In his dream, John Doggett was before of a room full of FBI agents, desperately trying to explain the finer intricacies of the X-Files filing system.
"Ghosts go under 'A', for apparition, unless it's a poltergeist, which means it's under 'P', or a hallucination, which you would think would be filled under 'H' but is actually filed under 'P' as well, for psychosis, then 'H'."
The entire room stared at him.
From behind him, there was a bang and the floor shook. John grabbed the podium to steady himself.
Woke up with a start, both hands flailing for the dashboard. "What the hell -"
"Tire blew," Skinner stated tightly, struggling to steer the Explorer over to the side of the road. They came to a skittish stop on the shoulder, and all four agents exhaled. The car sagged unpleasantly to one side.
"Jesus," Mulder cursed. "That feels like more than just a tire."
Doggett stepped out and crouched down to see under the truck. Skinner peered back from the other side.
"The fucking rod snapped," Skinner swore. "Excuse my language, Agent Scully."
"Not a fucking problem, sir." Scully's reply floated out from the truck.
"Um, sir?" Mulder's feet were visible now, standing as he was in front of the trunk.
Skinner rubbed his forehead. "What, Mulder?"
"We've got an additional problem."
"And what is that, Mulder?"
"That tire that just blew?" The knees bent and then Mulder's face was there. "I'm pretty sure that was actually the spare, 'cause the one in the truck has a big hole in it."
Skinner looked at Mulder, then Doggett. And then he started laughing.
Mulder and Doggett's jaws dropped.
"Sir?" Scully's pumps clicked against the asphalt. "Are you okay?"
"Of course it is," Skinner gasped. He slumped down, back against the Explorer. "Of course it is."
Doggett grinned. "Another example of the quality work of the FBI motor pool."
Mulder shook his head, chuckling.
John stood with a grunt and walked around the front of the truck. "We should call a tow truck."
"Scully's on it. Mulder, help me up." There was loud series of grunts and curses, and then Skinner and Mulder were standing again. Mulder rubbed his shoulder. Skinner glared.
From 15 feet down the road, Scully flipped shut her phone and called, "they won't be here for at least an hour."
"An hour –"
"Oh, for the love of –"
"Seriously –"
She pursed her lips.
"Sorry, Scully."
"Sorry, sorry."
"Apologizes, Agent."
She made an annoyed noise in response.
Doesn't it just figure, Doggett thought to himself. Doesn't it just figure.
The trip had started with a bang, or really, a whine. With 3 government agents, highly distinguished representatives of the United States government, whimpering about just how much they didn't want to go to a training seminar. Especially not in North Carolina. Especially with team building and cooperation as the topics of discussion. And especially not with their AD chaperoning them.
The last part was more implied.
Their whining had unsurprisingly only served to further aggravate Skinner, who had tersely informed them that he, too, had better things to do, that he was not going to enjoy the drive – yes, the drive – down to North Carolina any more than they were, and that the thought of having to babysit the 3 of them was lower on his list of things to do than playing tennis with Krycek, but those were their orders so they best shut it and pack before he did it for them.
A week later, they were in the FBI parking garage, loading their luggage into a 1995 Ford Explorer that had very clearly seen better days.
"Sir –"
"I know, Mulder, I know," Skinner gritted as he shoved Scully's suitcase into the trunk. "It was all there was that would fit the 4 of us."
Doggett surveyed the back seat. "Can it? They realize that 3 of us are over 6 feet tall?"
Skinner just sighed.
"Sorry, sorry. Isn't your fault," Doggett recanted. "Let's make the best of it."
A small smile tugged up the corner of Skinner's mouth. "And for that good attitude, Agent Doggett gets to ride shotgun."
"Aw! I called it in the elevator!"
Doggett grinned. Maybe the trip wouldn't be so bad after all.
Except it was. 3 days of trust exercises, mandatory yoga sessions (who would have ever guessed Scully – or, more disturbingly, Mulder – was that flexible), and lectures on cultural sensitivity that always managed to eat in their lunch hour. It was so bad that Skinner had sprung them loose early, skipping the final luncheon to get back on the road.
"Sensitive case," he lied smoothly to the coordinator.
She frowned and shoved 4 boxed lunches at him.
One final scuffle over front-seat rights ended with Doggett hip-checking Mulder away from the door handle, and they were on the road.
Until the tire, at least.
Two hours later and one very cramped tow truck ride later, the four stood in what Doggett could only imagine was the last open Howard Johnson's in the continental US.
"Not exactly the Sam Houston Motor Lodge," Mulder commented from across the lobby. Scully smirked and shot Mulder one of their looks, the ones that told you there was plenty of communicating going on, regardless of the silence. Doggett scowled. He hated those looks, made him feel like he'd never belong, even after all he'd done for that damn department.
The partners didn't notice. But Skinner saddled up next to him, and said, "Don't you hate when they do that? Like they're having a whole conversation while you're standing right there, clueless."
Doggett's jaw dropped. Then he gave a short laugh. "It's like being out in the schoolyard again."
Skinner chuckled. "Can't tell you how many times they've been in my office, and Mulder's backed himself into the corner with some insane yarn, and I'm this close to pinning him on it. Then they're exchanging one of those looks and Scully's giving some perfectly logical explanation for the destruction of a library or the loss of five government-issue cell phones in a week. I can't tell you which one pisses me off more."
"I don't know how you deal with it," Doggett sympathized. "Having to hear it, and then having to defend it to the higher-ups."
"Well, at least I'm not crammed in the basement with them."
"Yeah, well. It's not all bad. When he pisses her off, it's better than must-see TV. The other day he was flashing slide after slide of mutilated farms animals. She shrieked loud enough to make my ears ring, yanked the power cord right out of the slide machine, and stormed off."
Skinner's laugh was loud, catching Scully's attention. She peered over, confused, then poked Mulder and started over.
"Remind me to tell you about Texas," Skinner whispered conspiratorially, as he and Doggett stepped up to the front desk. "Imagine how she reacted to the prospect of prison time."
Doggett caught the goofy smile that threatened to pop out at the thought of trading stories with Skinner, and just nodded instead. Skinner wouldn't have noticed anyway, having already turned his attention to the hotel employee behind the counter. The woman – Jenny from Virginia Beach, according to her tag – barely glanced up, barked something about being with them in a minute, and answered the bleating phone.
Doggett suddenly noticed that for a motel in the middle of nowhere, the parking lot had been awful busy. And there had been those signs along the highway advertising the annual tri-county garlic fair. Come all, this weekend only!
The phone clattered back into its cradle.
"4 rooms, please," Skinner stated. "Singles."
She didn't even bother to look up, just continued typing away. "Honey, I ain't got one room, let alone 4. In case you haven't noticed, we're a little busy."
Doggett groaned. The tow truck driver had made it clear that this was it for the accommodations in the area. He had outright laughed at Mulder's request to take them to the local rental car office.
Skinner remained unfazed. "I can see that," he rumbled, his voice taking on a timber Doggett didn't quite recognize. "You can't beat a good garlic fair. No need to worry about who you're kissing when everyone's eating it."
John's jaw dropped – at Skinner's audacity, at the way it came out, so natural and flirtatious, like the man didn't spend his life issuing constant orders. The clerk's head snapped up, ready to give a nasty retort. But when she saw the man before her, the anger dissipated and she smiled back.
"Doing a lot of kissing?" she teased.
Skinner gave a smile. "You never know," he answered, and leaned in, arms on the counter. John and the clerk both watched intently as his tie slid over the edge.
"Here's the thing, Jenny. My agents and I," he tilted his head towards the three of them, "are trying to get back to DC, but our truck broke down. We're stuck until it can get fixed."
Her eyes widened. "Agents? Like, federal agents?"
"FBI."
Lips formed in a perfect 'o' shape, then formed in to a sultry smile. "If I get you a room, will you show me your… badge?"
Skinner grinned back, just as devious, and leaned in even closer. "I can show you more than that," he teased.
John heard a quiet "damn, Skinner," from behind him, then Scully hissing at Mulder to shut up. John felt his face getting red, a somewhat familiar feeling flooding his system, something that felt an awful lot like envy. He could see exactly what Jenny saw. The smooth, slow smile. Soft brown eyes, half-lidded behind wire-rimmed glasses. Those shoulders – John had the height but he was built like a pole, not at all like Skinner's shoulders and back, so broad it made John think you could tuck yourself in front of him and he would block out the rest of world. His tie was loosened but his shirt was still crisp - John and Mulder, they looked like they had been wrestling in the school yard –an utterly professional look that did not nothing to hide the obvious fact that there was nothing but muscle under there, right down the back and legs (John refused to allow himself to even consider that backside) to the floor.
John shifted uncomfortably. Forced his gaze down before it became obvious he was staring.
Jenny giggled again, then gave a glance behind her towards her co-workers and dropped her voice down to a conspiratorial whisper. "I am supposed to keep the family suite open for VIPs," she explained. "But I think we can work something out. It's 2 bedrooms, with a queen in each room."
John protested. "Sir, what with Scully bein' a girl and the 3 of us…"
"It's fine, agent," Skinner cut him off without so much as a glance, and John felt the heat in his ears as envy was quickly joined by anger. "We'll take it," he told Jenny, sliding the Bureau card towards her. "I can't tell you how appreciative we are."
Jenny's gaze back was downright predatory. "I'm sure you are."
"Jenny." A young man in a matching hotel vest poked his head out from the back room.
"Hmm," Jenny said absently.
"Your husband's on line one."
Skinner stood up straight again and smoothed down his tie
Jenny threw the man a furious look, then shoved the credit card and two card keys across the counter. "Room 415," she snipped, and grabbed the bleating phone.
"Thank you," Skinner replied pleasantly.
As soon as the elevator doors slid shut, Mulder let out a loud whistle. "Skin-man! Who knew!"
"Quiet, Agent," Skinner growled half-heartedly.
"You have to admit that was quite an impressive display, sir." Scully's deadpan delivery was betrayed by the twitch in her lip that threatened to give way into full-formed amusement. "I never realized you could be so… persuasive."
John grunted. "Not exactly appropriate for a federal agent."
Scully gave him an eyebrow. Skinner fixed him with an unreadable look. Mulder tsked. "Don't hate on the Assistant Director just 'cause you don't have game like that."
"I got plenty of game," he growled, knowing full well how ridiculous he sounded. But his nerves were raw enough, and Mulder was tugging on the last one.
"I don't know, man."
"Mulder," Scully warned.
"I'm just saying –"
"Mulder." Skinner this time.
The room did not help the mood any. Two bedrooms with a joint bath, and a small seating area that Doggett was horrified to see didn't include so much as a love seat, just two sad armchairs and a TV. They stood in silence for a few moments before Skinner sighed.
"Maybe we should have just put up with a few more yoga classes." He caught John's eye, and the younger man felt the small bemused smile doing wonders for his mood. He smiled back.
"Well, I could…"
"If we do this…"
"Regulations say…"
"Oh, for pete's sake." Scully's exasperated voice cut through the chatter. "We all know what regulations say about male and female agents. But I'm tired. Mulder, you and I are taking one room. Sir, you and Agent Doggett take the other. How we divided it up beyond that is up to each room. Clear?"
Doggett and Mulder glanced at each other, then at Skinner, whose face had gone blank, then at Scully, whose narrow eyes dared Skinner to say something in return. The agents simultaneously took a step back.
But Skinner just nodded. "Fine idea, Agent."
Scully made a satisfied noise, as if to say, that was the right choice. Mulder gaped. "What? Not fair! If I had suggested that, you would have strung me up."
"Don't be ridiculous, Mulder," Skinner snapped. "Go to bed."
Mulder huffed. Scully shoved their bags at him. "You heard the man, Mulder. Sir, Agent Doggett. See you in the morning."
The door clicked shut beyond them.
"Wise decision, sir. It's only natural to be a little…wary of Scully."
The reaction was priceless, as Skinner's head whipped around. "Are you implying I'm afraid of my agents, Doggett?"
John felt himself treading on thin ice but couldn't help himself, not after the day they'd all had. "No, sir. Just Scully."
If they had been back in DC, Doggett planted on the far side of Skinner's massive desk, the glare would have worried him, but this close up, he could see a glimmer in Skinner's eye that betrayed the stern face.
"It's understandable. Mulder might not know when to back off, but you and I..."
Skinner's lip twitched.
"We like to avoid a reaming whenever possible."
John grinned as Skinner laughed, pleased with himself for finally finding a way around the AD attitude to the man. Then Skinner shot him a mischievous smile, and John's breath caught a little in his chest.
"Well, I'm beginning to think Mulder likes that kind of thing."
"Beginning to think?" John shot back. "I haven't known the man that long, but I wouldn't be surprised if there's a secret room somewhere."
Skinner snorted. "You sound like you have a personal knowledge of such things," he teased, then immediately realized what he had said. A blush flew up his neck into his cheeks. "Excuse me, Agent. That was inappropriate – "
"It's fine," John cut in, his own cheeks warming up a bright pink. His mouth went dry as certain images popped unbidden into his brain. He quashed them down, hard. "It's fine. Don't worry about it."
Skinner nodded curtly and excused himself to the bathroom. His obvious discomfort with John's joke made John wonder about the Assistant Director's… proclivities. It had been his experience that those who were the most uncomfortable with it were often the most interested by it. Not that John had all that much familiarity with the matter. He had never even really thought about it. Until now.
And you get to share a bed with him, a little voice in his head mocked.
John sighed. Even his own brain hated him.
The bed bounced as he dropped his bag on it. It was a large enough queen, and John knew that once he was out, he wouldn't move. Besides, both he and Skinner had been in the military, and had slept in far worse conditions that a decent hotel room.
His mind wondered back to a barrack in Bierut, and the rows of cots pressed up against the wall.
Another bag landed on the bed, and John jumped.
"Sorry," Skinner rumbled, draping his suit over the desk chair. Now clad in sweatpants and t-shirt, Skinner looked years younger. John realized he had never once envisioned Skinner in anything but a suit. It was interesting.
"I know, you all think I sleep in a suit. But I do exist outside the office."
John turned pink again at the thought that he was that easy to read. "I was just telling myself we've both slept in worse places that this," he fibbed.
"This certainly beats a foxhole," Skinner agreed. "At least no one's trying to shoot at us here."
"Unless Mulder really pisses Scully off."
"Nah, she's already done that." When John didn't respond, Skinner looked over to see Doggett's mouth hanging open. "You didn't know that?"
"No," Doggett stated emphatically. "Is she normally in the habit of shooting her partners? Because that's something I really would have liked to know."
Skinner shook his head. "Relax, John. It was for his own good. Mulder was being poisoned by Krycek and was out of his mind. He was about to shoot the rat bastard, which wouldn't have been so bad, but Krycek was unarmed. Scully shot Mulder in the shoulder to get him to drop his gun."
"Jeez," Doggett swore.
"Yeah, well." He cleared his throat. "You prefer a side, Agent?"
"Left, if you don't mind. My ex used to sleep to the right. It was…" closer to Luke's room, he almost said, but bit it back. "It was her preference."
Skinner gave him a sideways glance but didn't pursue it. "Fine with me." The conversation lapsed as they stood there. "So unless you plan to sleep in your suit…"
"Oh, yeah, thanks,' John mumbled, and grabbed his bag. Closing the bathroom door behind him, he took a deep breath and splashed some water on his face. Relax, John, he thought. It's one night. You'll be fine. Just stay on your side of the bed. He stripped down and pulled on his sleeping shorts and tee. Folding his suit into a tight package, he took another deep breath. It was dark in the room, but John could make out the bed and that Skinner was already tucked in, turned away from where John would be laying. John set down his suit and slid under the covers as smoothly as possible. Laid there in the dark, listening to Skinner's even breathing and the traffic outside. Then Skinner's baritone cut through the darkness.
"John. I can feel the tension from over here. Relax."
When the hell did Skinner become an expert in John Doggett? John bit back a nasty retort and replied, "I'm fine, sir," instead, but shifted his body so that he was in a more comfortable position. "Good night," he added.
"Good night, John."
The room fell silent. John fidgeted, suddenly feeling itchy all over. He slid his foot up to scratch the back of his knee. But then his heel slid against something hard. Something he had been staring at just an hour earlier. Skinner's backside.
He jerked his foot back down so hard the blankets pillowed up, then froze, his eyes squeezed shut and ears burning. Held his breath as he braced himself for the sly comment from Skinner.
Nothing came, just even breathing from the other side of the bed. John exhaled slowly and willed himself to relax before he pulled a muscle.
It was going to be a long night.
