Symplegades
by Mischa (1/?)
mischablue@iprimus.com.au
All relevant headers in Prologue. Standard disclaimer:
X-Files characters you recognise aren't mine.
***Please do not archive. Thanks.
Any and all feedback is welcome.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The witnesses said she almost looked like a ghost, the woman
with the deathly pale skin and the flaming red hair. They
said she moved like one. Days, even weeks later as the
federal agents and police officers streamed through the town
to question them, they still remembered her above all else.
That cold, determined face of the woman walking back down
the aging pier with her companions. Trying to remember the
image of the two people who walked beside her was an
impossible task. All they ever seemed to recall was that
woman -- the brilliance of her hair, and as she approached,
her eyes.
And the silence within.
Some of the more judgemental ones parked by their
comfortable seaside cafe said the other witnesses were
wrong. That the woman had murder in her eyes, not death. A
thick cloud of paranoia had hung over the three strangers,
fuelling an irrational fire that glowed from deep inside. It
was a fire that frightened the frequenters of the Port
Greenstone area because they were peaceful folk, and didn't
want any trouble.
And so it wasn't the talk of her walking or her eyes that
held the town enthralled.
It was the running, the sudden burst of adrenaline flowing
into swift moving forms.
The shouts, slicing sharply across the seabreeze. The
gunshot, its startled echo sending spirals of seabirds
flapping in the air. The car burning rancid black streaks
into the road as it screamed away.
Speculation grew. Some of the witnesses claimed it was her
at the wheel. Others insisted it couldn't have been, that
she was left standing, left fallen. Confusion ran with
exaggeration on the twisting road of rumour, and as time
passed the stories grew ever more exaggerated. With only one
common element -- the woman. With the red hair and the cold
eyes. Many stories placed a man with a gun at her side, but
not all.
In the end, though, it didn't matter. Even as the cops
combed sand and ground to find answers, it became clear that
there was a greater mystery. A greater crime, if only they
could identify it.
For the dead, once they located it, left behind its sinister
trace. An unidentified substance.
The kind that looked like toxic waste, and burned the
fingers of all who touched it. A mystery the colour of
poisonous lime that ate through the containers they placed
it in, and corroded lungs with each inhalation. Those
supposedly at the scene claimed too many conflicting stories
for it all to make sense. Was it a spill? Did the strangers
carry some sort of biochemical weapon? What was it that had
melted into the ground?
Rumour turned into evidence, evidence into test samples. The
reaction and calls were swift, redirected all over the halls
of the Hoover building. Racing with the speed of flapping
tongues. In an executive office a telephone shrilled by the
piles of paper and scattered files. A hand reached for it.
The voices spoke it all.
Another missing agent.
A so-called 'incident' to be neutralised.
A superior, left to cover his tracks.
He removed his glasses and rubbed his temples, frowning with
the grim knowledge of forewarning. The only one who could
deal with it, he knew, was now missing in action. The phone
rang again and he reached for it, dreading the voice on the
other end.
Strategy. He had to have a strategy.
All he had now were questions.
* * * *
J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington D.C
March 25, 2002 -- 9:23 AM
Shocks of frantic pace charged up her legs with each step.
Down the corridors, towards the elevator. With each heavy
footfall certainty curled tighter around her heart. Along
the hard floors frantic echoes trailed from her steps.
She ran like panic had shot through her at the sight of
familiar eyes, like a gun was slowly being levelled in her
direction, like the evils were rising again from files
fringed with red and white. Her hand slammed against the
button on the wall. The jar of impact, the soft innocent
chime of the elevator doors opening rankled along her
nerves. Her gaze settled on her reflection in the walls.
Almost expecting to see someone else staring back at her, or
the barrel of a gun.
At times like these, empathy disturbed her more than she was
willing to admit.
Monica Reyes shut her eyes against her harried image in the
reflective steel, feeling the lurch of the elevator moving
under her feet. She felt far too much, and it was curling
deep in her gut with the hum of foreboding. She didn't know
*what* it was or why she felt it but she knew that both
Doggett and Scully needed her, and now.
Reyes had hung up on the chilling static coming from his
line after three anxious minutes. Something had made him
pause, and she had no idea what it was. All she knew was
that Scully hadn't caught her flight, and that was it. The
silence on Doggett's end had scared Monica, not because she
thought he was in danger, but because she knew that
something had subdued him into shock. What had happened?
Her cellular shrilled as she stepped into the parking lot.
She grabbed for it.
"John?"
"Yeah. You hung up on me."
"You --" She was ready to argue, but dropped her point.
"Tell me what's going on."
"Agent Scully's gone."
Reyes stood still amongst the cars for a single shocked
moment, breathing in the faint smell of exhaust until
dizziness rose. The certainty in his voice chilled her.
"Gone?"
For once she couldn't tell the emotion behind this low,
controlled tone. Panic? Anger? Confusion? "A... someone
arrived under her name this morning, but it isn't her."
Her forehead wrinkled in consternation. What the hell?
Uneasiness settled in somewhere low in her spine as she
scanned the parking lot. Started moving again. He was silent
again. Reyes listened for background noise but couldn't
distinguish any.
"John, talk to me. What's going on?"
A pause. "Monica, I wanna be straight with you here, but
I -- don't think I should tell you this over the phone. You
need to see this for yourself."
Reyes spun and headed back towards the elevator, hearing the
sharp clack of her heels against the asphalt. "I'm going to
the Assistant Director."
"All right," Doggett replied. Monica rested her forehead on
the cool metal wall of the elevator in frustration as the
ding of the closing doors sounded. He seemed at a complete
loss. There was no ready solution that he offered, and she
had none to give without knowing more about the situation.
An irrational, surprising wave of anger rose within, and she
stamped it down.
"What do you want me to do?" She had to stay calm. They both
had to stay calm. A fellow agent missing in action, and --
and *something* else... they both had to keep a level head.
There was no talking or arguing their way around it.
"Inform A.D Skinner. Tell him I want to organise a team to
be out there, looking for her. A reliable team."
Like the manhunt team that had been stopped in its tracks by
talk of aliens and abductions? Reyes chewed on the inside of
her bottom lip, knowing full well that he was thinking the
same thing. Available resources was one thing, willing
investigators another matter. Especially taking into account
their usual cases.
And then the fog of anger cleared and Reyes realised that
the depth of Doggett's worry was far more than he was
letting on. She kept her tone reassuring. "All right. I'm
headed up there."
Reyes pressed into the corner as the doors opened and a few
other agents stepped in, looking at her curiously. Her voice
dropped to a near whisper, nervous at the silence in the
confined space. "And then?"
"There's something I've got to do."
"What is it?"
Silence. Reyes glanced up at the floor lights as the
elevator heaved and settled again around its occupants.
Bodies moved out of the confined space and she waited,
catching the eye of the two other agents left behind waiting
for the next floor to be reached. They smiled politely. She
smiled back, still waiting.
"John?"
Uneasiness settled in a little further. Instinct told her to
push through the closing doors, head to the stairs, and run
all the way to the airport. She had no idea why. Confusion
rang warning bells in her head. They were missing something,
they didn't have all the facts, this was important...
His silence unnerved her. God, she never thought she'd see
the day when John Doggett ran out of words. The lift lurched
and halted again. Another quick, acknowledging smile at her
temporary companions and she was moving again, back into the
business of the hallways.
Reyes asked as she quickly muscled her way through the
corridors and began making a beeline towards Skinner's
office. Faces rushed past her, blurred and distorted as she
moved. She felt dizzy. Like something was constricting her
breathing, her movement. It perplexed her, yet somehow it
made terrible sense. Empathy. Should she tell him?
Monica bit her lip, and listened for him. Anxiety crept down
her spine, and she couldn't shake it away. Reyes caught the
narrowed, amused glance of a random agent walking past and
smiled slightly, puzzled, in reflex.
"I'll make it to work as soon as I can," Doggett said. "I
want that taskforce."
Reyes paused at the entry to Skinner's foyer, frowning. The
A.D's personal assistant looked up with a curious, level
stare. She smiled back, determination firming in her gaze.
* * * *
Port Greenstone Stay-N-Save, San Francisco
March 21, 2002
The night before Dana Scully walked away from Doggett only
to speed into the blanket of fog and conjecture, they had a
strange conversation.
Through the thin walls he could hear her moving in her room,
the pressure thudding in the old pipes as taps were turned.
Doggett had shaken himself out of the comfort of sleep and
mere minutes later he was knocking on her door, feeling the
night breeze drift idly over his skin. When she opened the
door to him her face was pinched with worry, but alert.
"Agent Doggett," Scully said, not entirely surprised. Damp
auburn hair hung around her face, making her look thinner
and harder. Her thick white terrycloth robe looked like it
could swallow her whole. An odd sense of shyness struck him,
and for a moment he fumbled for words.
"You're not sleepin'."
"Neither are you, apparently," she said, and did her best to
smile. He smiled back and she opened the door wider,
silently inviting him in.
The seaside motel had a strange bouquet of smells, salt and
fish and freshly brewed coffee mixing with the earthiness of
the town. Scully had the subtle scent of soap and lemon and
something undefinable, and he breathed it in as he moved
past her into her room. She gestured to the seat placed by
the window, and Doggett sat. Ready to talk. Ready to listen.
His eyes scanned the room. Its cozy, warm neatness was
identical to his own room, only it seemed far more natural
with her in it.
Her overnight bag was still on her neatly made bed. A neat
pile of paperwork sat on the aged, scratched mahogany desk.
She hadn't slept. Scully moved the bag aside and sat down on
the edge of the mattress to face her partner.
"You all right?" he asked.
"Yeah. I was just getting ready."
"You've got a long day tomorrow."
"So do you."
The trivial nature of their conversation didn't sit with
either of them too well. Questions hung on Doggett's lips
and he didn't know where to start. She had mentioned this
upcoming journey of hers for a while now, but he didn't feel
comfortable with just leaving her here to head home. Doggett
knew she needed her space to work, respected the seriousness
of her trip, but all the same... he didn't have all the
answers.
"Here," Scully said, reaching beside her to grab her
briefcase. She opened it and pulled out a set of manilla
folders lined with the distinctive border of X-Files
casework. "I didn't leave you with all the paperwork. I did
my part."
"Thanks," Doggett said, and looked at her.
In the silence he could hear her breathing.
Outside a faint drizzle began, a soft rainfall striking the
roof for a few minutes. Scully's eyes were indecipherable in
the dim light. He watched them, watched her.
"Thank you," Scully said. He looked at her, curious. "You
watched my back out there," she explained.
"Of course."
"I know I can rely on you."
"Agent Scully." He held up a hand. "Know now that it's not
somethin' to be questioned. Never was, and never will be."
A furrow appeared on Scully's forehead, and her lips pursed
for a brief moment. "I know that, Agent Doggett. I wanted to
thank you anyway."
He shook his head. "No thanks necessary. Goes with the
territory."
Something in her eyes spoke of the same territorialism she
felt towards her partner as he did for her. "Yeah," she
said, and her gaze was clear with resolve. "It does. I just
wanted to say it."
Doggett nodded. Slow relief started to permeate the tension.
"Why did you come by?" she asked.
"I knew you were still awake." He had wanted to reiterate
his offer of help, too, but he knew what her answer would
be.
Her smile was small and genuine. "I appreciate it."
He nodded, and rose from his chair. "Well. I should be
lettin' you go now. You need your sleep. I just wanted to
check in."
As Doggett turned to head towards the door, he wasn't
expecting what she said next. Her voice was quiet, uncertain
of her place.
"You were a good father, John."
He stiffened and spun to face her, confused.
"I read the files. I spoke to Monica Reyes. You were a good
father."
"The files don't tell you that."
"The files tell me you tried."
"The files..." He caught her gaze and held it. "It's just
paper."
Something that was almost a smile quirked her lips. "The
same could be said of every X-File. They all mean something.
You care about people, Agent Doggett. That's a good thing."
"He was a good kid, Luke."
She lowered her gaze slightly, and he knew she was thinking
of her own son. Wondering, perhaps, what kind of child
William would grow up to be. "He was your son."
They fell into a companionable silence, one that didn't ask
or demand anything from either of them. He leaned forward,
ready to ask the question he had been asking her for days.
"Dana?"
"Hmmm?"
"You want to tell me what's goin' on?"
"I can't," she said. "Not yet. I want to -- but no."
He had to accept it. "Will you be alright?"
After a moment she smiled. "If I need backup, I know who to
call."
Doggett nodded and exhaled slowly. It was all he could ask
for. "It's late," he said.
"Yeah." She reached out, gripped his hand lightly with her
own. "Good night."
Back in his room with the lights out Doggett couldn't help
but turn to look at the locked connecting door, the sliver
of light spilling from Scully's room and indicating her
restlessness. A shadow crossed the glow, and crossed again.
He frowned and sat up in the dark, wanting to pace with her
until finally sleep took over.
* * * *
John Doggett's house, Falls Church
March 25, 2002 -- 6:46 PM
The delicate gold necklace sat curled within a plastic
ziplock bag. Doggett picked up the bag and held it up to the
light, grimacing at the dark stains that still clung to the
links of the broken chain. Across the dining table a
concerned Skinner sat, watching him suspiciously. Reyes
stood by, her usually smiling face hardened by a grim
expression.
The suits they wore contrasted with the faded jeans and grey
shirt Doggett wore. He looked less like an investigator and
more like a civilian, but his mind was no less sharp.
Everyday sounds were amplified by the tension. The ticking
of his watch was loud, irritating. When someone shifted
their feet the scraping broke the silence. Doggett spoke as
he lowered the bag and he didn't want to believe what he
said.
"Agent Scully's crucifix."
Skinner nodded. "We're running a match on the blood type,
but it's hers."
Reyes glanced at Skinner and then back at Doggett, a
question on her face. Doggett's face was hard,
interrogating.
"Found at the scene?"
"Eventually." Skinner's expression hardened. "Seems there
was a bit of sloppy evidence gathering. They didn't know
where to look, especially in the presence of toxic
chemicals."
Doggett nodded. The report dated from just two days before
had made that clear. With comparison of other reports, all
three agents present knew that the remnants found at the
scene had the same chemical composition he had almost
stepped in at an Arizona desert hospital.
"And that's all we've got."
Reyes stared hard at Doggett, frowning. He knew she thought
he was holding something back.
"There's a taskforce already on the case," Skinner added. "
Evans and Scaasi, among others."
Doggett nodded again. He remembered Evans and Scaasi from
the taskforce investigating Mulder's disappearance. They
were trustworthy, but then Gene Crane had once been too.
"I checked out the story and Scully's description matched
that of a woman who was seen at Port Greenstone," Reyes
continued for the Assistant Director. "Reports are varying.
We're in there now, trying to make sense of it all. What
went down there on your case?"
"Property developer who pulled a lot of felonies to get what
he wanted," Doggett said. "Nothing to do with an X-File
there."
"Are you sure?"
"If there was, Scully would have seen it."
"Why didn't she return with you?"
"She was going on to what appears to be an unofficial case."
"And you let her go?"
Doggett frowned, looking annoyed. "She had discussed it with
me previously. She knew something, and wasn't yet ready to
share it. I wasn't going to push her."
"What happened the last time you saw her?"
"Am I a suspect?"
"No," Reyes cut in. Skinner looked up at her, frowning. She
stared back. Neither gave way.
"Okay," Doggett cut in, "So you see me as a suspect."
"You never arrived at work today," Skinner said. "Why?"
Doggett's head started to ache. "I was trying to follow a
lead. It didn't pan out."
Skinner's cellphone trilled. He answered it, frowning, and
excused himself. Reyes took the opportunity to grill him on
what her instincts were telling her.
"What are you hiding?"
Doggett pushed his chair back and stood up, defensive.
"Nothing." He walked to the kitchen and poured himself
another glass of water as Reyes stared after him annoyed.
"Don't you want to find Dana?"
He couldn't believe she would even ask that. Doggett had to
be careful as he placed the glass of water back down on the
table. "Of course."
"Then what's going on?"
He rubbed his forehead. Suddenly he looked far older.
"I've got to look out for what she left behind, too."
But Reyes wasn't going to let him get away with a vague
answer. "Which is... what?"
Doggett focused on the scratches on his kitchen bench,
putting his thoughts together. Reyes waited impatiently. The
words were harder to say than in his thoughts.
"There was somebody else at the airport. Someone who Scully
sent in her place."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(to be continued)
by Mischa (1/?)
mischablue@iprimus.com.au
All relevant headers in Prologue. Standard disclaimer:
X-Files characters you recognise aren't mine.
***Please do not archive. Thanks.
Any and all feedback is welcome.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The witnesses said she almost looked like a ghost, the woman
with the deathly pale skin and the flaming red hair. They
said she moved like one. Days, even weeks later as the
federal agents and police officers streamed through the town
to question them, they still remembered her above all else.
That cold, determined face of the woman walking back down
the aging pier with her companions. Trying to remember the
image of the two people who walked beside her was an
impossible task. All they ever seemed to recall was that
woman -- the brilliance of her hair, and as she approached,
her eyes.
And the silence within.
Some of the more judgemental ones parked by their
comfortable seaside cafe said the other witnesses were
wrong. That the woman had murder in her eyes, not death. A
thick cloud of paranoia had hung over the three strangers,
fuelling an irrational fire that glowed from deep inside. It
was a fire that frightened the frequenters of the Port
Greenstone area because they were peaceful folk, and didn't
want any trouble.
And so it wasn't the talk of her walking or her eyes that
held the town enthralled.
It was the running, the sudden burst of adrenaline flowing
into swift moving forms.
The shouts, slicing sharply across the seabreeze. The
gunshot, its startled echo sending spirals of seabirds
flapping in the air. The car burning rancid black streaks
into the road as it screamed away.
Speculation grew. Some of the witnesses claimed it was her
at the wheel. Others insisted it couldn't have been, that
she was left standing, left fallen. Confusion ran with
exaggeration on the twisting road of rumour, and as time
passed the stories grew ever more exaggerated. With only one
common element -- the woman. With the red hair and the cold
eyes. Many stories placed a man with a gun at her side, but
not all.
In the end, though, it didn't matter. Even as the cops
combed sand and ground to find answers, it became clear that
there was a greater mystery. A greater crime, if only they
could identify it.
For the dead, once they located it, left behind its sinister
trace. An unidentified substance.
The kind that looked like toxic waste, and burned the
fingers of all who touched it. A mystery the colour of
poisonous lime that ate through the containers they placed
it in, and corroded lungs with each inhalation. Those
supposedly at the scene claimed too many conflicting stories
for it all to make sense. Was it a spill? Did the strangers
carry some sort of biochemical weapon? What was it that had
melted into the ground?
Rumour turned into evidence, evidence into test samples. The
reaction and calls were swift, redirected all over the halls
of the Hoover building. Racing with the speed of flapping
tongues. In an executive office a telephone shrilled by the
piles of paper and scattered files. A hand reached for it.
The voices spoke it all.
Another missing agent.
A so-called 'incident' to be neutralised.
A superior, left to cover his tracks.
He removed his glasses and rubbed his temples, frowning with
the grim knowledge of forewarning. The only one who could
deal with it, he knew, was now missing in action. The phone
rang again and he reached for it, dreading the voice on the
other end.
Strategy. He had to have a strategy.
All he had now were questions.
* * * *
J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington D.C
March 25, 2002 -- 9:23 AM
Shocks of frantic pace charged up her legs with each step.
Down the corridors, towards the elevator. With each heavy
footfall certainty curled tighter around her heart. Along
the hard floors frantic echoes trailed from her steps.
She ran like panic had shot through her at the sight of
familiar eyes, like a gun was slowly being levelled in her
direction, like the evils were rising again from files
fringed with red and white. Her hand slammed against the
button on the wall. The jar of impact, the soft innocent
chime of the elevator doors opening rankled along her
nerves. Her gaze settled on her reflection in the walls.
Almost expecting to see someone else staring back at her, or
the barrel of a gun.
At times like these, empathy disturbed her more than she was
willing to admit.
Monica Reyes shut her eyes against her harried image in the
reflective steel, feeling the lurch of the elevator moving
under her feet. She felt far too much, and it was curling
deep in her gut with the hum of foreboding. She didn't know
*what* it was or why she felt it but she knew that both
Doggett and Scully needed her, and now.
Reyes had hung up on the chilling static coming from his
line after three anxious minutes. Something had made him
pause, and she had no idea what it was. All she knew was
that Scully hadn't caught her flight, and that was it. The
silence on Doggett's end had scared Monica, not because she
thought he was in danger, but because she knew that
something had subdued him into shock. What had happened?
Her cellular shrilled as she stepped into the parking lot.
She grabbed for it.
"John?"
"Yeah. You hung up on me."
"You --" She was ready to argue, but dropped her point.
"Tell me what's going on."
"Agent Scully's gone."
Reyes stood still amongst the cars for a single shocked
moment, breathing in the faint smell of exhaust until
dizziness rose. The certainty in his voice chilled her.
"Gone?"
For once she couldn't tell the emotion behind this low,
controlled tone. Panic? Anger? Confusion? "A... someone
arrived under her name this morning, but it isn't her."
Her forehead wrinkled in consternation. What the hell?
Uneasiness settled in somewhere low in her spine as she
scanned the parking lot. Started moving again. He was silent
again. Reyes listened for background noise but couldn't
distinguish any.
"John, talk to me. What's going on?"
A pause. "Monica, I wanna be straight with you here, but
I -- don't think I should tell you this over the phone. You
need to see this for yourself."
Reyes spun and headed back towards the elevator, hearing the
sharp clack of her heels against the asphalt. "I'm going to
the Assistant Director."
"All right," Doggett replied. Monica rested her forehead on
the cool metal wall of the elevator in frustration as the
ding of the closing doors sounded. He seemed at a complete
loss. There was no ready solution that he offered, and she
had none to give without knowing more about the situation.
An irrational, surprising wave of anger rose within, and she
stamped it down.
"What do you want me to do?" She had to stay calm. They both
had to stay calm. A fellow agent missing in action, and --
and *something* else... they both had to keep a level head.
There was no talking or arguing their way around it.
"Inform A.D Skinner. Tell him I want to organise a team to
be out there, looking for her. A reliable team."
Like the manhunt team that had been stopped in its tracks by
talk of aliens and abductions? Reyes chewed on the inside of
her bottom lip, knowing full well that he was thinking the
same thing. Available resources was one thing, willing
investigators another matter. Especially taking into account
their usual cases.
And then the fog of anger cleared and Reyes realised that
the depth of Doggett's worry was far more than he was
letting on. She kept her tone reassuring. "All right. I'm
headed up there."
Reyes pressed into the corner as the doors opened and a few
other agents stepped in, looking at her curiously. Her voice
dropped to a near whisper, nervous at the silence in the
confined space. "And then?"
"There's something I've got to do."
"What is it?"
Silence. Reyes glanced up at the floor lights as the
elevator heaved and settled again around its occupants.
Bodies moved out of the confined space and she waited,
catching the eye of the two other agents left behind waiting
for the next floor to be reached. They smiled politely. She
smiled back, still waiting.
"John?"
Uneasiness settled in a little further. Instinct told her to
push through the closing doors, head to the stairs, and run
all the way to the airport. She had no idea why. Confusion
rang warning bells in her head. They were missing something,
they didn't have all the facts, this was important...
His silence unnerved her. God, she never thought she'd see
the day when John Doggett ran out of words. The lift lurched
and halted again. Another quick, acknowledging smile at her
temporary companions and she was moving again, back into the
business of the hallways.
Reyes asked as she quickly muscled her way through the
corridors and began making a beeline towards Skinner's
office. Faces rushed past her, blurred and distorted as she
moved. She felt dizzy. Like something was constricting her
breathing, her movement. It perplexed her, yet somehow it
made terrible sense. Empathy. Should she tell him?
Monica bit her lip, and listened for him. Anxiety crept down
her spine, and she couldn't shake it away. Reyes caught the
narrowed, amused glance of a random agent walking past and
smiled slightly, puzzled, in reflex.
"I'll make it to work as soon as I can," Doggett said. "I
want that taskforce."
Reyes paused at the entry to Skinner's foyer, frowning. The
A.D's personal assistant looked up with a curious, level
stare. She smiled back, determination firming in her gaze.
* * * *
Port Greenstone Stay-N-Save, San Francisco
March 21, 2002
The night before Dana Scully walked away from Doggett only
to speed into the blanket of fog and conjecture, they had a
strange conversation.
Through the thin walls he could hear her moving in her room,
the pressure thudding in the old pipes as taps were turned.
Doggett had shaken himself out of the comfort of sleep and
mere minutes later he was knocking on her door, feeling the
night breeze drift idly over his skin. When she opened the
door to him her face was pinched with worry, but alert.
"Agent Doggett," Scully said, not entirely surprised. Damp
auburn hair hung around her face, making her look thinner
and harder. Her thick white terrycloth robe looked like it
could swallow her whole. An odd sense of shyness struck him,
and for a moment he fumbled for words.
"You're not sleepin'."
"Neither are you, apparently," she said, and did her best to
smile. He smiled back and she opened the door wider,
silently inviting him in.
The seaside motel had a strange bouquet of smells, salt and
fish and freshly brewed coffee mixing with the earthiness of
the town. Scully had the subtle scent of soap and lemon and
something undefinable, and he breathed it in as he moved
past her into her room. She gestured to the seat placed by
the window, and Doggett sat. Ready to talk. Ready to listen.
His eyes scanned the room. Its cozy, warm neatness was
identical to his own room, only it seemed far more natural
with her in it.
Her overnight bag was still on her neatly made bed. A neat
pile of paperwork sat on the aged, scratched mahogany desk.
She hadn't slept. Scully moved the bag aside and sat down on
the edge of the mattress to face her partner.
"You all right?" he asked.
"Yeah. I was just getting ready."
"You've got a long day tomorrow."
"So do you."
The trivial nature of their conversation didn't sit with
either of them too well. Questions hung on Doggett's lips
and he didn't know where to start. She had mentioned this
upcoming journey of hers for a while now, but he didn't feel
comfortable with just leaving her here to head home. Doggett
knew she needed her space to work, respected the seriousness
of her trip, but all the same... he didn't have all the
answers.
"Here," Scully said, reaching beside her to grab her
briefcase. She opened it and pulled out a set of manilla
folders lined with the distinctive border of X-Files
casework. "I didn't leave you with all the paperwork. I did
my part."
"Thanks," Doggett said, and looked at her.
In the silence he could hear her breathing.
Outside a faint drizzle began, a soft rainfall striking the
roof for a few minutes. Scully's eyes were indecipherable in
the dim light. He watched them, watched her.
"Thank you," Scully said. He looked at her, curious. "You
watched my back out there," she explained.
"Of course."
"I know I can rely on you."
"Agent Scully." He held up a hand. "Know now that it's not
somethin' to be questioned. Never was, and never will be."
A furrow appeared on Scully's forehead, and her lips pursed
for a brief moment. "I know that, Agent Doggett. I wanted to
thank you anyway."
He shook his head. "No thanks necessary. Goes with the
territory."
Something in her eyes spoke of the same territorialism she
felt towards her partner as he did for her. "Yeah," she
said, and her gaze was clear with resolve. "It does. I just
wanted to say it."
Doggett nodded. Slow relief started to permeate the tension.
"Why did you come by?" she asked.
"I knew you were still awake." He had wanted to reiterate
his offer of help, too, but he knew what her answer would
be.
Her smile was small and genuine. "I appreciate it."
He nodded, and rose from his chair. "Well. I should be
lettin' you go now. You need your sleep. I just wanted to
check in."
As Doggett turned to head towards the door, he wasn't
expecting what she said next. Her voice was quiet, uncertain
of her place.
"You were a good father, John."
He stiffened and spun to face her, confused.
"I read the files. I spoke to Monica Reyes. You were a good
father."
"The files don't tell you that."
"The files tell me you tried."
"The files..." He caught her gaze and held it. "It's just
paper."
Something that was almost a smile quirked her lips. "The
same could be said of every X-File. They all mean something.
You care about people, Agent Doggett. That's a good thing."
"He was a good kid, Luke."
She lowered her gaze slightly, and he knew she was thinking
of her own son. Wondering, perhaps, what kind of child
William would grow up to be. "He was your son."
They fell into a companionable silence, one that didn't ask
or demand anything from either of them. He leaned forward,
ready to ask the question he had been asking her for days.
"Dana?"
"Hmmm?"
"You want to tell me what's goin' on?"
"I can't," she said. "Not yet. I want to -- but no."
He had to accept it. "Will you be alright?"
After a moment she smiled. "If I need backup, I know who to
call."
Doggett nodded and exhaled slowly. It was all he could ask
for. "It's late," he said.
"Yeah." She reached out, gripped his hand lightly with her
own. "Good night."
Back in his room with the lights out Doggett couldn't help
but turn to look at the locked connecting door, the sliver
of light spilling from Scully's room and indicating her
restlessness. A shadow crossed the glow, and crossed again.
He frowned and sat up in the dark, wanting to pace with her
until finally sleep took over.
* * * *
John Doggett's house, Falls Church
March 25, 2002 -- 6:46 PM
The delicate gold necklace sat curled within a plastic
ziplock bag. Doggett picked up the bag and held it up to the
light, grimacing at the dark stains that still clung to the
links of the broken chain. Across the dining table a
concerned Skinner sat, watching him suspiciously. Reyes
stood by, her usually smiling face hardened by a grim
expression.
The suits they wore contrasted with the faded jeans and grey
shirt Doggett wore. He looked less like an investigator and
more like a civilian, but his mind was no less sharp.
Everyday sounds were amplified by the tension. The ticking
of his watch was loud, irritating. When someone shifted
their feet the scraping broke the silence. Doggett spoke as
he lowered the bag and he didn't want to believe what he
said.
"Agent Scully's crucifix."
Skinner nodded. "We're running a match on the blood type,
but it's hers."
Reyes glanced at Skinner and then back at Doggett, a
question on her face. Doggett's face was hard,
interrogating.
"Found at the scene?"
"Eventually." Skinner's expression hardened. "Seems there
was a bit of sloppy evidence gathering. They didn't know
where to look, especially in the presence of toxic
chemicals."
Doggett nodded. The report dated from just two days before
had made that clear. With comparison of other reports, all
three agents present knew that the remnants found at the
scene had the same chemical composition he had almost
stepped in at an Arizona desert hospital.
"And that's all we've got."
Reyes stared hard at Doggett, frowning. He knew she thought
he was holding something back.
"There's a taskforce already on the case," Skinner added. "
Evans and Scaasi, among others."
Doggett nodded again. He remembered Evans and Scaasi from
the taskforce investigating Mulder's disappearance. They
were trustworthy, but then Gene Crane had once been too.
"I checked out the story and Scully's description matched
that of a woman who was seen at Port Greenstone," Reyes
continued for the Assistant Director. "Reports are varying.
We're in there now, trying to make sense of it all. What
went down there on your case?"
"Property developer who pulled a lot of felonies to get what
he wanted," Doggett said. "Nothing to do with an X-File
there."
"Are you sure?"
"If there was, Scully would have seen it."
"Why didn't she return with you?"
"She was going on to what appears to be an unofficial case."
"And you let her go?"
Doggett frowned, looking annoyed. "She had discussed it with
me previously. She knew something, and wasn't yet ready to
share it. I wasn't going to push her."
"What happened the last time you saw her?"
"Am I a suspect?"
"No," Reyes cut in. Skinner looked up at her, frowning. She
stared back. Neither gave way.
"Okay," Doggett cut in, "So you see me as a suspect."
"You never arrived at work today," Skinner said. "Why?"
Doggett's head started to ache. "I was trying to follow a
lead. It didn't pan out."
Skinner's cellphone trilled. He answered it, frowning, and
excused himself. Reyes took the opportunity to grill him on
what her instincts were telling her.
"What are you hiding?"
Doggett pushed his chair back and stood up, defensive.
"Nothing." He walked to the kitchen and poured himself
another glass of water as Reyes stared after him annoyed.
"Don't you want to find Dana?"
He couldn't believe she would even ask that. Doggett had to
be careful as he placed the glass of water back down on the
table. "Of course."
"Then what's going on?"
He rubbed his forehead. Suddenly he looked far older.
"I've got to look out for what she left behind, too."
But Reyes wasn't going to let him get away with a vague
answer. "Which is... what?"
Doggett focused on the scratches on his kitchen bench,
putting his thoughts together. Reyes waited impatiently. The
words were harder to say than in his thoughts.
"There was somebody else at the airport. Someone who Scully
sent in her place."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(to be continued)
