TITLE: Man Alive
AUTHOR: Anne Hedonia
RATING: PG-13 (Few bad words)
SPOILERS: Great biggun's for "DeadAlive"
ARCHIVE: Not to Gossamer - I'll do that. Anywhere else,
please! Just lemme know.
CLASSIFICATION: Post-ep for "DeadAlive", Doggett POV
KEYWORDS: S/D, DSR, UST
DISCLAIMERS: Me no own.
SUMMARY: He hadn't expected to feel this bad...or this much.

AUTHORS NOTE: That look on Doggett's face as he stepped into
(and quickly out of) the hospital room - man oh man, I just
had to make it all better. So here's nothin' but wish
fulfillment.

FAIR WARNING: This is a fairly innocent, somewhat mushy S/D
story. Lots of Doggett pining, and not necessarily in vain.
'Dipper field day. If you're not one of these new-fangled
'Dippers, and any of these elements is already causing your
'Shipper hackles to rise, PLEASE save us both a lot of upset
and don't read any further. Seriously, step AWAY from the
fic, and click on over to Xemplary where you'll be safe.
Try to remind yourself that *nothing* you read on AXTC (or
see on Fox, for that matter) is actually really happening.

Endless beta thanks to Azar Suerte and FirePhile for keeping
me honest(although squeamishness was overruled. Sorry, A!)
Constructive feedback - of any opinion - is groveled for at
[email protected]. Flames have a funny way of getting
deleted.

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John Doggett is sitting alone, in the farthest corner of a
dark, windowless bar. His suit jacket has been ditched and
his sleeves are rolled up, tie removed and forgotten. A man
so dressed should look relaxed, but Doggett knows he
doesn't.

When he entered an hour and a half ago, there were plenty of
empty stools and seats up front, but he didn't choose one.
He chose a roomy booth in the back for, paradoxically, both
its isolation and its expansiveness - he deserved all the
luxuries he could get tonight, he thought sourly.

By now, the place is hopping, full of loud, hairy customers
and their cheaply-dressed women, spilling over with
testosterone, piss and vinegar. "Born to be Bad" blares
unapologetically on the jukebox, while videos of sports
events play on ignored video screens overhead. Through the
eye-stinging miasma of cigarette smoke, several of the
patrons watch the booth Doggett occupies with irritated
longing - one man taking up a booth that size seems more
than a little rude. Doggett is not aware of this, ignoring
everything but the bottom of his glass.

He's giving himself this one time to get drunk and forget
about her, that's what he's doing. One chance to get all
this grief and loss out of his system, before he has to suck
it up and accept it. He was stupid to let himself get to
this point and now it's his own fault that it's so hard. He
runs over a certain, very recent scene in his mind, with
masochistic precision: Scully draped over a
nearly-cadaverous Mulder in his hospital bed, her eyes
brimming with utter joy at his awakening. Mulder's ruined
hand caressing her hair and muttering little jokes that make
her laugh and sniffle. That excruciating moment when Scully
looks up and sees him, Doggett, intruding. Her watery eyes
locking with his crestfallen ones, and him unable to hide
his dismay, disappointment...hurt. He couldn't back away
fast enough from that scene - that universe - that no longer
had any need for him at all.

Doggett takes another determined slug of scotch. Before he
saw the two of them in that room, it had never been real,
you know? Of course he always *knew* the feelings building
up in him were doomed, but before he walked in on that scene
there was at least a far-fetched chance, a chance that this
thing between them wasn't everything it seemed to be. Mulder
himself wasn't even real until now. He was just an
abstraction, a far-off goal, the way - he thinks, with no
little shame - to get her attention.

Doggett's forehead falls gently forward, to be propped up by
the tips of his fingers - he's not proud of his recent
feelings and behavior, like his opposition to exhuming
Mulder, or to everyone's optimism while they kept him on
life support. He tries to exonerate himself, at least in his
own mind: he *was* genuinely interested in protecting Scully
from being hurt, he thinks. He was genuinely interested in
protecting the dignity of a man after his death. But in his
heart of hearts he sees the deeper truth: that the closer
her partner got to consciousness, the more silent panic
Doggett felt. He could no longer pretend that a
flesh-and-blood man named Mulder didn't exist, and that that
man didn't hold claim to the most heartbreakingly special
woman John had ever met.

But he's seen it now, and there's no denying it. He shakes
his head in a vain attempt to banish that thought and,
failing, tilts back his head and his glass to let a bit more
scotch slide hotly down his throat. He realizes now that as
Mulder got closer to living, his own hopes got closer to
dying. And now, he thinks grimly, they're R.I.P.

Doggett glances to one side and catches his own reflection
in a Budweiser mirror. Jesus, what a sad sack. Every feature
of his face is drooping so badly he looks like a bloodhound.
Suddenly he feels a flash of anger and hot impatience. God
dammit, ya big pussy...why is this drinking session even
happening? How the hell did you *think* things were going to
turn out? That at the end of all this, she'd throw her arms
around your neck and declare her undying devotion? That you'
d sit atop your trusty horse and tip your white cowboy hat
at Mulder before you rode off into the sunset with her -
because, after all, even though it was Mulder she couldn't
live without, you were her Man of Action, right? Her
tireless superhero, her savior in gleaming armor, her big
dumb Dudley Do-Right...

Oh, and let's not even *talk* about the baby thing.
*Jesus*. The hell you been smoking, anyway?

He signals the waitress for another, ignoring a pointed
glare from some big-bellied bubba who clearly wants to sit
down. He's vaguely annoyed until he thinks of the look Dana
Scully would give that guy, and a slow, crooked smile warms
his features. 300 pounds of beer-fueled blubber wouldn't
stand a chance against that one *eyebrow*...

The light behind his smile doesn't last long, however. He
has no future with the owner of that eyebrow - the tiny and
steely, delicate and luminous woman behind that look.
Instead, she's given herself to a man who - he can tell -
infuriates her and runs her ragged and tests her faith at
every juncture. Makes her prove her devotion, then rewards
her with more trials. Someone who, though good and
honorable, is too self-centered to realize what he's got
until it's kidnapped and lost under an ice floe in
Antarctica somewhere and he's got to bust his ass like some
truant fuck-up to get it back. Doggett's jaw sets grimly,
and through his growing fog he knows one thing is true: it
would go against every instinct in his body to ever treat
her that way.

His next drink comes and he's got it in his hand before the
waitress has even let it touch the table. She casts him a
longing look before she leaves, but John has no knowledge of
it. He's too busy thinking about what to do now. He leans
back in the booth and sighs: as far as he's concerned,
there's little question - he has to leave the X-Files. No
matter how important this fight of hers may have become to
him, he knows he couldn't keep his feelings under wraps if
he were forced to stay and watch the heartwarming reunion.
Unfortunately, Kersh's transfer offer is long gone, but even
if it were still available, he certainly wouldn't do
anything to please that crooked bastard anymore. It's okay,
he's got enough friends and former colleagues in good places
to find somewhere to go. Leaving is the wise thing to do, he
thinks. It's the only thing to do...isn't it?

His eyes fall shut, as his conviction wavers. The thought of
not seeing her any more makes his heart rip. He can't stand
the idea of not knowing every day whether or not she's all
right, or if there's anything he can do to help her. He
couldn't stand being unable to *act* in the service of
keeping her safe. Of course, she's not unprotected - she's
got Mulder now, but...shit. That feels even worse. His eyes
open and stare dejectedly.

And it's not just protecting her - though that's much of
it - he thinks about other things he'd miss. Like feeling
the change in the office when she sweeps into it in the
morning, crisp and businesslike yet undeniably feminine.
It's like a woman's presence has no business being there,
until she gets there...and then she's exactly what the place
needed. Or being able to smell her shampoo while reading a
file over her shoulder. 'Hell, while reading it over her
*head*,' he thinks with a tiny smirk. That perfumey stuff
she uses...it's familiar, but he still hasn't placed it yet.
He thinks dimly that it's not fair to have to leave before
he knows what it reminds him of. His thoughts slow to a
crawl as he lingers over a specific moment of file-sharing
in his mind, visualizing the temptation of her neck, of her
smooth white skin lit by the faint glow from the basement
window and his mouth so near as he pretends to read...it
would take nothing to lean over, close the distance and...

Suddenly an appreciative roar of laughter from a group over
in the corner startles Doggett, his recoiling muscles
yanking him out of his preferred other world. He glares
angrily at the rowdy bunch, pissed at being intruded upon
just because some yahoo managed to make a funny.

Another glance around the room confirms for Doggett that
it's time for him to leave. This is no longer the bar he
entered way back when - hasn't been for some time - and
besides, that Neanderthal who was formerly concerned with
seating arrangements is getting that 'why don't we step
outside' look in his eye. Doggett's not interested in
wasting his Marine combat training on some big dumb slab of
meat just now. He gets up to go, making sure to drain the
rest of his scotch when...

...when *she* walks in.

Doggett usually prides himself on not letting anyone know
when they've gotten the drop on him, but in this case he's
an open book. It takes him a second to realize his eyes are
like dinner plates and his jaw is hanging open like he's a
trout or something. He modifies his expression quickly, then
can't help but squint in disbelief. How in *hell* did she
find him here?

She looks so clean and pretty compared to the trappings of
this shithole, standing there in the doorway in her simple,
dark green maternity suit, removing her overcoat as she
waits for her eyes to adjust. Once they do, she eyes the
room with a kind of suspicion that makes Doggett want to
laugh out loud and cheer. Even pregnant, she's the toughest
thing in here. He marvels at her, despite the despair
tugging at his feelings - how can he be so down and fucked
up and still feel like this when she walks in?

Her eyes light on him, and the jig's up. She's walking over
to where he stands. A sinking feeling takes over Doggett,
and the reason for his being here leaps up even more clearly
in his head. She knows, he thinks irrationally. She saw that
look on my face and she knows and she's here and I don't
want a pity talk. Jesus, don't let it be about that. He
wants so badly to recapture his momentum, to just brush by
her politely, make some excuse, and leave.

But then she's there, right in front of him, looking up with
those big, solemn blue jewels...and he'll do whatever she
wants.

"Agent Doggett."

"Agent Scully."

A long, stiff moment passes. His body feels ridiculously
tense, and a thought occurs to him out of nowhere: Jergen's,
he thinks suddenly, irrationally. Her shampoo smells like
Jergen's lotion, that stuff his gramma used to use. He
snorts softly, a quiet laugh that only makes sense to him.
Great, I've figured it out. Now I can leave forever.

The silence becomes too much. Doggett rubs the back of his
neck. "What on earth brings you here, Agent Scully? Don't
tell me you're a regular."

Doggett can scarcely believe it when Scully smiles -
actually *smiles* - at the little joke he's made. Boy, he
thinks grimly, having Mulder around must just make
everything better.

"Hardly," she says. "But this place does have a reputation
for being a cop bar. I thought that perhaps, if you needed
somewhere to lay low for a while, it might call your name."

For his part, Doggett is just astonished. "I had no idea
this was a cop bar." He stares in mild horror at the
assembled patrons. "*This* is D.C.'s finest? Jesus, we are
so screwed."

This time Scully laughs - laughs! - a heartfelt chuckle that
is as close to out-and-out hilarity as Doggett's ever heard
from her. His feelings are caught between a wave of
satisfaction at hearing her respond to him, and the
unpleasant knowledge that her good mood probably isn't his
doing. But then again, she's genuinely smiling at him
now...maybe he's being too hard on himself.

She gestures to his former seat and he finds himself
sitting. The waitress appears, takes Scully's order for a
Coke. "So...what's on your mind, Agent?" asks Doggett, hoping
that poker face of his has decided to return.

She folds her hands demurely on the table in front of her.
"I just thought we ought to talk a bit...about Agent Mulder."

Doggett feels a lump of something like anger in his throat.
What, not only does he get to have you, I gotta talk about
him over tea, too? "What about him?" He inspects the surface
of the table for flaws. He finds many.

Scully accepts her Coke from the waitress. "I'm concerned
that, now that Mulder is back, your assumption is going to
be that there's no place for you here."

Doggett meets Scully's eyes. "That's not an assumption,
Agent Scully, that's just pure observation."

She reddens slightly. "Agent Doggett, let me assure you that
the way you saw us back in that hospital room is not the way
we conduct ourselves while on a ca-"

"It doesn't matter." interrupts Doggett, instantly
regretting how harsh he sounds. Make it about work, he tells
himself, it's just about work. "It doesn't matter," he says
more gently. "The point is you two are a team - *more* than
a team - and I'm always gonna be playing catch up or tryin'
to decode the language you two already speak. You brought me
on to find Mulder. He's found. You don't need me any more."
Doggett hopes he doesn't sound like the big baby he feels
like.

"Is that so?" Scully stirs the ice in her glass with her
straw. "Don't *I* get any say about it?" Doggett's not sure
if it's his imagination, but she actually seems to be
pouting. "You said it yourself: soon I won't be there to
back Mulder up, and the X-Files itself is under fire."

"And you told me very recently to get out while I still
could. Looks like we've switched places."

Scully leans absently to one side to let a biker type make a
pool shot, then rights herself, never once seeming the least
bit awkward. "Do you know how many times Mulder and I have
tried to get each other to quit the X-Files?" she asks,
reminiscing. "It occurred to me right after you and I had
that talk. It's almost like an expression of affection for
us. We don't expect it to have any effect - we just always
wish we could relieve each other of the awful burden of this
job."

She places her glass back on the table. "It was after I said
that to you that I realized that you had really made
yourself a part of the team. Nobody who has to be *asked* to
leave the X-Files is ever going anywhere."

Doggett blinks. How did she do that? How did she take her
insistence that he leave and turn it into proof of him
belonging? And that "expression of affection" remark...

He rubs the bridge of his nose with his thumb and
forefinger, trying to fight his urge to do anything to
please her. He can't agree to this. This match-up is absurd.
Planned torture. And besides, there's something else nagging
at the back of his mind. He can't explain it, but something
about her entreaty feels like she's not telling the whole
story. Something feels...off.

Scully leans forward, elbows on the table. Doggett tries not
to react to the deeper view of her pregnancy-enhanced
cleavage he's afforded. He briefly remembers how much he had
enjoyed that particular change when it had happened to his
wife, way back when.

"I know that you haven't been recognized enough for your
help...and a lot of that's been my fault. Let me assure you
that, really, it's been invaluable." He sees her eyes
soften, barely perceptibly, but enough to cause that
familiar melting sensation through his chest, and regions
south. "You're an excellent agent, and for anyone to devote
himself so selflessly to another person's quest...it's just
more than I could have asked for." She's looking straight
into his face, and John finds himself drowning in the
attention. "I know I've occasionally been a royal pain in
the ass..." she says, causing them both to grin. "But I have
to admit...you've proven yourself, Agent Doggett." She
pauses, weighing her next words. "I trust you," she says
finally. "And I don't say that lightly."

Doggett believes her. His eyes travel over her incandescent
face, and see honesty there, and the afore-mentioned trust.
Suddenly he feels ashamed. Selfless my ass, he thinks.
You've never met anyone more self-interested. You, the
strongest woman I've ever known, crumpled on the floor of
that hospital lab and started crying and my heart broke and
you let me hold you and since that minute I haven't wanted
to do anything else.

He smiles faintly at her. She smiles warmly back. She seems
totally unprepared for his response.

"I'm sorry, Agent Scully."

"For what?"

Doggett's face is sadness itself. The finality of his answer
is evident in his tone: "For listening to you say something
so kind to me, and then still havin' to say no."

Scully is momentarily adrift. She searches the tabletop
restlessly for her response, to no avail. "That's it? No
discussion, no possible compromise, just...that's your
answer?"

Doggett leans in, wishing he could put a hand atop hers.
"Agent Scully, your life, and everyone in it, is back where
it's supposed to be. Maybe I got a lack of vision or
somethin', but I can't see myself as anything but an
impediment to that."

He leans back slightly, preparing himself for the
businesslike goodbye. It's his turn to be surprised.

She won't lift her head to look at him. He feels a fury
simmering off her that he hadn't expected, but when she
speaks, her voice is anything but strong. "Well then. I
should stop wasting your time," she manages.

Doggett can feel the crease in his brow deepening. "I just
think it's best...for everybody," he says, baffled by Scully's
refusal to look at him, after all the eye contact of their
conversation. He could have expected disappointment, or
disapproval, or even acceptance, but this...She's digging in
her purse now, and throwing dollar bills onto the table for
her drink.

"I disagree. I came here to let you know that the X-Files
still needs you, Agent Doggett, but if this isn't where you
want to be, I guess I can't change that." She spits the
words, as though glad her mouth is rid of them.

She's grabbing her coat from beside her and scooting
gracelessly out of the booth. He can't fathom the idea that
he's upset her this much. He can't really fathom that he's
upset her at all.

She's on her feet, jostling through the crowd to get to the
door. Doggett shakes off his surprise and exits the booth
himself, managing to grab her elbow before she's gotten too
far. "Agent Scully?"

She turns and glares at him before she can stop herself,
before she realizes what she'll show. Her eyes flash from
behind swinging strands of hair, and he sees her problem:
tears. Her eyes have become flooded, threatening to spill.
Doggett can only squint at her in confusion as she
wordlessly yanks her small arm free and continues on toward
the door.

And suddenly, Doggett knows what it is.

He can see it clearly now. He's as sure as if he just read
it all in a memo from God. It occurs to him suddenly that
he's made a leap, a real X-Files Mulder-type leap. Hell, he
thinks in amazement, maybe he's getting the hang of this
after all.

He can congratulate himself later. Right now she's made it
out the door.

Scully's wading through the chill of the parking lot as
quickly as she's able, pulling on her coat. Doggett trots
after in his shirt sleeves. "Agent Scully!" he calls. He
slows and considers how to catch her attention. "Agent
Scully, I'm lookin' for the truth!"

She stops but doesn't turn. She calls back darkly: "I
thought you'd decided to leave that to us."

Doggett reaches her, his breath congealing in frozen puffs.
"I need a very specific truth, that only you can give me."

He waits as she wipes ruthlessly at her eyes with her
sleeve, then turns to halfway to facing him, barely
cooperating.

"I need you to tell me why you really came here tonight," he
says softly, his quiet voice belying the pounding in his
chest. His heart is racing, and not from jogging.

He watches her all-business façade go back into place again,
watches it comfort her. "I came here to try and keep things
going smoothly between team members. And to assure myself
that my partner of seven years would have some back up."

"I don't doubt that's part of it," he says, soothing. "But I
don't think it's the whole answer."

"Are you seeing conspiracies now too, Agent Doggett?"

"Just connections."

"Agent Dogg--" She's interrupted by Doggett's large hands on
her upper arms, gently turning her around to face him. She
looks up at him with wide eyes. They stand close, their
frozen breath commingling. Doggett's pulse races faster as
he thinks he sees her start to tremble. Maybe it's the cold,
he thinks. Maybe it's not.

"I've never known you to shy away from the facts when they
were important," he admonishes gently. "I don't think you
oughta start now."

She's tearing up again as his hands remain on her arms. She
turns her head, side to side, in a miserable attempt to
hide. "What do you want from me?" she nearly whimpers.

Doggett knows that he has to be careful, but he also knows
what she's revealed to him. The fear coursing through him is
practically freezing his limbs and mouth in place, but he
forces himself on. "I wanna see you be honest with
yourself," he begins. "I wanna know why you came here
tonight. I want you to tell me the real reason you left the
bedside of a man you've spent six months searching heaven
and earth for, just to come talk to me about office
politics." She looks up at him in surprise and mild
irritation. He gives her a look of sheerest acceptance, and
affection.

"You said nobody could leave the X-Files once their heart
was in it. Well, I guess I'm the exception. I was feelin'
like I needed to leave..." He runs one trembling hand gently
along her arm, clasps her small hand by its pinky side.
"...*because* my heart is in it."

She looks down in confusion at his hand and hers, then meets
his eyes, surprise registering across her features. Doggett
nods slowly, cautiously. Here goes.

"You also said once that the truth may hurt, but it's the
only thing that matters." He's acutely aware that his face
is within inches of hers. "I'm sorry, but I can't stick
around here hopin' the truth is what I think it is. I need
to know. I need you to tell me what's goin' on inside you."

Her mouth tugs downward as her tears intensify. She exhales
on a beseeching look. She's shaking and tears are spilling
over onto her cheeks. And Doggett can see she's as brave as
ever.

"I know this is no small thing..." he whispers. "...but for me
to stay, I need to know."

Scully inhales and exhales, slowly and deeply.

"When I saw how you looked in Mulder's room, I realized you
might be leaving," she breathes. "And suddenly I was scared,
because I realized..." she starts to choke up. She presses
her lips together to regain her control. "I realized I didn't
want you to. That I *don't* want you to..."

She ventures a look up into his eyes - when she speaks
again, her voice is barely above a whisper. "...for reasons
that I am not supposed to be feeling."

She breathes out hard, letting a small sob escape. She looks
up and sees that, though encouraged, a faint question still
lingers in Doggett's eyes, and a smile sneaks onto her face
unbidden. "My heart is in it, too," she whispers. Doggett
feels his face practically light from within. She smiles
wider, then shakes her head disbelievingly as her lids fall
shut, tears sparkling in her lashes and slipping down her
face. "God help me," she murmurs.

He never would have believed that watching Scully cry could
ever have his stomach flipping with excitement, but it is.
He can't help but feel bad for causing it, in a weird sort
of way. He lifts one hand to her cheek, and ventures to
wipe away a tear with his thumb. Though she startles
slightly, she doesn't move away. "Well, I gotta say, He's
sure been on your side so far." he murmurs.

"So what about you?" Scully looks suddenly uncertain.

Doggett grins crookedly, his voice a honeyed rumble.
"Sweetheart, I ain't goin' nowhere."

Scully gives him a rueful smile, relaxes slightly, shakes
her head. "Well then, God help you, too."

Doggett snorts a quiet laugh, one that belies his reeling
mind. She's right, he thinks - what the hell are they doing?
And yet he's so relieved to be doing it, whatever it is...

His hand gains confidence on her face, the move to wipe her
tears becoming a bolder caress. She leans into it. Doggett
feels a stab of unbearable arousal as her eyes drop to focus
on his lips, and then slide slowly back up his face. The
heat of the moment melts his knees and his heart, and
threatens to have the opposite effect on another part of
him.

Her expression turns serious. She regains a tiny bit of her
usual composure. "I have no idea what will happen," she says
softly. "I can't promise anything."

Doggett's look darkens imperceptibly, though he nods in
understanding. "Don't promise anything to me," he says.
"Promise yourself."

Appreciative amazement fills her face. Their eyes meet, a
gentle battle of blue against blue.

An moment later she's gone.

Doggett has no idea how long it's been since her taillights
faded from view, or how long he's been standing here like a
fool staring into the place where he last saw them. If the
cold biting into his bones is any indication, it's been
quite a while. He doesn't much care. He wonders vaguely if
the big, sloppy, shit-eating grin on his face might, if left
in place long enough, turn into something permanent.

Evidently, it might.

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