Title: "Survival Lessons" 

Author: Feretopia@aol.com (or, Gina) 

Date: July 2, 2001 

Feedback: Yes, always. Feedback (receiving AND giving it) is good for 
the soul. 

Rating: PG for some minor language 

Category: Doggett POV, V, post-ep, slight UST 

Spoilers: "Within"/"Without" 

Summary: What does Doggett think about his sudden pairing with the 
enigmatic Dr. Scully? 

Archive: Anywhere, just inform me and keep this heading on it. 

Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, Doggett, and Skinner aren't mine. Neither 
is Kersh (thank God). They all belong to Chris Carter and 10-13, and 
no copyright infringement is intended. 

Author's Note: Oh, BTW, I'm guessing on the shoe size. If anyone knows 
for sure what it is, kindly inform me. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

I stare back at Deputy Director Kersh. What the hell is this? He's 
busting me down to that basement office that's been the butt of so 
many jokes at the water-cooler? That basement office talked about in 
so many rumors, the lair of Spooky Mulder and his missus? 

The man gives me an unpleasant smile, and I know it's time to take my 
leave. I heft myself out of the chair, turn my back on him, and walk 
out. That bastard. He thinks he can toy with me? Well, we'll see 
just who's being toyed with here. Because if he thinks being dropped 
to the X-Files is gonna break me, he's got another thing coming. I'll 
show him I'm an "ace," all right. 

***** 

I hesitate at the door of Agent Scully's hospital room. She's asleep. 
Somehow, she manages to still look like a beauty queen even with a 
bruise the size of Texas on that picture-perfect face. At last I let 
myself in quietly, clutching a get-well card in one hand and a file in 
the other. 

I bought it down in the hospital gift shop. It's a feminine-looking 
thing with a rainbow across the front. Figured she'd appreciate that 
more than a card with some cartoon character on the front and a 
derisive joke in the middle. Don't know her well enough to know if 
she'd like something like that. I had scribbled a message inside -- 
"Hoping you get well soon. John Doggett." -- and then headed to her 
room. Now I step forward and place the card in one of her bruised 
hands. She stirs, opens her eyes, reads the card, looks up at me. 

"My dad always said it's not who wins or loses, it's who takes 
the worst beatin' that counts," I say, trying to smile. The effort 
gets lost somewhere en route to my face. 

Scully is unimpressed. "That supposed to cheer me up?" 

"I thought so." I had hoped so, anyway. I wonder what she'll say 
when she finds out I'm her new partner. If she had her gun with her 
she'd probably shoot me. Or Kersh. Come to think of it, that wouldn't 
necessarily be such a bad thing. "But then I never did get to see 
your opponent," I tell her. 

That's true. All I saw was a puddle of green goo that ended up eating 
my shoes. I had to drive to the nearest shoe store in my socks, seeing 
as how none of the other agents happened to have an extra pair of 
shoes in their briefcases. That shoe salesmen sure looked hella 
surprised when a fed showed up at his store in socks, looking for a 
pair of size 11 dress shoes. 

"And you never will. You still don't believe me," Scully says in a 
dull voice, her eyes dead. 

I ignore that. What, should I say, "Of course I don't believe you, 
you crazy woman!" Instead I reply, "What I don't believe is how long 
they're keepin' you here." 

She looks evasive. "Oh, it's just some things they have to check 
out... make sure of." Uh huh. I take a moment to wonder about what 
she could be hiding, but then I force myself to concentrate on the task 
at hand. I can -- and will -- wonder about this later. 

"Well, I've got some things I thought you'd want checked out. A.D. 
Skinner is in stable condition, resting comfortably and awaiting 
diagnosis and further study." I go down the list. "Ditto Agent 
Landau, his throat. Gibson Praise is right now a ward of the state 
but I asked for special protections, as I assumed you would yourself." 
I close the file, await her approval. 

"What are you doing here, Agent Doggett?" she asks, a suspicious look 
in her eyes. 

"Keepin' you apprised of the case," I say, a little surprised. She 
could've at least thanked me. I know I would've done so had the 
situation been reversed. 

She informs me, curtly, that it's not my job. She still looks a 
little suspicious. 

"It is, actually. And officially. I'm . . . assigned now to the 
X-Files," I admit clumsily. Sorry, Scully. 

Dana Scully stares at me, her mouth open, gaping at me like a dead 
fish. Not an attractive look for her at all. I start to wonder if 
maybe being shot would be better than to have her look at me with such 
disdain . . . such *horror*. It's obvious that my being assigned to 
the X-Files is her worst nightmare. 

Despite the fact that I pretty much knew how she'd react to my not- 
exactly-good news, I can't help but be at least a little hurt. I 
start to leave, swallowing, hoping that maybe someday she'll be able 
to see me with something other than disgust. Because I sure as hell 
don't look at her that way. In fact . . . the divorce could finally 
come in handy . . . only, of course, if Scully showed me any interest 
in return. The way she's looking at me right now, though, doesn't 
suggest that I'll be paying for two anytime soon. 

This partnership of ours -- it's gonna be damn weird. 

I look back at her. "Whatever you and I may differ on, I'll find him, 
Agent Scully," I promise. Bet I'll get points for *that*. I find 
myself thinking, "See, Scully, I'm not such a bad guy after all. I 
wish you'd see that." For some reason this woman's approval is 
suddenly very important to me . . . for some reason I want very, very 
much for this partnership to work. 

She's gaping at me still. Defeated, I leave her to contemplate the new 
curve she's been thrown. 

***** 

Driving home, I'm held up at a red light and I realize that I'm only a 
few blocks away from the J. Edgar Hoover building. I'm done with work 
for today, but something makes me head towards it anyway. 

Ten minutes later, I let myself into the basement office, which is 
still unlocked, thanks to the men who have been searching it. The 
place is a shambles, but I don't mind. 

I go straight to the battered filing cabinet and grab a stack of files. 
If this out-of-the-way place is gonna be my punishment, I'm at least 
gonna know what it is I'm supposed to be doing down here. 

I sit down at Mulder's desk and survey the place, taking in the "I 
Want to Believe" flying saucer poster, the pinned-up newspaper articles 
about weird happenings, the unmarked videotapes peeking out of an open 
drawer. I sigh, opening the first folder. Gonna be a long weekend. 

***** 

Today I realized something. 

I gotta learn how to dance in circles, how to feint, to dodge, to 
misdirect. I gotta learn how to baffle, to confuse, to perfect my 
mental sleight of hand. 

I gotta learn how to survive on the X-Files. 

And God knows, it's not gonna be easy. But hey. I was never one to 
give up, and I don't intend to start now. Guess I'll just do my best 
and see what comes of it. 

Besides, I told her I'd find him. And she's definitely not someone I 
want to disappoint. 

~FIN 

Feedback will be cherished at: feretopia@aol.com