them, including Scully's birthday cake in a pink box tied with 
string. 
 
The view from the cabin was of the neighboring mountains: bare rocks and 
snow-covered evergreen trees below and pristine snow above. When they had 
put their bags and food away Scully stood for a few moments on the back porch, 
leaning on the railing. She'd taken off her coat to unpack, so Doggett brought it 
out to her and draped it over her shoulders. 
 
"Thanks," she murmured, putting her arms around his waist and kissing his 
cheek. "Look at this. It's so beautiful." 
 
"Yeah." He kissed her hair and rocked her in his arms a moment. 
 
"How does this happen?" she said, her eyes distant. "Six weeks ago I thought I 
would never have a real friend again. I couldn't trust anyone enough to really 
relax around them, and I couldn't tell anyone the truth about me or what had 
happened to us." She looked into his eyes and smiled. "Yet here we are." 
 
"Here we are," he echoed and kissed her again. 
 
"No one's made this much fuss over my birthday for years. God only knows 
what I'll have to pull off for yours." 
 
He laughed. "Wear that red thing again and I'll be happy." 
 
Scully laughed too, hugging him close. "I'm glad you liked that." 
 
"I liked it lots, babe." He rested his chin on the top of her head and she sighed 
quietly, closing her eyes. "Do you want to try the slopes today?" 
 
"Could that wait until tomorrow? I would rather be lazy today." 
 
"Sure. Let's go inside, then. it's freezing out here."
*~*~*~*~
 
Beds, fireplaces, bathtubs, kitchen tables. Beds were a given--anybody could 
have sex in a bed. Bathtubs were a bit odder, but Doggett's tub at home was a 
deep, high-sided monstrosity with claw feet that could hold a quartet or so of 
very friendly people. It was not a bad place for two to splash about a bit. 
 
The kitchen table he could only explain to himself as the beginnings of a food 
fetish -- or maybe because it was the place where they'd begun to reconnect with 
each other, if he chose to think about it that deeply. 
 
But he'd never thought to eroticize a fireplace. He'd thought making love in front 
of a roaring fire was a cliche right out of cheesey romance novels or cheesier 
porn, something people did because they'd been told it was romantic, not 
because it actually was. 
 
However, as he and Scully lay panting on a wool blanket in front of the cabin's 
river rock hearth, he thought, Okay, I was wrong. This is pretty good. 
 
He sat up slowly, muscles aching with activity, and Scully's hand lazily rubbed 
over his back. "Gettin' too old for this," he muttered and she laughed. 
 
"Never." 
 
He smiled at her over his shoulder and said, "Where's the weirdest place you've 
ever had sex?" 
 
"Ever?" 
 
"Ever." 
 
She thought about it for a moment, then shrugged, sitting up just enough to pull 
another blanket over herself. "Just the back seat of a car, I think. I've mostly 
been involved with men who liked beds. What about you?" 
 
"A hammock," Doggett said, lying down again and stealing most of the blanket 
so she'd move closer to him -- which she did, grinning because she knew his evil 
plan. 
 
"Sounds nightmarish for your back." 
 
"No, that wasn't so bad. The main problem was balance." 
 
She started giggling, and he grinned. He couldn't remember her giggling before. 
It was not a sweet, bell-like sound -- it was more of a guffaw, but he liked it. It 
sounded genuine, like a belly laugh. "I can just imagine," she gasped. "'Hold on, 
honey, or you'll go straight into the azaleas--'" She hiccuped and laughed even 
harder. 
 
"Somebody's had a little too much wine," he said, picking up the bottle and 
checking the level of liquid remaining. 
 
"Somebody only weighs a hundred and seven pounds and hasn't had lunch," she 
answered, laying her head comfortably on his chest. "Your little plan of getting 
me drunk and seducing me worked perfectly." 
 
"Yep, I only want one thing from you." 
 
"Cad." She yawned and kissed his nipple. 
 
"Yep." 
 
"Rake." Kiss. "Roue." Kiss. "Libertine." Kiss, kiss, kiss. 
 
"Yep, yep, yep." 
 
"If you get me in trouble you'll have to marry me." Her tongue swooped over his 
navel. 
 
"Whatever it takes." He folded his free arm behind his head and thrust his other 
hand into her hair to rub her scalp. "Hey. Seriously. Do you ever--think about, at 
least--having another child?" 
 
Scully stopped her kisses and rested her cheek on his ribs, then lifted her head, 
her expression no longer playful. "I'm not sure I could, even if I wanted to," she 
said quietly and blew a lock of hair out of her eyes. 
 
Doggett smoothed it back behind her ear. "I'm guessing you rather be safe than 
sorry." 
 
"Yeah." She laid down her head again. "The past five years haven't been a good 
atmosphere for a child. There were times I wasn't sure how I would eat myself--
if I'd had another mouth to worry about--" She sighed, squeezing her eyes shut. 
 
"And now?" Doggett said in a low voice. 
 
"Now? Everything's different now." 
 
She didn't elaborate, however, and Doggett went on massaging her scalp in 
silence broken only by the crackling of the fire and distant sounds from the ski 
slopes. 
 
"And you?" she whispered finally. "I'm actually surprised you haven't had a 
family again." 
 
"Surprised? Why?" 
 
"Some men need to be fathers. You're one of them. You've got . . ." She raised 
her head, her expression wistful and little puzzled. "You've got a generous 
heart," she said finally, touching his breast bone. 
 
"Thanks," Doggett murmured. She smiled, pink rising in her cheeks, and laid 
down her head again. 
 
"I've wanted to," he confessed after a few moments more. She stirred but didn't 
answer. "But it had to be right, and--well, the situation hasn't been right. Of 
course, if I get you in trouble," he added in a more teasing tone, but Scully didn't 
pick up the thread. A quick peek at her face confirmed she'd fallen asleep; he 
eased out from beneath her and went into the bathroom to get rid of the used 
condom and wash up a little. 
 
When he came back Scully had curled herself into a ball, the blanket twined 
around her. Doggett knelt, worked his arms beneath her, lifted and carried her 
the few steps to the bed. He laid her down and pulled up the covers, and stood 
for a moment, stroking her hair. She relaxed a little, not frowning in her sleep as 
she tended to do, and when Doggett was assured her dreams were peaceful he 
went back into the bathroom to shower and dress. He wanted to get in some 
hiking before the sun went down. He wanted some time to think. 

Skis were heavier than Scully had expected, the boots more clompy and 
awkward. She felt more than a little silly standing here with the kids at the 
bunny slopes, but Doggett was completely unself-conscious as he showed her 
how to stop. 
 
"There you go, you've got it. Just bring 'em together in a V. You've just learned 
the most important part of skiing." 
 
"Other than how not to fall down," Scully said between gasps. The altitude and 
the activity was making her light-headed. 
 
"I prefer to think of it as how to stay upright," Doggett said lightly. This was his 
element, she could tell just from his tone--he was a doer, a man of action, far 
more than one to sit and contemplate. 
 
Scully, however, thought she'd much rather sit in one of the deck chairs arranged 
beyond the ski lift with a cup of hot cocoa, and watch the snowboarders do 
tricks in the half-pipe. Her knees already ached from keeping them bent, and her 
ass was sore, cold and damp from falling. 
 
Doggett was enjoying her lack of enjoyment far too much, really, grinning at her 
like she was the cutest thing he'd ever seen while she huffed and stumbled. 
"Keep your knees bent," he reminded her. "Lean over the skis. There you go, 
that's right." 
 
"I feel silly." 
 
"You're not any sillier than the rest of us." 
 
"Thank you," she muttered. "That's very comforting." 
 
"Do you think you'd prefer cross-country to downhill? I think downhill's easier 
to learn, myself, but you might feel more at ease with cross-country." 
 
"No, I think I would feel pretty silly with all of it." 
 
Doggett sighed, and with a quick moment of his feet that Scully envied had the 
skis off. He bent to pick them up. "Come on. Let's go back to the cabin." 
 
"John, I don't want to spoil your fun. You enjoy this, why don't you go ahead." 
 
"I do enjoy it, but I would rather be with you." 
 
Goddamn him, Scully thought, but didn't mean it at all. She exhaled and gripped 
her ski poles. "All right. I'll stop complaining. Put your skis back on." 
 
He smiled at her, dropped his skis and stepped back into the bindings, closing 
them with a snap. "You'll love it, once you get the hang of it," he promised, and 
leaned close to give her a good-luck kiss. 
 
"Maybe," Scully murmured in response, but suddenly the prospect seemed far 
more likely.
*~*~*~*~
 
By the time they stopped for lunch Scully had braved a few runs down the 
beginner's slope, and Doggett said she ought to try one of the higher runs after 
they'd eaten. 
 
"I'm not sure my butt can handle it," she said, rubbing a glute that was decidedly 
numb. 
 
"A hot bath will help with that." They were in line to return her rented skis, 
shuffling forward a few feet every few mintues. 
 
"And do you really think you'll be able to get me back on the slopes after a hot 
bath? I think different." 
 
He grabbed her around the waist and planted a kiss on her mouth, bending her 
back over his arm enough for her to have to grab his shoulders for balance. She 
blinked at him with confusion and arousal when he lifted his mouth. "I'll take 
you any way I can get you, babe," he murmured and brought her upright. 
 
"You're in an interesting mood," she said with a shakey laugh, blushing. There 
were other skiers all around--why would he kiss her here, like that? He was not 
the kind to shock people for the sake of shocking them. 
 
He glanced at the knot of teens who'd started to whistle at them, and shrugged 
with a lazy grin. "Happy birthday," he said simply. 
 
"It's tomorrow," she murmured, wanting very much to hide her face in his coat. 
 
"Happy birthday!" chirped the woman standing behind them--a snow bunny of 
undetermined years, anywhere between thirty-five and sixty. The frosted 
eyeshadow on her face matched the frosted streaks in her hair. She was wearing 
hot pink ski gear and far too much jewelry for such a physical activity. The man 
beside her--her husband, presumably--had matching teal gear and a slightly 
envious expression. "What a sweet thing for your husband to do, taking you 
skiing for your birthday!" 
 
"Yes," Scully murmured. "Sweet." 
 
"I think we should sing," the woman announced. "Everybody! It's this lady's 
birthday! We should sing!" 
 
"Oh, God, no," Scully began and silently beseeched Doggett to put a stop to this. 
He was still just grinning at her, though, and took her hand and gave it a 
squeeze. 
 
"Petra, quit it," the husband in teal said. "Look at her, you're clearly embaressing 
her." 
 
"Pish, Dalton. No one should be embaressed by their birthday. What's your 
wife's name?" the woman demanded of Doggett. "We should say her name." 
 
"It's Dana," Doggett said softly. "Her name is Dana." 
 
"Please don't," Scully said, but the woman had already begun in a voice that 
carried above the conversation and laughter among the other skiers. 
 
"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!" A few more people joined in 
with each note until it seemed to Scully that the entire line was singing. "Happy 
birthday, dear Dana! Happy birthday to you!" 
 
Now she did hide her face in Doggett's coat and repeated, "It's tomorrow," even 
though she knew no one heard or cared. 
 
"She says thanks," Doggett said, getting laughter, and he rubbed her back 
comfortingly. "Shh, honey, it's over." 
 
"I'm so embaressed." 
 
"You're just not used to people noticing you." 
 
"Oh, don't hide that pretty face," Petra in Pink said. "Are you staying in the 
lodge? They do a lovely birthday celebration in the dining room -- sparklers in a 
piece of chocolate cake, and the waiters sing." 
 
"Leave the poor woman alone," said Dalton in a tone that was used to being 
ignored. 
 
"We're staying in a cabin, but thanks. I'll keep that in mind." 
 
Scully grabbed Doggett's face and pulled him close enough to whisper in his ear, 
"No sparklers. No singing waiters." 
 
In answer he grinned again, infuriatingly, and kissed the tip of her nose.
*~*~*~*~
 
Scully soaked in a tub full of hot water until her fingers and toes were pruned 
and Doggett gave up waiting for her. "Be good," he said as he headed out to the 
slopes again. 
 
"Be safe," she answered, sleepy in her bathrobe and with a thick history from 
Doggett's collection for company. She realized, as the door clicked shut behind 
him, that they'd begun a ritual with this little goodbye, and smiled as she 
snuggled down into the armchair by the fireplace. 
 
She dozed off in the armchair, the book open in her lap. She dreamed about 
being cold, cold down her bones, so cold she thought she would never get warm 
again; and of Mulder's face, drained completely of color, his lips blue. As she 
held him, her tears freezing on her face, his eyes opened and he whispered, 
"You've forgotten me." 
 
"No," she said out loud, and woke up to find herself on her knees in front of the 
chair, panting. She pushed the book away and rubbed her hands over her face, 
willing herself to calm down. 
 
She'd forgotten nothing--certainly she hadn't stopped loving Mulder--it was just 
*time*-- 
 
Tears burned in her eyes and she rocked on her knees, casting her eyes upwards. 
"God," she whispered. "God." She wanted to pray but the words wouldn't come. 
She groped at her neck for her cross, remembering after a moment that she'd 
placed it in Mulder's hand before the coffin lid was closed. 
 
The light in the cabin was deep orange and gold, late afternoon colors. Scully 
got to her feet and walked shakily to the kitchenette, to pour herself a glass of 
water. She rolled the cold glass over her face. 
 
The door of the cabin opened and Doggett walked in, ruddy from his afternoon 
in the snow. "Hey," he said cheerfully, then noticed her expression. "What's 
wrong?" He set his skis aside and came to her, wrapping his arms around her. 
"What's the matter?" he asked with a kiss. "You're shaking." 
 
"Bad dream." She rested her head against his chest. "Just a bad dream." 
 
"Do you want to tell me about it?" 
 
She thought about it a moment, unsure of what he would say. "No." 
 
"Okay, honey." He kissed her again. "C'mon, let's lie down." He drew her to the 
bed and pulled back the covers, helped her lie down and tucked her in. 
 
She watched him undress: stripping of his thick coat, his sweater, the three 
layers of t-shirts and finally a thermal undershirt; then the heavy boots, thick 
socks, nylon ski pants, and more thermal underwear. Nude, he crawled into bed 
beside her and Scully undid the bathrobe and tossed it aside so she could press 
her body to his. She ran her hands over his back and laid her head in the crook 
of his neck. 
 
"Fuckin' hate bad dreams," Doggett murmured. "I had one about you once that 
about blew my mind." 
 
"What was it?" He smelled good, of an honest day's sweat and cool pine. 
 
"Do you remember, when you were pregnant, that cult leader whose entire 
following was murdered, all by an axe blow to the head?" 
 
"I remember." 
 
"There was this whole thing about opeing up the third eye . . . achieving 
enlightment through darkness . . ." 
 
"Via negativa. I've heard of that. It means the dark road, or by way of darkness." 
 
"Yeah. That. I had a dream about cutting off your head, and I knew if I did it in 
the dream you'd really die. I couldn't allow that--I had the axe in my hands--" 
 
"I remember that," she said. "I remember waking you up. That phone message 
you left frightened me--I had to make sure you were all right, and you wouldn't 
answer your phone. You thought you were going to die." 
 
"Yeah." 
 
"In your dream you realized you'd rather die than hurt me," she whispered in 
wonder. 
 
"Yeah," he said more softly. Scully sat up to look at his face. His eyes were 
distant and his expression pensive, but then his gaze met hers and he smiled. 
"Dreams. Go figure." 
 
"I was very tempted to get into that bed and just hold you for a while," she said, 
and his lips parted as if he wanted to speak. "You . . . You looked like you 
needed to be held." Feeling suddenly shy she lay down again, her head on his 
shoulder. 
 
He curled his fingers into her hair. "What do you think would have happened?" 
he said softly. "If you'd gotten into bed with me." 
 
"I don't know. Maybe nothing. Maybe we would--I don't know." 
 
He whispered, "Maybe we would have made love." 
 
"I couldn't have," she said, hating to disappoint him but needing to tell him the 
truth. "I had just come from the hospital, thinking I was going to miscarry. I 
couldn't have had sex." She had to tell him the truth about this, too: "But I might 
have wanted to." 
 
His hand cupped her face and he kissed her sweetly. "It was such a hard 
pregnancy," he said in a voice tinged with sadness. 
 
"It was." 
 
"I guess it's no surprise you don't want to go through that again." 
 
She closed her eyes. "My doctor said I might have to have complete bedrest 
throughout a second pregnancy, but it isn't impossible." 
 
"Really." 
 
"But John, I'm going to be forty-two tomorrow. It's such a bad idea for so many 
reasons, not the least of which is my age." 
 
"Okay." 
 
"And I don't even know if I could have another baby." 
 
"Okay." 
 
"According to conventional medicine, sure, maybe, but I'm hardly a 
conventional case." 
 
"I know." 
 
"There might have been just that one ovum--" 
 
"Dana. I know. It's okay." 
 
"Okay, then." 
 
"But," he said slowly, "if we stopped using the condoms--" 
 
"Oh, my God," Scully said, sitting up. "You--you really--" She didn't know what 
she felt--dismay or excitment or just complete confusion. 
 
"There's no rush," Doggett said earnestly. "I mean, you're right. We don't know 
if you can and you don't know if you want to. But if you ever do want to, so do 
I." 
 
Scully stared at him, hardly able to breathe. "You want to have a baby with me," 
she whispered. 
 
"Yes," he said with a hopeful smile. 
 
Speechless, Scully lay down at his side again, her head tucked into his neck. She 
put her hand on his chest, over where she could feel his heart beating. 
 
Suddenly forever didn't feel so abstract or impossible as she'd come to think of 
it. She knew he would love her the rest of her life and all the rest of his, however 
long that might be. A few years or decades more, he'd be with her, father to their 
children, lover and protector-- 
 
He loves me, she thought. He loves me. 
 
For reasons she couldn't name, it made her want to weep. 

In the evening they left the cabin, to eat at the lodge and have a drink or two. 
Scully was quiet, holding Doggett's hand but avoiding his eyes, and he 
wondered what he could do to restore the harmony between them. 
 
He'd said too much. It was still too soon to talk about having a future together, 
much less such serious things have having a child. God, neither of them had said 
"I love you" yet but they were already talking about marriage and babies. 
 
They had made love ferociously, until Scully's lips were swollen from kisses, 
until every time Doggett moved he winced from the scratches over his back. But 
still she turned away from him when it was time to sleep, burying her face 
further in the pillow when he touched between her shoulder blades and kissed 
the stark "William" tattooed on her back. 
 
He was not looking foward to a silent dinner, but she didn't even joke about 
singing waiters when he suggested eating in the lodge. They both showered, and 
when she was brushing out her hair afterwards he had to go to her and kiss her, 
wrapping his arms around her waist. He laid his cheek against her neck and she 
reached back to cup his face, but then silently went on brushing her hair. 
 
At their table they both sat for a while with their menus open, sending the waiter 
away twice with "Just a few more minutes, please." It was everything he had 
dreaded: she was a stranger to him again, closing herself off as if he hadn't spent 
half the afternoon inside her, making her groan with pleasure. Where she'd 
picked up this knack he couldn't imagine, and he wanted to shoot whoever had 
made it necessary for her survival. 
 
It's me, Dana, he wanted to say. It's John. Not some jerk who doesn't know you. 
It's me. 
 
"The venison's supposed to be good," Doggett said instead. 
 
"I don't think I could eat it. I've never aquired the taste for game." 
 
"You're going to hate elk season, then." 
 
She smiled without looking up. "Maybe the cutlets. The small portions might be 
edible." 
 
"Okay." 
 
"Do you know what you want?" She looked up at last. 
 
"You. Forever." 
 
Scully sighed and shut her menu, putting it aside. She crossed her arms on the 
table top and leaned on them, looking at him steadily. 
 
He said, "I can't figure out why you don't want me to. I can't understand why 
you seem to think you don't deserve me, or something--I don't understand. I 
want to understand, Dana. And I want you to understand that none of it matters. 
Not what you've done or who you've been with or whatever it is that makes you 
think I'm going to hate you. I'm not." 
 
"You say that now." 
 
"I'll say it for the rest of my life. I want you. There's nothing more to it, and 
nothing less." 
 
Scully brushed a tear from her cheek and said, "I need more time. Please, John. I 
can't make these decisons now. I wish I could." 
 
"Okay," he said quietly. "But you know you've already got me, don't you? You 
know there's not going to be anybody else for me." 
 
She nodded, her eyes bright. "I know." 
 
Their waiter approached them again, looking like he expected to be sent away 
once more. "Are you ready to order?" 
 
"I'll have the vension cutlet, medium rare," Scully said quietly. 
 
"I would like the t-bone, also medium rare," Doggett said, "and a bottle of red 
wine." 
 
"Very good, sir," the waiter said and left quickly after gathering their menus. 
 
"Going to get me drunk again?" Scully asked with a ghost of a smile. 
 
"You're a lot happier that way." 
 
She chuckled and rearranged her cutlery on the tablecloth. 
 
"I'm trying to understand, you know," he said. "After William and Mulder--and 
everything--I know it hasn't been easy." 
 
"John, please. No more. Not tonight. It's my birthday." 
 
"It's tomorrow," he said softly, but let it drop. She was right: there was no point 
in talking it over endlessly, until she was ready to say Yes or No, once and for 
all. 
 
Patience, John, he thought. 
 
Someone approached their table, and Doggett hoped it was not another overly-
friendly well-wisher wanting to bestow a birthday kiss. Scully was looking at 
the dessert menu and didn't notice the man until he said, "Nicole?" 
 
She took a deep breath as if she expected to be struck, looked at the man and 
said, "I'm sorry. You must have me mistaken for someone else." 
 
"No, honey, I would remember that mouth anywhere," he said and put his hand 
on Scully's shoulder, which forced Doggett to his feet. 
 
"She says you are mistaken," he growled. 
 
The man barely glanced at him. Though he was well-dressed and not bad-
looking, there was something about him that screamed "scumbag"--probably the 
way he was leaning on Scully and the stiff way she held herself, her eyes like 
knives and her body poised to flee. 
 
"You're looking a lot better than the last time I saw you," he said. "This guy 
taking good care of you?" 
 
"Leave me alone." 
 
"Okay, honey, okay. I won't interfere with your business. But hey--I'm here with 
some friends and they'd love to meet you. When I recognized you and told them 
about you--well, I'm sure you can imagine. The best mouth in the west doesn't 
come along every day." 
 
"Fuck off," Scully whispered, and shuddered when the man pushed his thumb 
across her lips. 
 
Doggett acted without thinking: he grabbed the man by his expensive ski togs 
and hauled him away from Scully, ready to pummel his head into the floor. "The 
lady told you to leave her alone!" 
 
"Lady! Have you ever got her wrong! She's a twenty-dollar whore--or has her 
price gone up? This place isn't it cheap." 
 
Doggett released the man's shirt and stared at Scully. "Dana," he said in 
confusion. 
 
She stood, clutching the linen napkin, and her mouth trembled. 
 
"Dana," Doggett said again, then whispered, "Dana," as she turned and ran from 
the dining room.
*~*~*~*~
 
Doggett put down the take-out boxes on the kitchenette table and took off his 
coat, hanging it in the closet. Scully's coat was thrown over the armchair, her 
shoes had been tossed onto the floor and the bathroom door was closed. She was 
still here, which put his biggest fear to rest. 
 
He rapped on the bathroom door softly with his knuckles. "Go away," said a 
tear-filled voice from inside. 
 
"I brought food. It's best eaten hot." 
 
"Go away, John! I can't stand you knowing this." 
 
He sat down on the floor and tapped his fingers on the door a moment. "Is it 
true?" 
 
"Of course it's true!" 
 
He grimaced, both at her confirmation and the hard tears that accompanied it on 
the other side of the door. He continued running his fingers back and forth over 
the wood, and he said, "So tell me about it." 
 
"Why?" 
 
"So I can understand." 
 
"You'd never understand. You've never been in that situation. You've never been 
that desperate." 
 
"No, I haven't," Doggett said. "So tell me about being that desperate. Make me 
understand." 
 
Scully didn't answer for some minutes, though he heard her blowing her nose 
and running some water. When she opened the door, finally, her face was devoid 
of makeup and her eyes were red, but her face was a blank mask. Doggett got to 
his feet and started to put his arms around her, but she moved away, going 
instead to the armchairs. She sat in one, pulling up her legs and spreading the 
skirt of her knit dress over her feet. 
 
"Sit," she said cooly. "This is not a short story." 
 
He sat in the other armchair and waited. She was in no hurry to begin, it seemed, 
studying her fingernails and breathing deeply as if to keep herself calm. 
 
She said in a voice that was both quiet and hard, "When Mulder died I wanted to 
die too. I didn't want to face every day without him. It always sounded so easy: 
just razor blades and a bathtub, or too many sleeping pills, or one pull of the 
trigger. But I couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to actually do it. 
 
"We had no money at that point, and I didn't have a job. We'd just moved to that 
town, and though I had applied at the usual places no one would hire me. I sold 
the car, I sold Mulder's things, and there still barely enough money for me to 
make rent. 
 
"I decided to leave. I thought maybe I would have better luck in the next town. I 
went out to the highway with just a duffel bag and stuck out my thumb, and 
pretty soon an eighteen-wheeler stopped to pick me up. The driver asked me 
where I was headed and I told him, 'Anywhere.' 
 
"We were in Nebraska at the time, and he was headed for Albuquerque, which 
sounded as good to me as anyplace else. We drove all day and he stopped at a 
truck stop pretty late at night. He had one of those sleeper cabs, and when we 
stopped for the night I wasn't sure what would happen. But he made it very clear 
what he expected from me in return for the ride." 
 
For the first time her eyes met his, and Doggett realized his fists were clenched 
and his teeth were grinding. He spread his fingers and willed his jaw to relax, 
and after a few more deep breaths Scully continued. 
 
"It wasn't terrible. He didn't hurt me. I thought I would cry afterwards, but really 
I just felt cold. He fell asleep as soon as he was done and I guess I could have 
left then, but I didn't. The trip was two more days and he fucked me the next 
night too. When we got to a truck stop outside of Albuquerque and parted ways, 
he asked me if I had any money. I didn't, so he gave me forty dollars and told me 
to take care of myself. 
 
"And I thought, it's better than starving to death. I had nothing left but me, and I 
thought I didn't care. I thought . . . " She sighed. "It's hard to say what I thought. 
It wasn't conscious thought, not really. But I wanted to hold onto that cold 
inside. It was better than feeling the hurt." 
 
Doggett started to rise from the chair. He wanted to bury his face in her lap--he 
wanted to twist his fists into her dress--he wanted to kiss every inch of her body 
until the memory of other men was completely gone. 
 
But she gave him a hard look and he stayed seated. She wanted no pity, he could 
see it in the proud lift of her chin and her unbending shoulders. 
 
"I worked truck stops for a while, until I had enough money for a cheap hotel 
room sometimes. I walked the streets for a couple months more, and that could 
be anything from an alleyway to the guy's apartment. I would stay until a city 
started feeling like it was closing in on me, then I would hit the highway again. 
 
"The strangest john was--" 
 
"Please don't call them johns," Doggett said quietly. 
 
"All right," she said after a moment. "The strangest-- client--was a man who 
wanted me to wear these red platform shoes and nothing else, so he could look 
at me while he jerked off. He didn't even want to touch me. He just wanted to 
look. And the only one to actually treat me like a human being was a man who'd 
just gotten out of prison and hadn't had sex with a woman for seven years. To 
most men I was just a convienent cunt, but to him I was beautiful. I hadn't felt 
beautiful since Mulder died. He was not the first man who'd wanted to kiss me, 
but he was the first one that I wanted to kiss back." 
 
She wiped her face with her fingertips, and Doggett said, "But you stopped." 
 
"I'm getting there." She wiped her face again, unbearably calm despite her tears. 
"One night I just chose the wrong man. 
 
"I was in Taos by then, and picked him up off the street. He took me back to his 
apartment, which was not unusual, but I should have seen it in his mannerisms 
that there was something wrong with him. As it was, I didn't realize it until he 
locked his door and got out the ropes and blindfold." 
 
Doggett had to unclench his hands again. Scully's eyes were fixed on some 
distant point and she said, "When he stopped hitting me to tie me up, I knew 
exactly what was coming. He was going to rape me and kill me, maybe not in 
that order. I saw it very clearly. I knew I could let him do this to me and finally 
die, or I could fight. 
 
"I fought." 
 
She was silent for several minutes, absently wiping her tears away. Doggett 
couldn't take his eyes off her, pressing his knuckles against his mouth until his 
teeth cut his lips and he tasted blood. 
 
She said, "I broke his instep and his nose, and then I threw a lamp out his 
window and started screaming for help. He was trying to grab me and put his 
hands over my mouth or get them around my neck, but I bit him and kicked him, 
still screaming out the window. The man who would later be my roommate was 
visiting a friend in that building, and they heard me screaming and came to my 
rescue. They saved my life. 
 
"He'd broken my nose, my left clavicle and two ribs. I also had some internal 
bleeding from the way he'd punched me in the kidneys. It turned out, too, that 
he'd killed five other women in the last two years the same way. So even when I 
wasn't trying I caught a serial killer." 
 
She sighed again, drying her face with her palm. "That's it. That's my illustrious 
career in prostitution. It was humiliating, degrading and everything they say that 
it is . . . But it kept me alive." 
 
She watched him watch her for several moments, then looked down at her hands 
again. "John, say something." 
 
"Is there anything more?" he said. "Is that everything?" 
 
"Isn't it enough?" 
 
He watched her for a moment more. "I need--" he began, rising from the chair, 
but he didn't know what he needed except to be alone. He grabbed his coat and 
slammed out of the cabin. 

He didn't know how long or far he walked until he noticed the sun was coming 
up, and saw he'd climbed to the top of the highest ski slope. He found a flat rock 
and threw himself onto it, panting from exertion. 
 
He'd forgotten gloves and his fingers were icy cold. He curled them into fists 
and began to pound them against the rock. "Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn! 
Dammit . . ." He laid his head on the rock and whispered, "Dammit," again, 
squeezing his eyes shut. 
 
Anger, yes--disgust, a little--shock, yes--but none of it directed at Scully, and he 
didn't know what to think about that, either. She'd done what she thought was 
necessary, and by some miracle she hadn't gotten into drugs or impregnated or 
diseased, and was only attacked once. 
 
But that once was enough. 
 
Doggett sat up and scrubbed his face with the backs of his hands, realizing his 
toes and fingers were going numb. He had to go back--but he had no idea what 
he'd say to her when he got there. He didn't know what she needed to hear. 
 
The truth. From the first day they'd met, that was what she wanted. Only the 
truth. 
 
And the truth was . . . he still loved her. He still wanted her. He still wanted to 
place a wedding ring on her finger--still wanted to hold their child in his arms. 
 
That was all there was to say. 
 
Resolutely, Doggett got to his feet, ready to climb down the mountain. He had 
one errand to make, and then nothing would stop him from going back into 
Scully's arms.
*~*~*~*~
 
All the lights in the cabin were off. Scully had put the food away--or thrown it 
away, Doggett couldn't tell. She was in bed, her body a tiny ball beneath the 
blankets, nothing visible but her hair and forehead. 
 
Doggett almost laid his fingers against her cheek, realizing at the last moment 
that his cold hands would wake her up. He undressed and crawled beneath the 
blankets with her, shivering until the heat from her body began to warm him up. 
 
He had just settled in when Scully said in a calm, cool voice, "I'd hold you but I 
don't think you want me to touch you." 
 
Doggett raised himself up on his elbow and looked at the back of her head, the 
only part of her he could see. She didn't move or turn towards him, so Doggett 
moved closer to her and embraced her from behind, tucking his head in the 
crook of her neck and curling one leg over her hip. His body was pressed 
completely against hers, as if there was no part of her he didn't want to touch. 
 
Scully didn't speak for a moment, then with a small sob flipped herself over and 
embraced him the same way, wrapping herself entirely around him. "You hate 
me now." 
 
"No. Never." He thrust her hand into his hair and tilted back her head so he 
could kiss her lips. "Nothing's changed, Dana. Nothing." 
 
"Everything's changed." Her fingers rubbed restlessly over his back. "I'm not the 
person you thought I was, John. I never have been." 
 
"Listen to me." He cupped her face in his hands, looking into her eyes even as 
she tried to avoid his direct gaze. "You're still smart and honest and beautiful 
and the most *good* person I've ever met. You're right: I've never been that 
desperate or that hungry, and I've never had to make that kind of a choice. But 
you will never have to live that way again, Dana. I swear. It will never happen 
again." 
 
"I never wanted to be taken care of," she said quietly. 
 
"I know. I think you need it, though." She chuckled and he kissed her forehead. 
"Just for a little bit. Just until you can stand on your own again. And even then, 
baby," he said in a low voice, "I'll still be right behind you." 
 
Her eyes swept over his face. Whatever she saw satisfied her: she nodded, 
closing her eyes, and laid her cheek against his chest. She exhaled and loosened 
her grip around his ribs. He kissed her forehead, her nose and cheeks, running 
his hands through her hair to help her relax. 
 
"Do you want to sleep?" he whispered eventually. "Or would you like to watch 
the sun come up?" 
 
She shook her head. "It's too cold. I'ld like to stay in bed." 
 
"Okay. Stay here--I have something for you." He kissed her again and got out of 
bed, pulling on his bathrobe as he went into the kitchenette. He got out the 
boxed cake and cut a slice, got a sparkler from his coat and stuck it into the 
frosting. He lit it and brought the plate back to bed, where Scully was watching 
him, quietly laughing. 
 
"Happy birthday, sweetheart," he said, giving her the plate and a kiss. 
 
She covered her mouth with her hands a moment, still laughing. "You are one 
surprise after another." She got onto her knees, letting the sheets fall away, and 
took his face in her hands to kiss him. 
 
"Whoa, careful." He set the plate down on an end table and took her onto his lap, 
undoing the robe so he could wrap it around her. "Don't want you getting 
chilled." 
 
"Oh, no, can't have that," she answered, kissing him. "John." 
 
"Mm." 
 
"Could we leave today? I don't want to run into that man again, or his friends." 
 
"But if we stay you'll show them you are stronger than they are, baby." 
 
"I don't want people thinking that I'm scamming you." 
 
"Baby," Doggett said tenderly. "All right. We'll go." He picked up the plate 
again. "Do you want to make a wish?" 
 
She smiled at him, pursed her lips and softy blew out the sparkler. 
 
"Happy birthday," he said. 
 
She laid her head on his shoulder. "It is now."
*~*~*~*~
 
It had happened to him before--even his pride couldn't prevent him from 
admitting it. In times of high stress or when he'd just been too exhausted, even 
when he really wanted to have sex, his body just wouldn't agree. 
 
But it had never happened with Scully. Even after kissing her and being kissed, 
after suckling her breasts and licking his way over her body, after going down 
on her until she came, he couldn't fuck her and the fact made him blush to the 
tips of his ears. 
 
Doggett retreated to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face, 
then stood leaning on the counter and staring at his reflection. It's a fact of life, 
he thought, it's a fact of getting older. 
 
He had left Dana in bed, sleepy and sated, but when he didn't return she came 
into the bathroom, wrapped up in his bathrobe. "Hey, baby," she said quietly, 
leaning her shoulder against the doorframe. 
 
"Hey." 
 
"Come back to bed," she requested even more softly, and he closed his eyes. She 
came to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her cheek on his 
back. 
 
"It's not you," he said without looking at her. 
 
"Yes, it is. Or at least it's you knowing about me." She sighed heavily. "I was 
afraid of this." 
 
"I don't think--" 
 
"Shh." She kissed his shoulder blade and stroked his ribs. "You're thinking about 
vast numbers of nameless men, and wondering, maybe, how you measure up--
how you can compete." 
 
Doggett exhaled. He hadn't been thinking of it in those terms but she was right. 
In the back of his mind had been the images of men, dozens, hundreds maybe, 
all of them having her and all of them more memorable. "Vast numbers?" he 
asked quietly. 
 
"Not really vast. Enough that I don't want to count it up. John." She turned him 
around and looked into his eyes. "Remember how I told you only one of them 
treated me as a human being?" He nodded, placing his hands on her hips. "To 
the rest of them I was nothing more than available. That's the difference, baby, 
between a trick and a lover. I matter to you. What I think and what I feel and 
what I want matter to you. I'm important to you and that makes all the 
difference." 
 
Doggett studied her face. He couldn't imagine someone having sex with her and 
not caring for what was inside that amazing mind or flowing through that gentle 
heart. He leaned his forehead against hers and sighed. 
 
"Come back to bed, John," she said again. "Let's make love." 
 
He nodded and kissed her, and allowed her to lead him back to the bed. He 
watched her take off the bathrobe, and lightly touched her shoulders, thinking 
about the small, fine bones beneath her skin. Every one of them was precious to 
him--every blood vessel, every organ down to her appendix, every scar that 
proved what she had gone through before coming home to him--everything. 
 
"It's not just your body I love," he murmured, pulling her onto his lap. Her eyes 
flew up to his face. "It's everything about you." He kissed her, bending her back 
over his arm and laying her carefully against the pillows. She sighed, her hands 
in his hair, and wrapped her legs around him. 
 
"I love your body," she whispered. She cupped her hands around his wrists and 
ran them up his arms to his shoulders. "These hands, these arms, this chest . . 
They're all so beautiful to me." 
 
He smiled and kissed her. "You know, that's not something I often hear." He 
brushed her hair back from her forehead. 
 
"Really?" 
 
"Really. Usually when I'm making love--well, you've heard it." 
 
"And I love it. I love the way you talk to me. I love that you're gentle. I'll have to 
remember to tell you that this scar is precious to me." She brushed her fingertips 
over the round small scar on his chest. "And these bones are precious to me." 
She stroked his collar bones. "And these beautiful eyes." She kissed his eyelids, 
making him smile again. "And this sweet mouth." She kissed his lips, wetting 
them with the tip of her tongue and then easing into his mouth to give it a full 
and complete exploration. 
 
He cupped her face in his hand and kissed her sweetly, between her brows and 
the tip of her nose, her soft round cheeks and finally her rosebud lips. The best 
mouth in the west, the dirtbag had called it--but he had no real grasp of how 
special it was, and not just for its skill or even its beauty. "Every part of you," 
Doggett whispered. "Every part." 
 
Let's make love, she had said--and Doggett realized they were doing just that. It 
was not about penetration and orgasms--it was about showing love. Even 
unspoken the words were in every kiss and every caress. I love you, he thought 
as he kissed her ear. I love you, he thought as she kissed his stomach. I love you, 
he thought as she tickled his chest with the tips of her hair. 
 
And between the kisses and the sweet talk his erection had grown, making him 
moan when she touched him: with her hair, her cheeks, her warm soft palm. She 
stroked him with her tongue, tickling the head of his cock with the tip of her 
tongue, even taking his balls into her mouth and sucking on them hard until his 
fingers sank into her scalp. She looked up at him, smiling. 
 
"What do you want?" she whispered, combing her fingers through the hair at his 
groin. "What do you want me to do for you, my dear?" 
 
"Whatever you want," he answered, "just let me watch." 
 
Scully chuckled and got onto her knees, placing them on either side of his hips. 
Doggett gripped her hips, breathing deeply with anticipation. This moment was 
the best thing in the world: the moment before, when everything stands still and 
if you postpone it one second longer arousal becomes pain, when there was 
nothing but the two of them and mutual pleasure to come. 
 
She sank down onto him, slowly, slowly, her breasts rising and falling with each 
breath. Her eyes were half-open, a small smile was on her lips, and she moaned 
as she rode him--just small "mm, mm" sounds, which he liked better than any 
screaming or thrashing around that she might do. He could feel her muscles 
working, the blood racing beneath her skin, her body shuddering as her pleasure 
increased. 
 
They came within moments of each other, gasping, and then smiling at each 
other with pure satisfaction as the early-morning sun painted the cabin with 
golden light. 
 
She laid her body on top of his and kissed his neck, then stiffened suddenly and 
pushed herself onto her hands to look into his face. "We forgot a condom." 
 
"Oh. Well, honey, it's not the end of the world, is it?" 
 
"John, it's not just--I mean--we just forgot! We both should know better." 
 
"Dana. It'll be okay. I always took precautions with other lovers and you have 
too, right?" 
 
"Of course, except with Mulder, but that was different." 
 
"Right. So we're both clean and disease-free." 
 
"And if I get pregnant are you going to be this calm?" 
 
"No." He smiled at her and brushed his thumb over her cheek bone. "I'm going 
to be very happy and excited. I told you, babe: I want it all with you." 
 
Scully studied him with a serious expression. "You want to stop using the 
condoms. Really." 
 
"Really, really." 
 
Laying her head on his chest again she murmured, "I have to think about this." 
 
Doggett stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. He whispered, "Don't think 
too long," and she chuckled but didn't answer.
*~*~*~*~
 
"Hey," Mary Ouida said when John came into work the next morning. "I thought 
you weren't coming back until tomorrow." 
 
"We decided to cut things short." 
 
"Oh, no, didn't she like it?" 
 
"No, she loved it. She didn't take to skiing too well, but everything else was 
pretty good. We just decided we wanted to be home." He leaned his hip against 
her desk. "Can I ask you a favor?" 
 
"Sure." 
 
"I want to get the records of a serial killer in Taos, New Mexico. Is there a way 
to do that?" 
 
"Sure. Is the case still open?" 
 
"No, it's closed. He was caught last year. I would just like to know some 
details." 
 
"Here." She got some forms from her filing cabinet. "Fill these out and we'll see 
if their police department will release them. Why the interest?" 
 
Doggett hesitated, then said, "My friend was involved. She helped catch him." 
 
"Was she on the investigative team?" 
 
"No--she, ah, knew one of the victims." 
 
"Oh, that's terrible." 
 
Beauchesne, who was walking past with a coffee cup, stopped yawning long 
enough to ask, "What's terrible?" 
 
"John's friend Dana--a friend of hers was killed by a serial killer." 
 
"Oh," Beauchesne said. "That is terrible. Is she still staying with you?" 
 
"Yeah--she's trying to get a job at the clinic." 
 
"Oh," Beauchesne said neutrally. 
 
"You can't blame her for not wanting to go back," Mary Ouida said. "Is that how 
her husband died? Ruthanne said that she was married before." 
 
"No," Doggett said. "He--they've never caught who murdered him." 
 
"Jesus, he was murdered too? The poor girl. Hey--do you think she'd like to 
have lunch or something with me sometime? She could probably use some more 
friends--though I'm sure you're quite enough for her most of the time," she 
added with a laugh. 
 
"I don't know if she'd like it but I think it would be good for her," Doggett said, 
grinning. 
 
"Okay. I'll give her a call." 
 
"Thanks. I'll get these forms back to you soon." 
 
Beauchesne was still standing there, sipping his coffee, and when Doggett went 
back to his own desk he said, "Can I have a minute?" 
 
"Always." He sat in his chair and swiveled enough to put his feet up on his desk. 
Beauchesne raised an eyebrow at him and sat on the edge of his desk by 
Doggett's feet. "What's up, boss?" 
 
"This friend of yours. Dana. How long is she planning to stay?" 
 
"I'm hoping a good long while." 
 
"Uh-huh. How long have you two known each other?" 
 
"About seven years." 
 
"And you knew her husband?" 
 
"A little--how about if you just ask me what you want to ask, Brett." 
 
The sheriff sighed. "Look. I can't tell you who to be friends with. But I really 
think it's in your best interest if you encourage her to move on." 
 
"'Encourage her to move on,'" Doggett echoed, and took his feet off the desk. 
"You're right. You can't tell me who to be friends with or how to treat them. 
Dana is not only my friend but I love her, and I've missed her a whole hell of a 
lot, and I'm not 'encouraging her to move on.' For God's sake." 
 
Beauchesne nodded once and dropped his coffee cup in Doggett's garbage can. 
"Okay. Forget I said anything. I just don't want you getting hurt because of this 
girl." 
 
"I already know, if you're trying to avoid telling me something. I know about all 
of it." 
 
"Do you?" Beauchesne said cryptically, and went into his own office and shut 
the door. 
 
Mary Ouida was watching them with a troubled expression. "What was that 
about?" 
 
"Damned if I know." Doggett cleared some space on his desk so he could start 
working on the report request forms, but inside he was seething. 
 
Beauchesne didn't bring it up the rest of the day, and they were all too busy for 
chitchat anyway. By the time he got home that night, Doggett had decided their 
conversation was just Brett looking out for him, and forgot it when Scully 
jumped into his arms as he came through the front door. 
 
"Mike called--I'm approved! They want me to start on Wednesday." 
 
"That's wonderful." He kissed her. "I told you you'd get the job." 
 
"And you were right. I'm so relieved." She kissed him fiercely and hugged him 
tight. 
 
"Do you want to go out and celebrate tonight?" he said as he took off his coat 
and hung it up. 
 
"I would rather stay in." She ran her fingers up his tie and used it to pull him 
closer for another kiss. "John," she said seriously. "Everything is going so 
perfectly I'm sure something's got to go wrong soon." 
 
"Honey," he said, taking her face in his hands. "Everything's going to be great 
for you, from now on. I promise." 
 
She smiled and hugged him again. She probably didn't believe him, but he was 
sure he could make it come true. 

Spring crept into Wyoming one petal at a time. First one silver-green pointed 
leaf poking up through the snow, then half a dozen, then purple blossoms of 
crocuses and the first spear-like leaves of tulips. One morning in March, as if by 
a sweeping magical hand, the snow was completely melted away and all the 
lawns in the neighborhood were green and lush--bursting with rich purple 
crocuses, bold orange and red tulips and soft yellow daffodils. 
 
Scully loved the slow unfolding of spring. She loved waking up on chilly 
mornings, to cuddle close to Doggett's warm body and listen to the rain fall. She 
loved to carefully weed the tender plants in the flowerbeds, and to see the milky 
blossoms on their apple trees. Doggett had seeds for carrots, cucumbers and 
beans, which they would plant once the ground was no longer frozen. 
 
"Fried green tomatoes, 'long about July," he said as they watched the moon rise 
from the back porch. "Does that sound good to you?" 
 
"It sounds delicious," she said, laying her head on his shoulder. 
 
She worked at the clinic four days a week, and was enjoying her job 
enormously. It was wonderful to be practicing medicine again, to be helping 
people. Prenatal care, minor burns, broken bones, immunizations and childhood 
ailments--it was perfect. 
 
Doggett taught her to ride on the mare Misty, and when she was comfortable 
enough they left the safety of the barnyard and took to the woods. She'd been 
nervous about returning to the Van der Kamps' ranch, but they were completely 
welcoming and friendly, as if the fainting incident never happened--or as if it 
only increased their concern for her. William in particular was happy to see her, 
and while she knew he only thought of her as Doggett's friend, it was still 
wonderful to her that he liked her. 
 
Doggett's birthday was in the beginning of April. Scully couldn't do something 
as extravegant as taking him for a long weekend of skiing, but she made him 
dinner and a cake--chocolate with raspberry filling, decorated with a single 
sparkler--and wore the red thing as he'd asked. She wished she had something 
more to give him--the thing he most wanted, though he never said, was news 
they were having a child--but as it was she could only give him herself, which 
satisfied him too. 
 
She didn't quite know how to explain their sex life. It was good. It was very 
good. She liked to say outdated words to herself while thinking about it: 
"oversexed," for example, or "randy" or "multi-orgasmic." She liked that last 
one a lot. 
 
They no longer used condoms but she couldn't quite bring herself to stop using 
birth control completely. She didn't know if she was ready for another child or 
not--but wouldn't invite one until she was certain, as much as she loved the 
thought of a sweet baby with Doggett's blue eyes. 
 
She had worthwhile work to do during the day and unbelievable passion at 
night. She was happy with her job, happy with her life, happy with Doggett. It 
was only a matter of time, she thought, before things started going wrong.
*~*~*~*~
 
Sherriff Beauchense had a brother, and this brother had a ranch where he raised 
bulls for the rodeo circuit. It happened, towards the end of April, that Doggett 
and Scully had the day off together--so they got up early, donned boots and 
jeans and sturdy shirts, got into Doggett's truck and drove out to the Lazy B. 
 
". . . then you wrap the bull rope around your hand, which pulls it tight across 
the bull's chest, they open the chute and out you go. It can be the longest eight 
seconds of your life, and the most exciting." 
 
"It doesn't hurt them, though, does it? The straps and ropes?" 
 
"The spurs do, some, but they're never sharp enough to cut. It's not a blood 
sport." 
 
"Not for the bulls, anyway," Scully murmured. "I've heard about riders getting 
hurt. Even killed." 
 
Doggett slowly nodded. "It does happen. But it can happen with any sport." 
 
"Show me one golfer who is been killed while playing golf. Lightning strikes 
don't count." 
 
"Dana, I do this for fun, okay? It's a lot of fun. I enjoy it. Please don't worry." 
 
"What if something happens to you?" 
 
"You're a doctor," he said with an astonished chuckle. "You'll take care of me." 
 
Scully made a frustrated noise and looked out the window. Doggett started 
whistling, tapping his foot along to the music from the radio. He sang softly, 
"'I've been around the block a time or two, done everything a boy can do, I've 
done some livin', yeah, I've had fun but there's just one thing I haven't done . . .'" 
 
Brett Beauchesne was a tall, slender, aesthetic-looking man--his brother Jack 
resembled him only in passing. They both had ash-blonde hair and blue eyes, 
but Jack had a far warmer demeanor, softer features and a readier smile. He and 
Doggett hugged each other with much slapping on each other's backs, and when 
he turned to greet Scully she had to smile back because his was so wide and 
open. 
 
"Well, have I heard a lot about you," he said, shaking her hand with both of his. 
 
"None of it good, I'm sure," she said, and he laughed. 
 
"Absolutely none of it. Welcome to the Lazy B. Do you want some coffee or 
should we get right out to the paddock?" 
 
"I would love a cup of joe," Doggett said, getting a bag of equipment from the 
back of the truck and swinging it over his shoulder. 
 
"Great. Lina?" he called into the house as he led them up the porch. "Is the 
coffee still on? They're here!" He opened the door to the kitchen and caught his 
brunette and curvacious wife around the waist to give her a hug. 
 
"Good morning!" she said cheerfully, pouring coffee into green Fiestaware 
mugs. "I'm Lina--this monster," she added as a small figure came running into 
the kitchen, saw the strangers, and ran right out again, "was Zachary. He'll be 
back. Coffee?" 
 
"Thank you," Dana murmured, taking a cup. 
 
"This is Dana," Doggett said, putting down his bag and taking another mug. 
"Thanks. Mm, smells delicious." 
 
"Are you here to learn to ride?" Lina asked Scully. 
 
"Just to watch." 
 
"John's a wonderful bullrider," Lina said. 
 
Jack swallowed his coffee and said, "You ought to be riding the circuit, you 
know, John boy. You could do it, no problem." 
 
"Twenty years ago, maybe," Doggett said, and gave a tiny shake of his head to 
Scully. "My old bones couldn't handle the jarring, day after day." He finished off 
his coffee. "Who have you got ready for us today?" 
 
"I want you to have a look at Balrog and Trollbait. I think Balrog's about ready--
Trollbait, I'm not sure what more he needs. He should be ready for the circuit 
but he refuses to really perform." He saw Scully's curious look and explained, 
"My brother named these two, and he's a huge fantasy fan--they're kind of from 
those Tolkein books." 
 
"Trollbait," Scully said, smiling. "I love that." 
 
"He was going to be just Troll, but cattle can't be trolls, trolls eat them. So he's 
Trollbait." 
 
"It's a wonderful name," Scully said, and finished her coffee too. 
 
"We'll probably change it when he starts on the circuit," Jack said as he led them 
outside. "Trollbait isn't very intimidating." 
 
"But it's memorable." 
 
The barns and riding pens were ten minutes' walk behind the house, and ranch 
hands had brought out the two bulls into the pen. One was black, sniffing the air 
and pacing; the other was russet-colored, pressed up against the fence and 
nudging the ranch hand who was rubbing his head. "Balrog," Jack said, pointing 
to the black bull. "Trollbait," pointing to the russet. "Which do you want to try 
first?" 
 
"Let's see what's up with Trollbait," Doggett murmured, taking off his denim 
jacket. He hung it over the fence and opened his bag, donning gloves, chaps, 
spurs and a padded vest. He climbed into the pen, approaching the bull slowly. 
"Hey," he said softly and stroked the animal's thick neck. "Hey, Trollbait. 
What's goin' on, boy?" 
 
Scully stepped closer to Jack and said quietly, "Do you have him do this for you 
a lot?" 
 
"I wouldn't send one bull out without his approval." He leaned his arms over the 
fence railing. "He has an amazing rapport with animals. He's not really a trainer, 
but he can tell when a bull's not going to be any good, or when they're going to 
be great." 
 
"Has he ever been thrown?" 
 
"Oh, yeah. We've all been thrown. But he always gets right back up." 
 
Scully climbed up to stand on the lowest bar of the fence that surrounded the 
pen and watched Doggett speak to the bull, running his fingers over the bull's 
bristly hide. The bull nosed at his hands, and Scully said, "He seems so gentle." 
 
"Gentle's fine. But if he won't buck he's no good to us except for breeding. What 
we need is a real arm jerker--a fightin' bull," he explained. "Somebody that the 
boys will be excited to ride, that will score them a lot of points." 
 
"Let's get him into the chute," Doggett called, and Jack climbed over the fence 
to help corral Trollbait and get Balrog into a holding pen. Doggett climbed onto 
the top of the chute then onto Trollbait's back. It took a few minutes for him to 
get the bull rope tight enough to satisfy him. 
 
The hands all climbed out of the pen, perching themselves along the fence. Lina 
came out too, carrying Zachary to watch Doggett ride. 
 
"Have you seen John ride before?" she asked Scully. 
 
"Only Ranger." 
 
"He's a beautiful sight," Lina confided. "I mean, on a bull. He's a beautiful sight 
on a bull." 
 
"Dada go ride?" said Zachary. 
 
"No, John is going to ride. See? There's John, and there's Dada." 
 
"Dada!" Zach called, waving his hands. Jack waved back and then at Doggett's 
okay opened the chute to release Trollbait. 
 
The bull charged out of the chute, at once jumping and spinning, kicking out his 
hind legs. "That's more like it!" Jack shouted, climbing higher onto the fence in 
his excitement. 
 
Scully bit hard into her bottom lip, watching Doggett's body undulate on top of 
the bull. He seemed utterly loose and confident, his free arm in the air and his 
heels digging into the bull's sides as the bull jumped, bucked and spun, spittle 
flying from its jaws. 
 
But the bull had to weigh two tons and Doggett was not a huge man and if he 
fell off-- 
 
Scully's teeth sank into her lip deeper and she dug her nails into the wooden 
fence, trying not to picture what would happen if he fell off. 
 
"Time!" one of the ranch hands called, and Doggett somehow rolled himself 
from the back of the bull, landing on his hands and knees. A few hands ran out 
to move Trollbait to a holding pen. Doggett sprang up and walked over to where 
Jack and Scully were watching. 
 
"What did you think?" he asked, climbing up on the lower rail to give Scully a 
kiss. He asked her in a softer voice, "That wasn't so bad, was it?" 
 
In response she took his hand and pressed his fingers to the rapidly beating pulse 
in her neck. He smiled and kissed her again. 
 
"That was the best I've seen him do," said Jack. "I don't know what you did to 
make him jump like that--usually he won't buck at all, he'll just run around the 
pen." 
 
"Maybe he won't perform for you because he knows you. He doesn't know who I 
am, I've never fed him or brushed him, so he has no reason to be gentle with me. 
I think he's going to perform fine for the boys." 
 
"Great. Good. That is what I want to hear. Up for another one?" 
 
"Yep." Jack climbed down from the fence to help get the next bull ready, and 
Doggett ducked his head lower to look into Scully's eyes beneath the brim of his 
hat. "Hey," he said quietly, caressing her neck. "You weren't scared, were you?" 
 
"Yes, I was." She put her hand on top of his. 
 
"There's no reason to be. I know what I'm doing." 
 
"People have broken their backs doing this," she whispered, trying not to show 
she was upset. "John, I just--" 
 
"Shh," he soothed. "Nothing's going to happen. I promise." 
 
"John, we're ready for you!" Jack called. Doggett looked at Scully seriously. 
 
"If you don't want me too," he began. 
 
"Just be careful." She stroked his cheekbone and kissed him quickly, and he 
climbed down from the fence and back into the chute. 
 
"Don't worry," Lina told her in a comforting tone. "He knows what he's doing. 
He's very good at this." 
 
How can I *not* worry? Scully thought, but only said, "I know." 
 
"Let's go!" Doggett shouted and a ranch hand opened the chute. 
 
Balrog shot out like an enormous, pissed-off cannon ball. There was no 
preliminary jumping or spinning: he bucked violently, jerking his mass first to 
the left and then to the right, tossing his head as if trying to catch Doggett on his 
horns. Even Scully could tell something was not quite right: there was more air 
between Doggett's seat and the bull's back, and though his free arm was away 
from the bull, she thought his grip on the strap was not as tight as it ought to be. 
 
"Aw, shit," Jack muttered, straddling the fence in preparation to jump over -- 
and jump over he did as Doggett lost his grip and summersaulted from Balrog's 
back, slamming against the fence. "Aw shit!" Jack shouted as he jumped into the 
pen, because the bull was prodding at Doggett's body, trying to toss him with his 
blunted horns. 
 
Scully climbed up onto the fence too, ready to go to him, but Lina grabbed her 
leg. "Don't--let the hands catch him," she said, then turned away so Zach 
wouldn't see what happened in the pen. 
 
Scully dug her hands into the fence post, chafing at being held back--but Lina 
was right, she would only get in the way. She watched, barely breathing, as the 
hands tried to distract Balrog and get him away from Doggett's prone form. It 
took all four of them, shouting and using their lassos, to catch Balrog and guide 
him into the holding pen. 
 
Scully could wait no longer: she climbed over the fence and ran to Doggett, 
dropping to her knees at his side. "John," she said, stroking his face with her 
palms. His eyes were closed and his face was pale instead of its usual ruddy 
shade. 
 
Jack was still kneeling beside him too, feeling his ankles, and he said seriously, 
"Let him rest a minute. It's like being thrown from a moving car." 
 
"I'm not hurt," Doggett said without opening his eyes. 
 
"You're not the best judge of that right now, John boy." 
 
"Up yours," Doggett answered, and he sat up, blinking as if surprised by the 
sunlight. "Huh. Still here." 
 
"Sit still, let me look at you," Scully said, putting her hands on his shoulders. 
 
"I'm okay. Nothing's broken." He got to his feet, using Jack's shoulder for 
balance, and tested his legs. "Ow." 
 
"You are hurt!" Scully exclaimed, jumping to her feet too. 
 
"My pride is a little bruised." His hat had been knocked off, and Jack handed it 
to him. "Thanks. Other than that, I'm one hundred percent." 
 
"Let's get him into the house," Jack said, his expression still worried. "You're a 
doctor, aren't you, Dana?" 
 
"Yes, yes, I'll look him over," she said, putting her arm around Doggett for 
support. 
 
"Don't need to be looked over, dammit," he said, but leaned on her as they 
walked anyway. "The boys are gonna hate that bull, Jack." 
 
"Yeah, yeah. We'll worry about that later." 
 
"He'll earn them a huge purse, though." 
 
"Yeah, yeah," Jack repeated, but looked pleased at the prospect. 
 
In the house, Lina quickly assembled cold water, wash cloths, aspirin and a 
heating pad in one of their guest rooms. "Just let me know what more you think 
he'll need." 
 
"Thanks," Scully murmured, working on getting Doggett's padded vest off. He 
caught her hand and pressed it to his lips. 
 
"Told ya," he muttered, grinning up at her with sleepy eyes. "Told ya you could 
take care of me." 
 
"Lucky me," Scully replied, but gave an affectionate caress to his mouth 
nonetheless. "Help me get your shirt off, John." 
 
"Not the time or the place for lovin'," he said, but lifted his arms so she could 
work off the vest and the torn shirt beneath. 
 
"Not the time or the place for jokes, either," she murmured. Lina tugged on 
Jack's sleeve and led him out of the room, closing the door behind them. Scully 
said, "Lie down," and went to work on his boots. 
 
"Leave it," Doggett said, holding out his arms. "C'mere." 
 
"John, you are not--" 
 
"Please?" 
 
Scully hesitated, then lay down at his side, careful not to put any of her weight 
on his body. He would have none of that, however, and crushed her to him, 
burying his face in her hair. 
 
"That is not the worst fall I've ever had." He sucked a strand of hair into his 
mouth. 
 
"It still scared me," Scully said, using the moment to check his ribs and arms for 
broken bones. "He was throwing you around like a rag doll." 
 
"It's a risk we all take, babe. No rewards without risk." 
 
"I know," she said, and suddenly her eyes stung and her throat felt tight. She 
leaned her head against his chest, breathing deeply as he stroked her hair. 
 
Doggett was not of a poetical bent--she knew he found metaphors to be an 
annoyance when plain language would do--but his simple statement seemed 
many-layered as she turned it over in her mind. No rewards without risk. He was 
willing to risk so much on her: his heart, his future, his happiness--and what was 
she risking in return? 
 
Nothing. She was holding herself off from him, refusing his gifts with excuses 
about independence and obligation. 
 
What the hell are you so afraid of, Dana Katherine? she thought. Being alone 
again? Death? Bringing him to harm? 
 
He would die, someday, whether she loved him or not. He would get tired of her 
constantly saying "Later" and find someone who would give him "Now." And 
no one would protect him better from harm--fight for him more fiercely--than 
she. 
 
Learn from your mistakes, Dana, she thought. He's been telling you that all 
along. Don't wait for "someday." Someday never comes. The day for living is 
today. 
 
She lifted her head to see that he was watching her, brows furrowed, eyes gentle 
with concern. I just had an epiphany, she thought, but felt too shy to tell him yet. 
She kissed between his brows, as he was constantly doing for her, and he 
smiled. 
 
"Better?" he said. 
 
"Getting there." 
 
His thumb brushed beneath her eye. "I hate making you cry." 
 
"Oh--" She wiped her face with the back of her hand. "You're not. I mean, you 
are, but not--I'm not upset. Not much. Less than I was." 
 
"Uh-huh. The more upset you are the less articulate you get. Lie down, honey." 
 
She laid down her head again, closing her eyes as he combed his hand through 
her hair. No rewards without risk. If she risked her heart on him, the reward 
would be this: this tenderness, this concern, this passion, this love, for however 
many years they were allowed. 
 
I'm not afraid anymore, she thought, as his stroking hand and breathing slowed. I 
want it all with you, too. 
 
But when she raised her head to tell him, his eyes were closed, his face peaceful. 
She smiled, kissed him, and covered him with a quilt. She would tell him later. 
They had all the time in the world. 

It was Saturday night and Doggett was restless. "Let's go out," he said. "Jack and 
Lina have someone watching Zachary--they want to meet us at the Saddle 
Rack." 
 
"What's at the Saddle Rack?" Scully said absently, scraping her fingernails 
lightly over his scalp. 
 
"Great buffalo wings, good beer and sometimes a live band." 
 
"Ah," Scully said. "Dinner and dancing." 
 
"Cowboy style," he answered. "You've been living in the west long enough to 
see what the fuss is all about." 
 
"Cowboy style is huge in Germany," she said and smiled demurely when he 
raised an eyebrow at her non sequitor. 
 
"Is that so. Even though we're not in Germany, would you still like to go out 
tonight? Brett and Mary Ouida and Ruthanne will be there too." 
 
"Hm." 
 
That was not a good sound: he knew she liked Mary Ouida, and tolerated 
Ruthanne even though she found the other woman gossipy and flighty; but she 
still avoided Brett's company whenever possible. However, with Jack and Lina 
as buffers, it wouldn't be so intolerable, would it? "I won't make you dance with 
him," he offered. 
 
"You'd better save all your dances for me," she said, lazily flicking her nails 
against his ear. She'd been in a mood ever since his fall off Balrog a few days 
earlier, one he couldn't quite put a finger on. She was more playful than usual--
of course with Scully any measure of playfulness was more than usual--and 
more serene, too. More tender with him in bed, more affectionate out of it. He 
thought sometimes of how prickly she'd been when they first met, even how 
withdrawn she'd been when she first came to Wyoming, and marvelled at the 
difference. 
 
Of course, she'd been keeping secrets from him in both cases, and no longer 
was. For someone as scrupulously honest as Scully, it must be wonderfully 
freeing, not to have to hide anymore. 
 
"So?" he said. "Should I tell them we're coming?" 
 
"Yes. Sure. If you promise not to laugh at how bad a dancer I am." 
 
"I promise nothing." He kissed her forehead and got up from the sofa. "I only 
know two steps, myself. Backwards and forwards." 
 
She laughed and he went into the kitchen to use the phone.
*~*~*~*~
 
Scully was not, Doggett thought, a girly-girl. She always looked good, whether 
in jeans and a tee shirt or her most elegant gown--but she never made a fuss over 
her appearance, never asked him if she looked fat or less than pleasing. At most, 
she would ask what he thought, and since he thought she looked fine all the time 
his answer always satisfied her. 
 
So when she came down the stairs and said quietly, "What do you think?" his 
back was to her as he turned off the television, and he was prepared to say his 
usual Wonderful--but then he turned and saw her. 
 
Words failed him. 
 
She wore just a white cotton sundress printed with tiny red flowers, and her 
shoes were just little red slippers with ribbons winding up her calves, and her 
hair was just smooth and slightly curled, and she was not wearing a lot of 
makeup or any jewelry besides her usual tiny gold hoops--but there was 
something in the air around her, like a mist full of stars, as if she was carrying 
moonlight in her skin. 
 
Doggett swallowed and said, "Wow." 
 
"I take it you approve." 
 
"Hell, yeah. That's--" He floundered a moment--where to begin? "That's a nice 
dress." 
 
"Thanks." She had a little red cardigan to go over the dress against the cool 
evening air, and put it over her shoulders. 
 
She'd been wearing the clothes he bought for her back in January for so long--
that had to be it. She hadn't surprised him for a long time, except with the red 
dress that he wished it was cool enough for her to wear again, and of course the 
little nightie that often appeared in fantasies but that she kept reserved for 
special occasions in reality. 
 
And he was not used to seeing her bare shoulders and arms in public, that had to 
be it, too. She was modest and professional, except for a tendency to let her 
blouses gape a bit. In private she was no more shy about nudity than a small 
child, as innocently naked as Eve in the garden, but that was only between the 
two of them. 
 
Doggett thought, as he helped in her into the truck, No wonder one hundred 
years ago an ankle was considered an erogenous zone. If you never get to see it 
and then suddenly do--hell's bells. It was mind-shattering. 
 
And, God, did she ever have pretty ankles and sweet pink round knees. 
 
"What?" she said, because he was just sitting in the driver's seat, looking at her. 
 
"You're beautiful," he said simply. 
 
She smiled and leaned over to kiss him. "Thanks. I was hoping you'd think so." 
 
"That's new, isn't it it?" 
 
"Yes. A payday gift to myself." 
 
"I like it. I like seeing you in girl clothes." 
 
Scully laughed, resting her hand on the back of his neck as he pulled out of the 
drive. "Girl clothes. I'll keep that in mind." 
 
"I mean, you look good all the time, you just--hrmph. I'm not saying this right at 
all." 
 
"Yes, you are." Her fingers ruffled the hair at the back of his neck, and he 
glanced at her. "It's appropriate, isn't it?" she asked suddenly. "It's not going to 
be an issue?" 
 
"Honey, you'll be the prettiest girl there. Cross my heart." 
 
"Thank you." Her fingers resumed stroking his hair.
*~*~*~*~
 
The Saddle Rack was not a fancy place--just a good bar for drinking and 
dancing, shooting some pool and eating buffalo wings or popcorn chicken. If 
you asked for anything more exotic than a martini at the bar the bartender would 
respond with blank look and a derisive snort; but the beer on tap was cold, the 
juke box had plenty of George Jones and Patsy Cline, and the lighting was dim 
enough for a cowboy not to feel self-conscious when he put his arms around his 
girl. 
 
The Beauchesnes and Mary Ouida had already claimed a table and started on 
their first pitcher of beer when Doggett and Scully arrived. Even Brett managed 
a smile when Lina exclaimed, "Dana, you look fantastic! I can never get away 
with clothes like that--my boobs are too big for halter tops." 
 
"Um, thanks," Scully said, sliding into the chair Doggett had pulled out for her. 
 
"Eat some more chicken, doll," Jack said to his wife, squeezing her hand 
affectionately. 
 
"He thinks I can't hold my liquor," Lina informed Scully, but ate another wing 
with dainty, precise bites. "Drink up, Dana. It's Saturday night." 
 
"Let me eat a little first," she murmured, taking a wing. Doggett had taken the 
chair opposite her and watched her with faint smile, his expression indulgent. He 
had said her dress would be fine here but she noticed she was the only woman 
dressed this way: the others wore jeans or short leather skirts, with embroidered 
cowboy shirts or t-shirts that proclaimed their favorite beer, country singer or 
rodeo arena. In his white cowboy hat, pale blue denim shirt and slightly darker 
jeans, Doggett fit right in, but Scully suddenly felt like the city mouse trying to 
impress the locals. 
 
She shivered a bit, despite the heat and closeness of the bar, and picked up the 
mug of beer Jack had poured for her. Her thoughts must have been on her face, 
because Mary Ouida leaned close to her and murmured, "You look lovely. John 
knows he's a lucky guy." 
 
"Thank you," Scully murmured back. 
 
She had felt beautiful and powerful when she put the dress on, ready for 
anything. Tonight's the night, she had thought, because she hadn't been able to 
find the right time in the past few days to say the words out loud. She didn't 
want to say "I love you" when they were in bed: he might not believe it, he 
might think it was just the endorphins talking. It didn't seem right to blurt out "I 
love you" over coffee and toast, or while they were weeding in the garden, or 
even when she kissed him goodbye in the mornings or hello at night. "Be safe," 
she said instead, in answer to his "Be good." 
 
But tonight she could do it. Maybe out on the dance floor, if an appropriate song 
was playing-- 
 
You know, Dana Katherine, she thought, it's possible you are over-planning this. 
 
Whatever happened, she didn't want to say it after too many beers. She didn't 
want him to blame it on the alcohol. He knew what she was like after a few too 
many and she didn't want him to think she said "I love you" just because her 
inhibitions were down. 
 
Sober, serious and sincere, she thought, and hastily drained her mug to cover her 
shaking hands. Maybe she should add "spontaneous" to the list, too.
*~*~*~*~
 
Brett and Jack wanted to shoot some pool, continuing a rivalry that Doggett 
sensed went back many decades. All the women but Ruthanne declined, and 
when Doggett looked over at their table Scully, Mary Ouida and Lina had their 
heads together in a way that was decidedly worrisome. 
 
"What do you suppose they're talking about?" he said to Jack, as Brett helped 
Ruthanne line up her next shot. 
 
"Us, of course." 
 
"Oh, of course," Doggett repeated faintly. 
 
"You remember the old Randy Travis song, don't you?" He sang, "'As long as 
old men sit and talk about the weather, as long as old women sit and talk about 
old men.'" 
 
"That's just a song." 
 
"It's the truth, John boy. The ladies are initiating Miss Dana into Jessup's second 
favorite passtime: talking about everybody else." 
 
"And what do you think Jessup's first favorite is?" Brett asked, leaning on his 
cue stick. 
 
"Doin' things worth talkin' about," Jack said, laughing. He applauded as 
Ruthanne finally made her shot. "Good work! You've put us in the lead!" 
 
"Silly, I'm on Brett's team." 
 
"Exactly." 
 
"Damn it. I'll never get the hang of this." 
 
"It's okay," Brett said. "Jacky's all talk. We'll come in from behind." 
 
"I'll show you all talk," said Jack, bending over the pool table to set up his shot. 
 
Ruthanne ambled over to Doggett and said, "It's true, you know. I think the three 
of them have a lot to discuss." 
 
"I can't imagine what that could be." 
 
"Do you want me to find out for you?" 
 
He grinned at her. "Nope, but thanks." 
 
She shrugged. The widow of the former sherriff, she was used to office and 
family politics playing out in every arena--she usually participated, too. Her own 
children were grown and moved away, and she considered the current sherriff's 
department to be her replacement brood--even though she was barely a decade 
older than the oldest of them. She worked dispatch and filing, and meantime 
knew everyone's business that was worth knowing. "Mary Ouida will just tell 
me later." 
 
"Then you can tell me after that." 
 
"Oh, I don't know . . . there are some things that are just better to find out for 
yourself." 
 
Doggett looked at her, waiting for her to continue, but there was merely a 
satisfied look on her face and she applauded Brett's shot. "Nice! Very nice! That 
was a good break, wasn't it?" 
 
"Very," Jack said, frowning. "Save us, John boy." 
 
"Doing my best, Jackson," Doggett answered, and moved to the table to take his 
shot. 
 
The game was nearly over and he and Jack were being thoroughly beaten when 
Lina and Scully walked over to the pool table. Lina put her arm around Jack's 
waist and gave him a sound kiss. "Who's winning?" 
 
"They are," Jack said, grumpy. 
 
"See? All talk," said Brett. 
 
Scully stood beside Doggett, close enough for him to feel her heat but not 
touching him. "Are you almost done? I put some quarters into the juke box." 
 
He looked at her a moment: her face was neutral, but her eyes were hopeful. He 
grinned and threw down his stick. "I say it's a draw, gentlemen." 
 
"John! We can still make it!" Jack exclaimed. 
 
"No, no. Checkmate. Stalemate. Some kind of mate." He put his arm around 
Scully's shoulders. "Besides, why look at your ugly mug when I could be 
dancing with my girl?" 
 
"I accept your surrender," said Brett with a hint of a smile, which immediately 
starting a loud discussion between he and Jack about the difference between 
"surrender" and "postponement." 
 
Doggett didn't care: he let Scully lead him out onto the dance floor, which was 
not as crowded as the rest of the bar, and took her into his arms. He could do a 
decent Texas two-step, a passible waltz--his mother had been determined her 
sons know at least one ballroom dance--but any trendy sort of dance step was 
beyond him. 
 
That was fine with Scully, it seemed: she let him hold one hand over his heart 
and wrapped the other arm around his waist, following his lead as if they'd been 
dancing together for years. "You're pretty good at this," he murmured. 
 
"You're not bad yourself. Why does Jack call you John boy?" 
 
"For the same reason I call him Jackson. Got to call him something." 
 
She chuckled, resting her cheek on his chest. "You don't have a nickname for 
me." 
 
"Do you want one?" 
 
"No. Well, sometimes." 
 
He bent and sang into her ear, "'Let me call you sweetheart, I'm in love with you, 
let me hear you whisper that you love me too . . .' I don't know the rest." 
 
She smiled but didn't meet his eyes. "That's a nice old song." 
 
"Mm." 
 
The song ended, and the chords of another began. Many people left the dance 
floor--it was not a popular one, and Doggett didn't recognize it even after a few 
bars. "Is this one of yours?" 
 
"Yes. Lina said it was good." 
 
Doggett leaned his cheek against her hair and closed his eyes, letting the tempo 
guide his feet. "Hey, it's the Eagles," he said when the lyrics began. 
 
"Don Henley," Scully corrected in a murmur. 
 
"Ah. Naturally." He listened: he liked "All She Wants to do is Dance" and "Last 
Worthless Evening," but he hadn't heard this song before. It seemed almost 
melancholy to him: the song of a man at the end of his years, looking back on a 
life wasted--until the chorus began: "This love is like nothing I've ever known. 
Take my hand, love. I'm taking you home." 
 
He realized Scully was shaking in his arms, and when he looked down at her 
face there were tears on her cheeks. "Dana?" He wiped her face with his palm. 
"Honey? What's wrong?" 
 
She smiled up at him. "Nothing. A silly notion I had. Nothing more." 
 
"Am I missing something here?" 
 
"No. it's just a song." 
 
"You chose it special." 
 
"Lina said I would like it. I don't know country music very well." 
 
"Do you like it?" he murmured. 
 
"Yes. Do you?" 
 
"Yes. So why the tears?" 
 
"John," she began, then leaned her forehead against his chest and sighed. She 
mumbled something and he bent to hear. 
 
"What was that?" 
 
"Call me sweetheart," she whispered. 
 
"I'll call you anything you want me to." 
 
"Call me sweetheart," she whispered again, looking up with eyes that were 
bright and full. "I love you." 
 
It took a moment for it to register with Doggett that she was not quoting song 
lyrics to him--that the "this love" chorus to the song was no accident--that even 
the sundress had been chosen with one purpose in mind. "Oh, my God," he 
whispered, and winced because it was not what he wanted to say and definately 
not what she wanted to hear. 
 
Her smile didn't falter, however, and she rubbed his chest with her fingertips. 
"I've been thinking a lot about what you said the other day. No reward without 
risk." 
 
"Are you taking a risk, sweetheart?" he whispered. 
 
"Life is a risk. Living's a risk. I could have stayed in Taos and kept my secrets 
until the day I died--but I took a risk that the pictures I was sent were real, and 
that you'd be at the end of the road. I took a risk in kissing you, trusting you, 
letting you be strong for me. And you've risked so much on me. It's time you get 
some of that back, my love." Her eyes met his again, so full of hope he had to 
cup her face in his hands and kiss them. She whispered, "I want what you want," 
and wrapped her arms around his chest. 
 
"You want to get married?" 
 
"Yes." 
 
"You want to try to have a baby?" 
 
She trembled but said, "Yes." 
 
"You're okay with the risks?" 
 
"I'm ready to face them," she said, as if he'd asked her to go over the ridge and 
face down a Panzier battalion with just him for support. 
 
He rubbed her temples with his fingertips. "Good God," he murmured. "My life 
has just changed forever and it happened in this little dive." 
 
"God is very good sometimes," she said, which was not what he meant at all but 
he didn't care. Scully loved him. She could put it to God or destiny or just the 
right timing, but he didn't care. Scully loved him. Dana Scully loved John 
Doggett and the world was suddenly a much bigger, better, brighter place. 
 
Doggett kissed the top of her head and held her close, his eyes shut. She kept her 
arms around his waist, her cheek pressed against his heartbeat. The music played 
on, and they danced. 

"What were you two whispering about?" Lina said when Doggett and Scully 
returned to their table. 
 
They smiled at each other, and Doggett murmured, "Should we?" 
 
"All right," Scully whispered, sliding her fingers between his. 
 
"We're getting married," Doggett said, smiling with pride as Lina and Ruthanne 
exclaimed and May Ouida hugged Scully and Jack burst out laughing. Brett said 
nothing, absently rubbing his chin, but he smiled when he noticed Doggett 
looking at him. 
 
"Well," he said. "Congratulations. I guess this is what you want?" 
 
"Very much," Doggett said. 
 
Brett shook his head but only repeated, "Congratulations. " 
 
"When? Where? Will your family come out?" said Lina. 
 
"We haven't gotten that far," Scully said. 
 
"Maybe we should just fly down to Vegas," said Doggett. "Take a weekend and 
do it at one of the chapels." 
 
"Oh, no, get married here," Lina exclaimed. "Your friends are here. Your family 
can just fly into Cheyanne." 
 
"It would be faster to fly into Cody and drive from there," Jack said. "There are 
always hops from Boise." 
 
"Boise?" said Ruthanne. "Heavens, no. If they fly, they must fly into Salt Lake 
and drive. The highway is much more direct from Salt Lake City." 
 
Scully interupted, "No one will be flying in. There's no one to come." 
 
They all fell silent. Glances flew around the table. 
 
"Skinner would come," Doggett said. 
 
"He shouldn't," Scully murmured. "I think your Vegas idea is the best plan. No 
fuss. Just make it legal." 
 
"Don't you want to fulfill all your girlhood dreams, honey?" Doggett said, his 
hand light on her knee. "A dress, a cake, dancing? I'll wear a tux." 
 
"I think small would be the best plan," Scully said. She put her hand on top of 
his. "I would prefer to keep things small." 
 
"Okay," Doggett said. "Small." He squeezed her knee and put his arm around 
her neck, kissing her forehead. He whispered, "But I'm not getting that little ring 
at Wal-Mart. I'm getting you something nice." 
 
"I don't need an engagement ring." 
 
"Now it starts," said Jack. "Complete harmony until you decide to make it 
official, and then the fighting begins." 
 
"We're not fighting," Scully said. "There's no point in all the trappings. I don't 
need an engagement ring. I'm perfectly happy with only a wedding band. We 
don't need a huge wedding. We don't need the stress or the expense. There are 
three different pastors in town, any one of them can marry us. Afterwards if we 
want to celebrate, maybe a small dinner with all of you and the Van der Kamps, 
and some people from work--what?" 
 
Doggett was looking at her steadily, and he said, "I want to dress you in flowers 
and bathe you in jewels." 
 
Scully sighed, smiled, and said, patting his cheek, "And here I thought you were 
the sensible one." 
 
"I'm allowed the occasional romantic notion," he said seriously. "I have one 
poem memorized and I would like to recite it to you every night." 
 
"One poem," Scully repeated, smiling. She leaned on his knee and said, "If you 
will recite it at our wedding, in front of all our friends, we can do anything else 
that you wish. You can buy me the most extravegant engagement ring you can 
find, we can have a twelve-tier cake and a string quartet and I'll wear a gown 
that would rival Princess Diana's." 
 
"In exchange for one poem? Done." 
 
"More beer," Jack said, slapping his hand on the table top. "We need more beer, 
right now. And John boy, as the newly engaged man, it's your turn to buy." 
 
"I knew there was a reason you invited us tonight," Doggett said, standing. He 
kissed the top of Scully's head and went to the bar for another pitcher.
*~*~*~*~
 
She was quiet as they got ready for bed, and Doggett watched her thoughtfully 
as she removed her jewelry. 
 
"What poem do you have memorized?" she asked him as he undid the top of her 
halter. 
 
"Not telling. I want to surprise you." He traced his fingertips over her shoulders. 
"I only have the one poem." 
 
"Why didn't you memorize more?" 
 
"I've only ever needed one." He kissed the back of her neck, and looked at her 
reflection in the mirror. She smiled and reached back to touch his cheek. "Do 
you regret telling them so soon?" 
 
"No. It would be the same no matter when we told them: a lot of jokes and 
teasing and planning being done for us." 
 
"Do you really want small? We can do small, if that's what you really want." 
 
She was quiet a moment as he rubbed her shoulders, and she said quietly, "If it 
could just be the two of us and the pastor, that would make me most happy." 
 
"There need to be two witnesses, too." 
 
She took a deep breath and leaned back against him. "I don't see the point of 
making a public spectacle of private affairs. Marriage is between the couple, and 
at most their families. It's not a--a block party." 
 
"A wedding is an affirmation," Doggett said slowly. "It's about the community 
supporting and honoring the new family. It's not a spectacle." Scully closed her 
eyes, and he said, "I would like for our friends to be allowed to celebrate us. I 
know you're private, but--but it'll be all right. It'll be bearable." 
 
"Of course," she said quietly. "You promised me a poem. In exchange for that 
I'll do anything you ask." 
 
He kissed her softly and hugged her close. "So I get to plan all of this?" 
 
"I suppose I could help a little. How soon do you want to do it?" 
 
"June?" 
 
"That only gives us six weeks." 
 
"A small wedding can be done in six weeks." 
 
"Six weeks," Scully murmured. "And . . . And how soon do you want to start 
trying to conceive?" 
 
He stroked her stomach, looking at her reflection, remembering how she had 
looked at the end of her pregnancy: soft and round, her skin like mother-of-
pearl--but also worn from worry and one difficulty after another. This one would 
be different, he vowed. Nothing would go wrong. "As soon as you feel ready." 
 
"I--" She swallowed hard and turned to look into his eyes. "I threw out my birth 
control pills tonight." 
 
His hands were trembling as he cupped her face. He said quietly, "All right," and 
kissed her, sliding his hands down her neck and slowly lowering the halter top 
of her dress. She breathed deeply, tilting back her head, and whimpered when 
his lips closed around her nipple. 
 
"I love you," she breathed. "Oh, I love you, John. How I love you." 
 
He sucked her nipples until her fingernails sank into his shoulders, then lifted 
her in his arms and carried her out of the bathroom and to the bed, and laid her 
carefully down. "I love you, baby," he whispered, kissing her face and clutching 
her curls in his hand. "I love you, sweetheart." 
 
"John. This is a little scary." 
 
"It's just me." He stroked her cheek. "It's just us." 
 
"I've never set out to get pregnant before. Usually I've prayed not to--or been 
depressed because I never would." 
 
He stroked her lips gently with his thumb. "If you're not ready," he said 
seriously, "if you are unsure at all--" 
 
She studied his face with serious eyes, then nodded with a trembling smile. "I'm 
sure. I want this. I want a future, John." 
 
"I'm gonna give you everything you want, baby," he muttered and kissed her 
again, rubbing her breast with his palm. She moaned and wrapped her leg 
around his hip. 
 
He had noticed, twenty-five years ago as a newlywed, that the first night simply 
felt different--the difference between making love to his girlfriend and making 
love to his wife. There had been something reverent in the air, a gravity and 
seriousness because this was the first time in the rest of forever. Of course, life 
had belied that feeling--but Doggett thought, as he stroked and kissed Scully's 
body, that the feeling tonight was much the same and much more accurate. 
Forever starts now, he thought, and he had no fears that he might be wrong. 
 
He looked into her eyes--beautiful, trusting, hopeful--and thought, We have all 
the time in the world. 
 
He traced her lips with his fingertip and said, "I know you don't want to hear the 
same poem every night--but I do know more than one song. I could sing you to 
sleep, instead of reciting poems." 
 
"I would love to hear you sing." She smiled indulgently. 
 
"Okay. I'll keep that in mind." 
 
"Aren't you going to sing to me now?" She stroked his beard--which, he had 
never told her, was a sure way to get him started--and batted her eyelashes at 
him. "Sing to me, John. I want to hear it." 
 
"Will you sing back?" 
 
"Maybe." 
 
He had to think about it for a minute, then turned off the light and laid his head 
close by her ear. He held her close and went over the words quickly to make 
sure he remembered them. 
 
He sang, in a soft, low voice: "'They ask me how I feel, and if my love is real, 
and how I know I'll make it through. They look at me and frown. They'd like to 
drive me from this town. They don't want me around, 'cause I believe in you. 
They show me to the door, they said don't come back no more because I don't be 
like they'd like me to, and I walk out on my own, a thousand miles from home, 
but I don't feel alone, 'cause I believe in you. I believe in you, even through the 
tears and the laughter. I believe in you, even though we be apart. I believe in you 
even in the morning after. When the dawn is nearing on, when the night is 
disappearing, this feeling's still in my heart. Don't let me drift too far, keep me 
where you are, and I'll always be renewed. The love you've given me today is 
worth more than I could pay, and no matter what they say, I believe in you.'" 
 
In his arms Scully sighed, and then he felt her lips on his. "I didn't think my 
singing voice was that bad," he muttered, capturing her mouth again. 
 
"I love your singing voice." Her voice sounded thick as if she was holding back 
tears--he made his kiss less demanding and more giving, playing with her hair 
the way that she found soothing. 
 
"What is it, baby?" 
 
She sniffed quietly, then said, "It's hard to let go, that's all." 
 
"Dana," he said, and pulled her close for more comforting kisses. 
 
"There is nothing but the future now," she said quietly, returning his kisses, 
letting herself be cradled by him. "I love you. I hope you know that." 
 
"I do know that." 
 
"But I'm never going to stop loving him. I need you to understand that, too." 
 
Doggett exhaled slowly, resting his mouth on her forehead. There it was. It 
hadn't really occured to him, how difficult it might be for her to really move on--
but obviously it was, as if living her own life and taking hold of happiness was 
an enormous betrayal to a dead love. 
 
He said, "I'll try not to get jealous. Much." 
 
She chuckled, and when she kissed him he felt wetness on her cheeks. "Don't 
envy the dead, John. They want to dance and make love and eat, too." 
 
It was not the most cryptic statement she'd ever made to him, and he decided to 
let it pass. "Still living, baby. Still wanting to make love." 
 
She pushed him gently onto his back and kissed him, her breath sweet and her 
tongue curious and hungry. "Me too." She kissed him again, sliding her hands 
down his shirt and parting buttons with ease. "Promise me, John--" 
 
"Anything." 
 
"Promise me you won't die." 
 
He smiled in the dark and kissed her hand. "I promise. One poem and 
immortality. Easy." 
 
"This had better be a good poem." 
 
"One of the best."
*~*~*~*~
 
Scully had to go into the clinic the next morning. It was quiet--Sundays usually 
were--and she passed the time transcribing notes and looking up medications. 
 
Mike Shurtlieff, the director of the clinic, stopped in the doorway of Scully's 
office with a basket of homemade muffins--a weekly gift from his wife to the 
Sunday staff. "Mornin'," he said cheerfully. "I heard you had a big night last 
night." 
 
Does nothing stay a secret in this town? Scully thought, but only said, "Yes. 
John and I got engaged last night." 
 
"That's wonderful! Congratulations." He offered the basket to her and she took a 
blueberry muffin. "When's the wedding?" 
 
"We're thinking June." 
 
"This June? That's awfully close." 
 
"There's no reason to wait, as far as I'm concerned. John initially suggested 
flying to Vegas and doing it there, but his friends talked us into having the 
wedding here so they can celebrate with us. You all will get an invitation, of 
course. Mm, thanks." She wiped some crumbs from her lips. 
 
"Who are you going to have perform the wedding? I know you're not a member 
of any of the churches in town." 
 
"Ideally, a Catholic priest, but there isn't it a Catholic parish for miles." A 
thought struck her and she said, "Mike, you're a bishop, aren't you?" 
 
"Yeah," he said, nodding. 
 
"Could you perform it? Neither John nor I are Mormons but I would rather have 
someone I know perform it than a stranger." 
 
"Sure I can. We just have to get the license taken care of. I should tell you, I 
haven't performed many wedding ceremonies--most of our members go to one 
of the temples to get married--but I would love to, for you." 
 
"Thanks. I'll talk to John about it." She smiled at him and he grinned back, then 
checked his watch. 
 
"My meeting starts in a little bit. Are you okay here? Do you need me for 
anything?" 
 
"No, I think we're okay. Gina's here, isn't it she?" 
 
"She is. See you later." He gave her a little wave and left her office. 
 
Scully smiled back, then picked up the phone. John had still been asleep when 
she left, but he wouldn't mind being woken up with this news. She dialed their 
number--it only rang once, then John's sleepy voice said, "Mmlo?" 
 
"Hi, sweetie. It's me. I was just talking to Mike about the wedding and I asked 
him if he could marry us. He said he could." 
 
"But we're not Mormons." 
 
"I suppose it would be like getting married by any other clergy member. He's 
authorized by the state and we just have to get the license." 
 
"Okay," Doggett said, sounding slightly more awake. "This is really going to 
happen, isn't it, baby?" 
 
"Yes," Scully said, smiling. "No backing out now." 
 
"I wouldn't dream of it. I love you, sweet girl." 
 
"I love you too," she said and hung up. This really was happening: she was 
going to marry the man she loved, and all the mysterious warnings in the world 
wouldn't get in their way. 
 
She felt a sudden superstitious shiver. Daring the universe to defy her usually 
resulted in more heartache--but surely she'd earned a little happiness by now, 
hadn't she? A child, a lover that no one could take away? 
 
She sighed and passed her hand over her eyes, managing to look up with a smile 
when Gina, the clinic's nurse, came in to congratulate her on the engagement 
and grab a muffin. 

"You realize," Doggett said, "there are only thirty-six people on our guest list?" 
 
"I realize." Scully yawned and put aside the bridal magazine she had bought on 
impulse on the way home. It seemed geared towards younger women, with stars 
in their eyes and many zeros in their bank accounts. Plus, it said that six weeks 
before the wedding everything should be finished except the final fittings of the 
wedding gown, which was just ridiculous. She had crossed everything off the 
pre-printed To Do list that didn't apply to them, and told Doggett, "The bridal 
industry hates people like us." 
 
"I'm suspicious of anything that's named itself an 'industry' when it's really a 
service," he had answered. 
 
"Your mother's not on the list," he said now, waving the notepad at her. 
 
"I know." 
 
"Don't you want her to come?" 
 
"My mother thinks I'm dead, remember?" Scully said quietly, turning onto her 
side to see him more clearly. "I can't call her up and say, 'Hey, I'm alive, and by 
the way I'm getting married, can you come to Wyoming?' She would have a 
coronary." 
 
"Ah. Right. I forgot about that little issue." He frowned at the list a moment, and 
she rubbed his knee through the sheets. "Does it ever strike you as odd that it 
didn't come up at all while you were interviewing at the clinic? I kept expecting 
something, even just a mention." 
 
"Yes, but I decided just to be glad it didn't. Do you think it's going to be an issue 
when we apply for the license?" 
 
"I don't know," Doggett said slowly. "I just had a thought . . . I wonder if we 
look you up in, say, the Social Security database, that you might not be listed as 
deceased." 
 
"Or more than one of me are," Scully said, and he raised his eyebrows. "It just 
wouldn't surprise me, that's all. Nothing would surprise me at this point." 
 
He leaned on his elbow and said, "You are the real Dana Scully, aren't you?" 
 
She smacked him with the pillow and he laughed, rolling onto his back and 
pulling her on top of him. "If you really wanted to know you should have asked 
me four months ago," she said in a mock-stern voice, her hands on either side of 
his head, but he just continued laughing, massaging her bottom. 
 
"I've seen the scars, sweet girl. I doubt anybody could duplicate those." 
 
"Wonderful. I can be identified by my scars." 
 
"And that hella sexy tattoo." He rubbed her back, over her ouborous. "And I 
would know your eyes anywhere . . . and your sweet lips . . ." He started kissing 
her face. 
 
"You never kissed me when we knew each other before," Scully whispered, 
closing her eyes. 
 
"Yes, I did. A thousand times in my dreams." 
 
She shook her head, smiling. "I had no idea you were such a romantic." 
 
"I'm not romantic, honey. Just honest." 
 
He cradled the back of her head and drew her down so she would lay her head 
against his neck. Scully sighed, deeply happy, as he kissed her hair and 
massaged her skull. 
 
"What about the honeymoon?" he whispered. "Where would you like to go?" 
 
"You did say once that you wanted to take me camping in Yellowstone," Scully 
said and dropped a kiss on his chest. 
 
"So I did. Do you want to do that for our honeymoon?" 
 
"Yes. It sounds perfect. Just the two of us in a tent." 
 
"A little hiking, a little fishing, a little swimming . . ." 
 
"Perfect," Scully murmured. Her eyes wanted to close. It had been a long day: 
she had assisted with a birth and set a broken leg, and that was just since lunch. 
 
"Are you tired, baby?" Doggett whispered. 
 
"Yes . . ." 
 
"Mm." He began to massage her back fully with both his hands, in wide, 
sweeping circles that were designed to relax and soothe her. Even though she 
was tired, his touch was having the opposite effect: her heart started beating 
faster and her nipples tightened, and she felt her body unfurl like a banner 
caught in a morning breeze. 
 
She would never get tired of him. Never. 
 
Scully raised her head and looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes. He smiled 
at her and let his hands come to rest at the small of her back. "I thought you 
were tired," he murmured. 
 
"Not that tired." She thrust her hand into his hair, smiling at the tiny surprised 
sound he made when she pulled back his head. 
 
"Okay then," he muttered as she sucked on his earlobe and licked his neck. "Oh! 
Well, that's . . . that's . . . really nice . . ." 
 
Scully laughed in her throat and Doggett began to squeeze and knead her ass, 
working one knee between her thighs. His chest began to heave beneath her, and 
when she pushed herself up and placed her hands on his pectoral muscles they 
felt tense and coiled. He watched her closely through his thick eyelashes. 
 
"I almost bought a pregnancy test today," she blurted out. "But it seemed a little 
tacky, buying that and a wedding magazine at the same time." 
 
He cocked an eyebrow at her and said, "You will tell me, won't you, baby, when 
you're ready to take one of those?" 
 
"I will. You know, today was not the first time I've helped with a birth, but it's 
still the most miraculous feeling. I hope it never stops being awe-inspiring to 
me." 
 
"I'm sure it won't." He combed his hands through her hair. "I know you. I know 
how you are with wonder." 
 
She smiled, rested her weight on her elbows and lowered herself to kiss him. 
"You fill me with wonder," she whispered, and ran her tongue along his lower 
lip. In response she got a soft groan and a surge from his hips, and his knee 
rubbed the inside of her thigh. His cock was hardening against her belly, making 
her own sex start to feel swollen and pulsing. She pushed her hips against his, 
smiling as he groaned again, and then chased the groan into his mouth. 
 
She could kiss him for hours. She loved to rub her cheeks against his beard: 
before she'd kissed him she had thought his beard would be prickly and rough, 
but it felt as silky and soft as the hair on his head. She loved to play with his 
ears, to run her hands up and down his strong chest, to feel his stomach flutter 
when she kissed it. 
 
He didn't lie beneath her passively, either--she loved that, too. She loved when 
he palmed her breasts, when he pushed them together to flick his tongue 
between them. When he flipped her onto her stomach to kiss down her spine, 
even licking the dips of her knees and the cheeks of her ass. She loved it when 
he dragged her legs over his shoulders and licked her inner thighs, sucked her 
outer labia and then finally, when she was begging Please, please, I need it, 
settling in to circle her clitoris with his tongue until stars exploded in her brain. 
She loved it when he arched over her, his body tense and trembling, to finally 
slide into her and slowly thrust until his body was shaking with his efforts to 
keep in control, until she whispered, "Harder," and he would let loose, throwing 
his entire body into fucking her. 
 
He could be gentle and often was--could be tender, making love to her as if she 
were made of glass and satin--could talk to her sweetly--but she loved when he 
was rough, too, when he lost control and just had to be inside her, now, harder, 
deeper, more . . . 
 
Scully fell against the pillows, panting. "Wow," Doggett whispered. He curled 
his body closer to hers, moving his head to her stomach. 
 
"Yeah." She stroked his shoulders, noticing absently that her panties were still 
wound around one ankle. 
 
"That," Doggett said after a few minutes more, "was. In. Fucking. Credible." 
 
"Yeah," Scully echoed. She put her hand on her stomach, counted back the days 
and sighed. He heard it--or more likely, felt it--and lifted his head to kiss the 
base of her throat. 
 
"That was okay, wasn't it?" 
 
"It was good. It was very good. I feel . . . Fantastic. I just . . ." She sighed again, 
and let him gather her into his arms and pull up the blankets that had been 
kicked aside in their frenzy. 
 
"Hey. Sweet girl. It's just us, sweetheart. Don't think about whether you're 
ovulating or anything like that, okay? I promise," he paused to kiss her temple, 
"when it matters, it will all work out." 
 
She rubbed his cheek and closed her eyes. 
 
"Dana," he said after kissing her for several minutes, "tell me something." 
 
"Mm-mm?" 
 
"You don't want to have a baby just because I asked you to, do you? You do 
want this too, don't you?" 
 
"I want it," Scully said, leaning on her elbow and looking into his eyes. "I want 
it so much. But wanting it doesn't stop me from being a little worried. Or a 
whole lot worried." 
 
Doggett started to speak, hesitated, then said, "I've been worried about it too, 
actually. I hadn't thought, I guess, about how hard it would actually be for you 
until Mary Ouida said something about it today." 
 
She raised her eybrows at him. "You were talking with Mary Ouida about how 
we want to have a baby?" 
 
"Just a little," Doggett admitted. "I happened to mention having kids, and she 
wanted to know if you've had any children and why I wasn't sure if we could, 
and the conversation just . . . You know. Meandered." 
 
Scully laid down her head, waiting for him to explain further. Doggett said, 
obviously uncomfortable with admitting this, "She wanted to know how old you 
are. And when I said you had been pregnant before and had a hard time she got 
very worried and wanted to know how hard of a time, so I told her everything 
that I remembered, and she went on looking worried but didn't tell me exactly 
why. So now I'm more worried than I was." He held her chin in his fingers. "If it 
comes down to having a child or having you, I'll choose you." 
 
Scully smiled and kissed him. "I don't think it will be that drastic, but it's still 
nice to know." She kissed him again and laid her head on his shoulder. Doggett 
reached over to turn out the light. 
 
After a few minutes he said, "Dana?" 
 
"Yes?" 
 
"I will always choose you." 
 
"I know." She kissed his neck. "I know." 
 
A few minutes more, then: "If we go to Yellowstone for our honeymoon we'll 
scare the wolves away. You do realize that." 
 
Scully fell asleep giggling. 
continued in part V