Letonia2

Mulder said, desperately rocking Evan back and forth. A little while ago, the kid had been perfectly peaceful. Out of nowhere, he'd suddenly started screaming like nothing the man had ever heard. He was just grateful that none of the neighbours had called the police yet.

He offered Evan his bottle. He let the bottle cool down more, then offered it to him again. He changed Evan's diaper, using one from the seemingly huge stack of clothe ones (why Scully had run out, he just didn't see).

While doing this, he poked Evan with a pin. He almost covered his ears as the wailing rose in pitch. *It's not his diaper, he's not hungry, what on earth could he want?* The answer struck him suddenly. He didn't know if it would work, but it was worth a try.

Where was Evan's pacifier? The last time Mulder'd seen it, Evan had been by. . . by. . . the toy box?

Mulder was rooting through the pile that surrounded the box, an isolated spot of madness in the otherwise immaculate apartment, when his cell phone started to ring. He ignored it at first, more interested in finding the child's soother. After twenty rings or so, he realized that whoever it was was not going to hang up. He sat on the floor, placing Evan on his lap while the phone continued to peal. He quickly flipped the phone open, then started to dig through the mess one handed, hoping that he'd be able to hear over the child's cries.

Evan fell quiet. Mulder wished that he hadn't. The silence in the room was resounding. He could hear Skinner on the other end of the line too well. He felt his arms stop move, his hand tightening instinctively over whatever it was he'd been touching last.

He slowly closed the phone. The room was doing 360s around him.

It was darker than he could remember it being, before.

Looking down at his full hand, he saw the bright silver of a sunflower seed bag. It was almost half full.

*

Doggett surveyed the scene in front of him. A kind of silent shock still filled him.

This was wrong.

The reports had called it a battle ground. He'd wondered why the bureau had sent him off on something so cockamanie. It hadn't sounded like an X-File.

He hadn't wanted to come here. When he'd first seen the land, he'd understood.

In one way.

It was completely and utterly senseless. The land was destroyed. It was torn and hurt and scarred in a way he couldn't describe, and he doubted that even a bunch of college freshmen on spring break could wreak this much havoc. I

t had witnessed a war, suffered it. But it wouldn't give up its secrets. He didn't know why this touched him so much.

He took out the case file, hoping to find something in it that he'd missed all those other times. Locals in the nearby town of Sherwinigan, Nebraska, had first reported loud noises to the police, late the night before last, followed by a localized lightning storm that brought no rain.

Then the really strange stuff had started.

He'd managed to isolate most of the individual effects, but how they tied together still eluded him. The burn marks on the ground were from the lightning, of course, but there seemed to be a few from another source. At least two different sources, actually. He would've thought that the chunks of earth that had been thrown throughout clearing had been kicked up by the lightning, but there hadn't been any scorching by the pitted hollows.

Pacing around the clearing, he stopped suddenly. *I guess maybe it did rain here after all* he thought, as he pulled his foot out of a soggy patch of ground. It would make things so much simpler if there had just been a freak storm. If it had brought splotchy rain, then that would explain why only some of the burn marks remained.

Too bad it didn't explain the blood and bone.

The bone looked like it couldn't belong to any living creature. He'd had it checked. The lab techs couldn't even guess at what it had come from. He had them running a genetic analysis on it as he stood there. They'd convinced him that at the very least it was a real bone. He'd originally thought that it could have been carved as some sort of weapon, but the techs had also told him that there was no scoring on it indicative of carving, or any sort of shaping.

He wasn't sure if it had been the cause of the blood, but his instincts told him that it hadn't been. The blood was in a splatter pattern that suggested a steady bleeding out from one large wound. The bone would only be useful for sharp, narrow cuts. If a person didn't die pretty well right off the bat, they'd recover. They wouldn't lie around and bleed to death slowly.

The blood had pooled around a body, sparing a patch of grass which looked humanoid from the tacky redness that soaked the ground. However, he wasn't sure what, or who, had died.

If anything, or anyone had died at all. He would have like to believe that who ever had been hurt was okay, but he'd checked at the single hospital within reasonable driving distance. No one had been admitted due to heavy blood loss that night, and by the amount of blood on the ground, if they hadn't gotten immediate help, then they would have died. If they hadn't already bled out completely.

The blood had been human, AB positive, but according, again, to the lab techs, there were genetic anomalies. It was beginning to feel like all the lab was good for was creating even more questions.

Doggett crouched by the scene, waving away the flies that had been attracted by the blood. If there had been any showers, they had been both extremely scattered and extremely localized. He tugged at the wrists of his latex gloves as he reached forward. Delicately, he pulled a single hair from redness. It blended in well enough with the grass that he'd missed it earlier, and he wouldn't have found it now if the light hadn't been just right. He held it up, wiping the remains of the blood on the pinky finger of his left hand. He couldn't tell the colour, but it was short and coarse. Squinting at the hair again, it still refused to remain any colour other than just dark.

Doggett looked up at the sky. Twilight was already starting to paint the world in charcoal. He hadn't realized that he'd been here for that long already. There wasn't any use in continuing. It would be too dark to do anything in a little bit, and he still had to walk back to the rental car, which he had left where the nearest road ran out. This site really was in the middle of no where. His cell phone didn't even get service.

He sighed slightly as he slipped the single hair into an evidence bag and started his trek. When he got back to the hotel, he'd call Scully, ask for her opinion on the bone, and on this whole matter. He could use a fresh perspective. It still amazed him how close the two of them had gotten. Doggett didn't often make good, close friends. When he did make them, it was over a long period of time, and not with people who threw cups of water into his face the first time that they spoke to him, not with people who seemed to believe in impossible things. Yet, there was Scully, firmly entrenched within his barriers.

He hadn't realized how much he missed having someone this close. She and Evan were almost like his own family.

When he entered the bar awhile later, the tavern owner waved him over. Doggett considered pretending that he hadn't seen him, but after a bit of thought, decided it would be best not to antagonize the man, seeing as he also owed the hotel rooms above the saloon, one of which Doggett was staying in, which happened to be the only accomidation available in the community, and he wasn't all that fond of the idea of sleeping in the car for the next while.

He put on his best face as he sauntered up to the owner, a slightly oily looking man who appeared to have been sampling his own wares for some time now. The man looked at him, his face telling Doggett that he knew exactly what the FBI agent thought of him. He didn't try to make small talk, just bent over and started looking for something on the counter. A guy called for you while you were out. Name of Skinner. Something `bout a Scully'. He sounded pretty shaken up. Doggett felt an anxiety start to build inside of him. The man continued , I have the number here somewhere. Said to call him as soon as you got in.

Thanks. I know the number already.

By the time Doggett had reached his room, the anxiety had grown into a knot in the pit of his stomach. He took the phone off of the hook and dialled up the AD's office. When his secretary picked up the line, she sounded haggard.

Hello, Assistant Director Skinner's office.

Yeah, I'd like to talk to Skinner, Ms. Wade.

I'm sorry, he's busy at the minute. Would you like to leave a message?

He left a message at my hotel that I should call him back as soon as I got the message, I think that he'd like to talk to me.

There was a pause on the line. Eventually, Ms. Wades' voice came back. Is this Agent Doggett?

Yes, it is.

Hold on, I'm putting you right through.

*

Dana Scully was in a room with the blue man. They were talking about something terribly important, but she couldn't remember what it was. He was teaching her something. It was something that she'd need. Or maybe he wasn't teaching her, as much as telling her how to apply things that she already knew. That was why he'd been waiting for her. They'd been there for a time, he sitting in that same overstuffed, ragged chair he had been in when she arrived. He'd been there for awhile already, delaying his journey till she was ready. She didn't like to think of him alone in this pale dark place, not because of her. It was warm, but the warmth couldn't fight the bone deep chill. The chill wasn't too bad though, it came and went. Often, she didn't even notice it. The room was sparse. There wasn't any clutter, just the two of them, his cozy looking chair, and the red, rough cotton couch she was perched on. The walls were featureless, not even a door or window marred them. He noticed that her attention had drifted. He stopped speaking, his kind eyes looking at her with something akin to pity.

I'm sorry, he spoke, his voice soft. I'm tiring you. You really do need to rest. She wanted to tell him that she was fine. She wanted him to keep talking, that she didn't remember what he'd said, but that she wanted to try again. But she was feeling strange. The peace that she'd felt at first had changed to something else. A distance had taken over her senses. This place was leaving. She leant forward to ask him what was going on, to tell him that she was very suddenly afraid. She wanted comfort. But when she moved towards him, she realized where that chill had been coming from. He was radiating it. She started to ask him what was wrong, if he'd had any symptoms, but he interrupted her.

He looked into her eyes in a way no one ever had, searching her. He smiled at her. You'll do. You'll do very well indeed.

A little miffed that he'd interrupted her like that, when he was obviously not well, she started to retort. The look in his eyes stopped her. He knew what was wrong with him, didn't need her to diagnose him. He spoke again. You have to go, you know. I've already over stayed, and you're about ready to go.

She found her voice. How? There aren't any doors.

The floor is going to drop out from under you, I think. The doors are going to come later. You're going to have too many doors, and none of them lead to everything you want, not right away, anyway. She wasn't sure if he was talking about her current situation, or something else. She thought maybe both.

The distance was increasing. She wasn't quite sure if her feet were touching.

The darkness was back. She'd been there before she found this place. She usually didn't mind the dark.

All she wanted was another place but this shadow.

Babbling reached her faintly. Something sub-audible was hitting her head. A voice broke through, though. She clung onto it like a life line, using it to pull herself into the light.

I believe she's coming out of it, Professor. I'm reading increased vital signs.

She tried to sort out what was going on, but her head was buzzing. It was a steady buzz, almost mechanical.

*Mechanical?*

Her head felt clearer, but the buzzing hadn't changed its monotone. Come to think of it, it was more of a hum.

Dis's amazing, another voice added. She couldn't imagine the voice belonging to a man whom others would call Professor. The Cajun voice was a tad too slick.

*Wait a second, _Professor_? *

There was a bone deep ache throughout her entire body, shot through with needle sharp pain. She couldn't pinpoint where the majority of the pain was coming from though. Why she hadn't noticed it as soon as she woke up?

*If I'm awake at all. Why would I be in the care of a Professor? I'm pretty sure that I've been hurt, probably badly, so where's my doctor? Even if something happened with him, Doggett and Mulder would make sure that I had a real doctor.*

That brought another fear to mind. *Where is Evan?*

*Doggett? Mulder? Skinner?*

Something was seriously wrong here. She could feel it deep inside.

Dana opened her eyes and tried to sit up. A million articulate questions sat on the tip of her tongue.

Two things went wrong. First off, her arms wouldn't obey her commands. She could open her eyes, but her arms wouldn't lift her.

Still, she started to speak.

Then she got a good look at where she was. She trailed off. This place was impossible. Machines that bore only the slightest resemblance to any current medical equipment surrounded her. They were the origin of the humming. She couldn't remember how she might've gotten here, and a panic started to fill her.

Where was Evan?

Her unfinished sentence had attracted the attention of the other occupants of the room. The three of them had flocked towards her bed.

She relaxed a bit. This had to be a dream. These people, this room, they weren't real. But the short bald man was looking at her sadly, as if he could hear what she was thinking. His eyes told her that this was real. But still, they calmed her, pacified her. She took a better look at him and realized that he wasn't actually all that short, he was in a futurist looking wheelchair. He must be the Professor.

She did another double take. It wasn't a wheelchair.

The thing was hovering a few inches off of the ground.

She started to feel the panic again. The other two people moved in closer as if sensing her change in mood. The black woman with the white (White?) hair leaned in and spoke to her softly.

It's all right, you're safe. No one can hurt you.

The woman's words rang true, though Scully wasn't quite sure why someone would want to hurt her.

She tried to ask the woman where her son was, but she couldn't find the strength. The darkness was creeping into her again, but this time it was a soft darkness, slowly cradling her down into rest.

The woman straightened up, her eyes never leaving Scully's face. The last person in the room, a man who, by process of elimination, had to be the Cajun who'd spoken earlier, turned to the bald man and said, Looked to me like she was bout to blow for a sec dire. Tell me Chuck, why you not work your mumbo jumbo on her?

Before the man had turned from her, she'd caught a glimpse of pure red in his eyes. He should be the one on this bed. He must have a pretty severe head injury for the eye to be completely full of blood. Through the darkness that was almost complete now, she saw him face her and smile. Don't you be worrying' bout me, Chere. I be fine.

She hadn't thought she'd said that outloud. They were all looking at her now.

I tried, Gambit,*What kind of a name is ?* she wondered absently, while the other man spoke tiredly, She rejected it.

The woman lay a hand on Gambit's shoulder. She seemed to have ignored their conversation. The poor woman. How are we going to tell her? She doesn't deserve any of this.

Gambit spoke again. Neither did we Stormy, neither did we.

She couldn't ask them to explain it to her, ask them if they were talking about Evan. A deep sleep had claimed her.

*

Doggett sat staring at the pile of clothes he had pulled out of Scully's closet. His mind still felt numb, despite the time that had past.

He wasn't here gathering up her things.

He'd wake up tomorrow and come here, and they'd talk. She'd complain fondly about Mulder, and he wouldn't tell her that he thought that Mulder really needed to grow up, that she should put him in his place. Instead, he'd tell her about the case that he'd been working on, ask for her input, ask her when she'd be back at work.

He wasn't here gathering up her things.

He'd heard that the first step to acceptance was denial. He didn't want to reach acceptance. He was fine stuck here in the first step. Moving on would mean accepting that this had happened to Scully.

Which was the whole point, but still...

The suits on the bed seemed to mock him.

God, he missed her already.

He punched the wall.

The pain steadied him. As he stared at the indent he'd made in the wall, the disjointedness that had filled him since Dana's funeral seemed to dissipate slightly. Instead, a slow anger started to burn within him. *Why her? Why this way? She deserved better than some stupid driver who didn't even have the courage to stop and see if she was all right after he hit her.*

Not that it would've helped any. The mother of the little girl who his partner had saved had called an ambulance right after it had happened. The woman had been in the grocery store, and had turned her back on her child for half a minute. The girl, Patricia, had been given allowance for the first time that afternoon, and, kids being kids, wandered off to blow it on junk. When she couldn't find her mother afterwards, she'd started to make her way home.

When the medical workers had gotten there, they'd inspected the girl. She was physically fine, except for a few scrapes. Doggett thought that this was something that her mind would never fully recover from, though. The ambulance had been to late to help Scully. Patricia had just been sitting on the ground, staring at Dana's body lying on the road in front of her when her mother got there. The woman had seen the entire thing through the window of the grocer.

Patricia hadn't even started to scream until her mother took her up in her arms.

The medics had said that Scully had died instantly, that she hadn't even known what hit her.

He didn't know if the thought of his partner not even knowing that she was going to die comforted him. He was pretty sure that it was the sort of thing that she would've liked to have known, to have had a few seconds, at least, to reflect on.

He looked around the near empty apartment. There wasn't much left for him to pack away. Skinner had been here several times for that express purpose. That was how he was dealing, by being taking responsibility for everything. He'd made the funeral arrangements, seen that everyone who needed to be contacted was, and done so many of the other things that you didn't ever realize someone had to look after till you lost a person who was close to you. Doggett couldn't have done it, and he wasn't sure if Skinner was actually dealing, but he admired the other man for it. There were much worse ways to react.

And then there was Mulder. He'd been throwing everything he was feeling into looking after Evan. Some people, Doggett included, had been worried about him at first, when he'd found that Doggett was Evan's legal guardian. He seemed to accept it now, something that relieved them, even if it did seem a bit out of character.

Of course, Mulder's reaction had been better than Bill's. The thought of Scully's brother's (*that officious ass's *) reaction to the fact that Doggett was his nephew's legal guardian brought the ghost of a smile to Doggett's face, despite everything. Bill's face had just about turned purple. And had he ever freaked when he saw that Scully had specified that in the event that anything happened to Doggett, Skinner or Mulder were to look after Evan.

What had the man expected, Doggett wondered. They'd basically fallen out of touch. He didn't call, didn't write, and he hadn't exactly been discrete about the fact he wasn't happy that his little sister is a single mother.

Was a single mother.

It all came crashing down on him. It was a little thing, that change of tense. But it changed everything.

Was a single mother. Except she hadn't been, not really. She'd had him and Mulder and Skinner.

Was a single mother.

Evan was never going to know his mother.

He sat down on the coach then, his knees weak. John Doggett was not a man who cried. In fact, he tended to view men who did as sissies. However, sitting on a coach that had belonged to a woman who had been very dear to him, in the apartment where she'd only started to raise her son, he felt slow tears start to wind their way down his cheek. He sat there for a time, thinking of all the things that Dana Scully had been to him in the time that he'd known her.

Then he headed back to Dana's room and the clothes he had pulled out of the closet before he'd attacked the wall. He picked up a shirt, folded it neatly, and placed it in the bag Skinner had started.

God, he was going to miss her.