UNDOCUMENTED
by 
Lacadiva
(Lacadiva@aol.om)

Rating:  PG13
Category:  Doggett/Scully Friendship/Colonization
Disclaimer:  All things X-Files belongs to Fox and Ten Thirteen. 
 Lyrics belong to The Black Crowes and Sony Music Entertainment, 
Inc.  No copyright infringement intended. 
Spoilers:  Bunches, you bet.  
Archive:  I'd be honored.   Just write me and let me know.
Feedback: Love it.  Send it.  Pleeze.
Summary:  Doggett risks his life to carry precious cargo -- Scully 
-- across country to Mulder and safety as the alien takeover begins.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"For in the day of trouble he will keep me safe in his dwelling;
he will hide me in the shelter of his tabernacle and set me 
high upon a rock."
Psalm 27:5
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lady Man's Diner
Bloomington, IN
6:08 am

She was sleeping, finally, after another long night of bad dreams 
filled with demons chasing her.  So he took the opportunity to go 
exploring and score some breakfast.  He knew she'd be waking up 
soon; she never slept for very long, and neither did he these days. 
 And even though she'd probably claim she wasn't hungry, he wanted 
to have a little something there waiting for her.  

The diner was a decaying dinosaur, a last remnant of better days 
now gone forever.  Lights were blown out and remained unchanged. 
The floors were unwashed and windows cracked and feebly taped up 
like Band-aids over gaping wounds.  No one cared anymore.  The booth 
where Doggett sat was sticky and clammy, but from here he could 
best see the door.  He didn't care much for surprises.  He'd had 
more than he could take in the last couple of weeks.  From his first 
day on the X-Files until his last, he'd laughed at that whole space 
alien thing.  Even as the evidence continued to mount, he'd still 
fought against the notion of an alien takeover.  Until the first 
ship arrived, blotting out the sun, changing their fates forever.

Two days before it happened, he received a frantic call from Mulder, 
who was halfway across the country.  Mulder told him that he could 
do one of two things:  believe him and do as he said, or bend over 
and kiss his own butt goodbye.  Doggett chose the former.  

Mulder asked him to hide Scully for a few days.  But that wasn't 
all.  He needed Doggett to get Scully out of D.C. - smuggle her 
out and get her to a rendezvous station where Skinner would meet 
them to take them the rest of the way to Mulder.  

There were labs, he was told, but exact locations remained undisclosed. 
 Weapons - both hardware and biological - were being developed to 
fight back.  The Garza Vaccine was almost ready to test, but they 
needed Scully to bring the project to fruition.  It was her discovery, 
her idea, and only she knew how to take it to the next level.  

Scully, however, was in no great shape to do anything these days. 
 The depression that struck her had left her listless, lost and 
for a while, uncommunicative.  Nothing like the Scully Doggett first met.

She had been ill with inconsolable grief, and now she was still 
trying to pull herself back together after the birth - and theft - of her baby.

Her very exceptional baby.

They had left her alone at first, leaving her to believe that they 
were safe, that there was no threat to her or her baby.  Then, shortly 
before William turned six months old, they came, and they took him.

Doggett shook his head, trying to stop the barrage of memories and 
imagery.  You didn't experience loss like this and easily recover. 
 He knew this from his own life, his own loss.   It would haunt 
him forever, as it no doubt would Scully.  He tried not to remember 
the first time she let him hold her baby, when it was only a few 
days old, how even then he could tell there was something different 
about the infant.  She had placed the baby gingerly into his arms 
and instantly he was flooded by memories of his own newly born son.

He shivered, despite his leather jacket and the rising early morning 
heat and humidity.  There was no air conditioning in the diner. 
 Many luxuries had been banned.  As the aliens began taking over, 
one of the first things to go was unnecessary utilities.  Only the 
bare essentials were allowed.  Massive blackouts resulted whenever 
energy use rose above levels set by the Colonizers.  There was no 
radio, and no television except for round-the-clock alerts and warnings. 
 Everyone watched in those first days.  Now there was no point. 
 All of it was propaganda, all dire warnings of death for disobedience. 
 After three days of it, Doggett shot out his own television screen.

And then he hit the road with Scully.  She wasn't strong enough 
at the time, but they couldn't afford to wait any longer.  Mulder 
was waiting, along with others who desperately needed Scully.  Mulder needed 
Scully.

Why such a lousy taste in his mouth when he thought about this?

He chalked it up to male territorialism and smiled.  Maybe it was 
because he was spending so much time with her, just the two of them. 
 For a while he was beginning to see himself as some kind of knight. 
 A somewhat disheveled, tired knight in tarnished, dented armor, 
and Scully was the Princess, his charge.  He meant no derision by 
that image of Scully.  This was no pampered, privileged, naive child-woman 
image he had of Scully.  Somehow, even racing across desert stretches 
or pacing the floor of an autopsy room with an open cadaver before 
them, Scully had a stately, stainless veneer that reminded him of 
royalty, or the closest thing to it.  He scratched his arm inside 
his jacket, digging in deeply enough to raise thick red welts.  
Not because he was itching, but because it brought him back, reconnected 
him with reality.   Scully was Scully.  His partner, his friend, and now his 
responsibility.  

He watched as the Waitress, a petite brunette in a pink uniform 
and white sneakers made a fresh pot of coffee.  The smell hit him 
and he breathed it in deeply, wishing it could take the edge off 
of his exhaustion.  This kind of tired, he thought, could only make 
you careless, get you hurt.  Or killed.   

"Here's your coffees," the waitress said, placing two large covered 
foam cups before him, along with a large paper bag.  "Cream and 
sugar's in the bag.  Egg and cheese on wheat.  Bacon, egg and cheese 
on white.  And one whole peanut butter pie.  Can I get you anything else?"

"No," said Doggett, reaching into his pocket.  "What's the damage?"

"Twenty-six oh nine."

"Twenty-six...?"

"I know it sucks, sir.  Prices are way up 'cause supplies are down. 
 I can't even afford to eat here no more."

"Yeah," was all Doggett could say when he saw the sad look in the 
girl's brown eyes.  He pulled out two crumpled twenties and waited 
for his change.  He left her an extra two bucks on the table and 
was about to stand, but heard bells above the door announce a new entry.

Doggett looked up to find a huge, chiseled face on a massive body 
walking in.  He was wearing a deputy's uniform that was about to 
pop off his thick chest.  They had seen this same man before in 
their travels, he and Scully.  She had referred to him as the Bounty 
Hunter.  But that was not his function here.  He was just one of 
many clones with this same face and shape scattered across the country 
and no doubt the rest of the world to police the human race for 
the Colonizers.  Random checks for papers were standard procedure, 
no matter where you lived now.  Doggett's heart started beating 
hard against his chest.  He could feel the blood draining from his 
face, his fingertips beginning to tingle. 

He'd seen the propaganda reports on television wherever they ended 
up.  People being shot and thrown into common graves, or burned 
alive for being undocumented.  How long would their luck hold out? 
 He had papers, but they were forged.  Every time he had to present 
them somewhere, he felt that sense of panic, the adrenaline rush 
signaling his body to flee.  Because if he and Scully were found 
to be undocumented, they would be put to death instantly.  

"Morning," said the big alien Deputy.  "Hungry?"

Doggett looked down at the paper sack and two coffees.  "Yeah."

"May I see your papers?"

"Sure," he said with a strained smile.  He raised his hands first, 
to show that he was surrendered to cooperating, then reached slowly 
inside his jacket for the folded papers the Lone Gunmen had meticulously 
manufactured for him.  He could feel sweat soaking through his khaki 
green tee shirt as he handed the falsified papers over to the Deputy, 
praying he had not caught a glimpse of the weapon Doggett wore clipped to his 
belt.

The Deputy made a long show of looking over every inch of the pages, 
keeping Doggett sitting there, wondering, worrying.  Doggett knew 
he could take the big guy if push came to shove.  He could knock 
him to the floor and blow his brains out before the guy even knew 
what hit him.  But then, there may be others outside waiting for 
him.  And if they traced him back to the hotel, they'd find Scully....

"Everything looks in order, Mr. Jones," he said to Doggett.  "You can go now."

Doggett was about to rise, until a big, beefy hand came down on his shoulder.

"Who's the other coffee for?" the Deputy demanded.

"My wife," said Doggett.  

"Where is she?"

"Shopping."

"At six in the morning?"

Doggett felt his heart skip.  That was stupid.  Some knight he'd turned out to 
be.

The Waitress stepped up quickly behind the Deputy, her own papers 
in hand, surrendering them to the alien.  "There's a farmer's market 
down the way, opens at six every Friday, rain or shine," she said. 
 "Not much to buy but corn, but it's good corn."

"She likes corn," Doggett added, sending the waitress a silent thank you.

The Deputy said no more, but only took a small step back, not allowing 
Doggett much room to leave.  He squeezed by as best he could, praying 
that the big alien could not smell his fear, and headed slowly for 
the door.  Don't rush it, he kept telling himself.  Take it easy.  Nice and 
easy.

"Mr. Jones!"

Doggett stopped in his tracks, could feel hot coffee spill from 
one of the lids and burn the back of his hand.

"Don't forget your change," the Deputy said, pointing to the dollar bills still 
on the table.

"That's a tip," he said.  "For the waitress.  Good service."

"You pay her extra money to do what she's supposed to do already. 
 I'll never understand you humans."

*   *   *

Doggett fumbled in his jacket pocket for the key to the motel room, 
wrestling with the bags and cups and finally getting the door opened. 
 He expected to find Scully still lying in bed in the dark, drab 
room, curled up in a fetal position.  But the bed was empty.  

He felt a catch in his stomach.

He looked to the bathroom door.  It was closed and he could see 
the light on under the door.  That had to be it.  He sat the bag 
and coffees down on the round, unbalanced table in the corner and moved to the 
bathroom door.

He knocked gently three times.  "Scully?"  No answer.  He knocked 
again.  "Agent Scully?"  They stilled called each other Agent sometimes, 
even though the titles meant nothing anymore.  "You fall in?"

No answer.

He didn't want to walk in on her.  She might have been taking a 
warm bath.  Perhaps she'd fallen asleep in the tub.  

Or she could be gone.

Doggett reached for the door knob and turned it.  It wasn't locked.

"Scully?"

The bathroom was empty.  A second towel lay wet on the floor, near 
his.  So she'd showered, but where had she gone?

He heard someone outside the motel room door.  He pulled his gun, removed the 
safety and aimed.

Scully walked in.  She started with a gasp and went for her own 
gun, but stopped when she realized it was Doggett.

"Where were you?" she asked, perturbed.

"I could ask you the same," Doggett retorted, returning his gun to his holster.  

"I went looking for you."

"I would've left you a note," he said, "but you take your chances 
with these cheap rooms.  No stationery, no pens to steal."

"So where were you?"

"Securing breakfast."

"You should have saved yourself the trouble.  I'm not hungry."

"I am, and you might be later," he said, opening the bag, hoping 
the smell would activate her appetite.  "There's coffee."

"Coffee I can do."  

"And peanut butter pie."

"Peanut butter pie?"  With this she actually smiled a bit.  Almost coquettish.  

"One piece or two?" she asked.

"One pie, two forks."

This earned him a bigger smile from Scully.

"We're gonna have to eat on the road," he told her.  "One of those 
alien bounty hunter guys showed up at the diner and demanded my 
papers.  I don't think he followed me, but I figure we shouldn't take any 
chances."

Scully immediately grabbed her overnight bag and headed for the door.  

"I'll drive," she said.

"Naw, you ride shotgun."

"I can drive, Doggett.  I'm not sick anymore."

"Yeah, I know.  But you shoot better than me."

*   *   *

Highway in Illinois
10:13 am

They'd been on the road for a few hours, putting as much distance 
as they could between them and Bloomington.  

Doggett let out a short breath of relief when he noticed Scully 
finally reaching inside the bag between them and pulling out the 
sandwiches.  Even though he knew they would be cold, the thought 
of food made his mouth begin to water.  But he was determined to wait for 
Scully.

"Which one's mine?" she asked, a sandwich in each hand.

"White with bacon's mine."

"I like bacon."

"I thought it made you sick."

"Yes, when I was pregnant.  The smell made me nauseous."

"Sorry," he said. 

"Don't be.  I can't expect you to be acquainted with all of the 
intimate details of my life, Agent Doggett."

*I bet Mulder would have known that*, he thought, but bit back the urge to voice 
it.

"Take my sandwich," he offered instead.  

"No, no," Scully scoffed with a put-on sigh to tease him.  She pulled 
the wrapping from his sandwich, making it into a neat little pouch 
so that he could eat and drive and the same time.  Before handing 
it to him, however, she pinched a piece of wilted bacon from it and popped it 
into her mouth.

He took a big bite, regretting that he had long ago finished off 
the coffee.  His consolation however, was that Scully was eating. 
 He spied a quick look as she took a bite and it didn't seem to 
make her ill as she chewed and swallowed it.  Progress.  There had 
been days when she would barely drink water.  She refused all else.  

He remembered how remarkably and quickly his wife had regained her 
shape after Luke's birth.  Scully, however, after delivering her 
baby and later being separated from him, had practically disappeared, 
becoming almost wraith-like in appearance.  The paleness of her 
skin, the hollowness of her eyes, the weakness in her voice, had 
scared him those first few days.  Scully moved as if through a dream 
those days after the child was taken.  

She was finally starting to sound and look a bit like her old self 
again, like the fresh, determined, more-than-capable Scully who 
tried to move heaven and earth to find her first partner.  And would 
do the same for him.  Wouldn't she?

There was that odd twinge of jealousy again.

Scully finished most of the sandwich, dropping a piece of the crust 
back into the bag before pronouncing herself full.

"Saving room for the pie?" Doggett asked with his mouth full.

"There's always room for pie," she said.  "Why don't you let me drive a while?"

"Nah, I'm okay.  You just navigate."

"Navigate what?  We're going to be on this road for the rest of 
the day.  I need to do something with my mind before it atrophies."

"Okay," Doggett said.  "I spy with my little eye..."

"Anything but that."

Doggett laughed a bit.  "I used to play that with Luke on road trips."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's okay.  It's good for me to talk about him once in a while. 
 You taught me that, Agent Scully.  Feels good to remember.  Besides, 
makes me grateful in some weird small way that he ain't around for 
this.  For what the world's becoming.  How do you protect your child through 
this, ya know?"

Silence between them.  Doggett realized for the first time how much 
the two of them truly had in common, and wished he had kept his mouth shut.

"You know," Scully said, breaking the tension, "Since I'm feeling 
better, there's no need to hover over me.  I won't fall apart. I'
ve withstood a lot, John, and I can take a lot more."

"Nobody's doubting your ability to take care of yourself, Scully. 
 I just like driving.  It keeps my head clear."

"You just like being in control."

"So?  What's your point?  Look, if it means that much to you, Dana, 
next time we make a stop, you can drive.  Deal?"

"You just called me Dana."

"You called me John."

"When?"

"A few moments ago."

"Did not."

"I distinctly heard it."

"You're right, I did," Scully confessed.

Such a pleasure, a departure, Doggett thought, being able to lighten the mood a 
bit.  

"Does this mean things are reaching a whole new level for you 'n me?" he asked.

"It just means I'm scared."

Doggett's smile faded to thin-lipped seriousness again, bringing 
with it the realization of what they were living through, running from.  

"Yeah," he confessed.  "Me too." 

*   *   *

They stopped at a gas station, marveling at the prices which had 
risen to nearly eight dollars a gallon, and the hand-painted note 
that read "sorry - pumps dry." They decided there was enough gas 
to attempt another fifty miles or so on the road.  Perhaps they'
d have better luck farther along the way.

Scully freshened up in the tiny bathroom while Doggett fought with 
a vending machine.  After taking his dollar, the cinnamon flavored 
chewing gum he selected remained on it's shelf, refusing to fall 
to the window below.  He looked around, then took hold of the machine 
and gave it a good shake.  Not only did he dislodge the gum, but 
he also scored pack of Oreos, beef jerky, and a bag of sunflower seeds.

He met Scully at the car, and opened the driver's side door for 
her.  Once she was in, he climbed into the passenger's seat, and 
decided against making a comment as Scully adjusted the seat to fit her smaller 
frame.

Once on the road, Doggett rolled down his window, stuck an elbow 
out and folded a stick of gum into his mouth.  He balled up the 
paper and flicked it to the back.

Scully snorted, holding back a laugh.

"What?" he demanded.

"Nothing.  Just wondering right now what color your neck is, Agent Doggett."

"Are you calling me a redneck, Agent Scully?"

"No.  I'm sure that somewhere, slightly south of the Mason-Dixon 
Line, it's standard FBI procedure to flick chewing gum wrappers 
into the back seat, even if it isn't a pick up truck."

"I'll have you know," he said, his southern accent tinged with New 
York deliberately more pronounced now, "that I worked hard and long 
learning how to flick that wrapper just right.  You have to consider yaw, 
trajectory - "

"Maybe you can teach me someday."

"When the student's ready, the master will appear.  So I've heard."

"John?"

"Uh huh?" 

"Do you think William is still alive?"

"Whoa," Doggett said before he could stop himself, "talk about yaw."

"I realize that came out of left field.  It's just that he's on my mind all of 
the time."

"Truth, Scully?  I dunno.  I got no beat on this stuff.  I got no 
reference for this.  That's you and Mulder's territory.  If you'
re in the dark, I'm in the dark with you.  I wish I had answers for you."

"So do I."

*    *    *