TITLE: Interior Diagnosis
AUTHOR: Brittany "Thespis" Frederick
E-MAIL: baltimorelt@yahoo.com
RATING: PG for language
CATEGORY: New character, character-centric, Scully POV
SUMMARY: I told him no one gets there alone, and I now
know who he got here with.
DISCLAIMER: All nonoriginal content belongs to Chris
Carter, 1013, and FOX. Agent Stark Patrick and all new
content/ideas et cetera belong to me and I'm proud of
it. Archive's okay, with my permission.
If I could ride this light into forever
You know this is not another waste of time
All this holding on can't be wrong
Just come back to me and I am not alone
All this holding on can't be wrong...
- Train
I've spent eight years looking for things no one is
supposed to see, but I'd be blind if I didn't see
what's there.
She's lounging in her chair, reading through an older
copy of Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets by
David Simon. It's true crime, the story of the
Baltimore Police Department's homicide unit in 1988.
She worked there for four years, seven years ago.
Agent Doggett tells me she's read it a dozen times, if
not more. I remember when I first met Special Agent
Stark Patrick. She struck me as a unique person -
incredibly genuine, honest, blunt, and with a
voracious attitude that continues to amaze me. She
always appears instantly approachable, with a comeback
and a suggestion at hand. And yet, you can see it on
her face, even now. Her eyes are somewhat distant, her
dark hair neatly combed back, her posture
professional. She appears to be the consummate
professional. But I can sit here and ignore the
mounting paperwork on my desk and watch her look over
at him, and watch those eyes come alive.
I keep telling myself "Scully, it's none of your
business, these two are old partners - old friends -
and of course they're going to be close." But this is
a different kind of close, even for partners of four
years in Criminal Investigations. This is
baptism-by-fire, never-let-you-go,
never-leave-your-side, running-at-four-a.m. kind of
close. I wonder, sometimes, what must have happened in
their past to make them this close, this strong. And I
can only imagine that it must be a terrible event, a
unique circumstance the likes of which I cannot
comprehend. The likes of which I thought could only
apply to myself and Mulder until I saw the same light
flare up in his eyes when she first walked in here
almost two years ago. Until I saw the mist forming in
his eyes, even though he tried to hide it from me.
John Doggett definitely cares for Stark Patrick and
vice versa, to an astounding degree. And I smile,
watching the signs, as I am now, because I know that I
too feel the way they feel, and that they deserve it,
and that they have earned it.
But the dialogue is my biggest clue.
"John," she says, putting down the book.
His attention is immediately hers, with a curiosity
in his eyes like that of a young child, a permanent
interest that only comes from familiarity. "Yeah?" he
says conversationally, turning in his chair.
"Get this," she continues, a small smile forming on
her face, "Landsman once passed Pellegrini off as a
woman so they could pick up a female prisoner from
county jail."
I watch him laugh at the absurdity of one police
detective passing off another as a woman, and he
smiles easily. That alone baffles me. For the first
few months of our partnership, I never saw that. He
was business, grim and simple, no distractions, plenty
of distance. Granted, I never made it easy for him - I
still find myself apologizing for that long-forgotten
water incident - but it makes me feel somewhat on the
outside. They have their own language of signs and
codes that seems to be at a glance. And I am reminded
sometimes of how I don't speak it.
He shakes his head, "Your predecessors did some crazy
things, Stark."
"Tell me about it," she quips, "I worked with
Meldrick Lewis."
Doggett's eyes flicker knowingly, as I suspect he
knows very well all of her Baltimore ex-coworkers,
former cases, old haunts and probably tax returns. On
more than one occasion, they've come into work
together, and on many occasions, they have stayed long
after I can't stand another minute. She knows he
knows, and he knows she knows that he knows, and so
on. And I'm learning. Gradually, I am learning this
dynamic that they built, even if I will never be a
true part of it.
I watch him study her for a moment after she's gone
back to the book, taking in her renewed interest, her
ability to simply relax and fade into the background,
the peace and pause on her features. He is almost
fascinated by her youth, her vitality, the dozen
years' age difference between them. I'm tempted to
throw something in his general direction or scream the
phrase "coffee filters" and see if I still exist. He
finally smiles to himself and turns back to his own
desk. Ever since she arrived, it appears as if a great
weight has been lifted off his shoulders.
And I suppose it has.
Her arrival - her sacrifice of an entire prosperous
career, of the future of a young, smart, charismatic
agent to follow her politically screwed partner to the
realm of the FBI's Most Unwanted - says very much
about her and about them. They are survivors, and not
just survivors, survivors together. They have held on
through these years. That she would follow him is a
testament to that, to her loyalty, to their friendship
and to all that they have and stand for. If the same
thing were to happen to me and Mulder, I know that I
would probably follow him. But it takes a real person
to throw a way a whole life, an only chance. And
apparently she has no qualms with being that person.
Her watch beeps.
She takes a moment and glances down. "It's time for
lunch," she announces quietly, marks her page, and
reaches for her backpack. Doggett and I both stand
almost simultaneously. I, the intrepid researcher,
take time to do some research of my subjects outside
of base camp.
*********
They are, I realize as we sit together at lunch,
almost a complete contradiction.
He is six foot one, tall, with a strong build and
imposing stare. She is five foot ten, more slender and
Ryan Stiles-esque in her build, less imposing, more
inviting. But they also have some of the same traits:
the eyes that can say everything or nothing at all,
the ability to flash an easy smile or conceal it just
as quickly, the calm and reasoned approach. Age-wise,
they would be extremely distant relatives, or by a
long stretch of the imagination, he's old enough to be
her father. The first moment either of them says
anything, however, tells that these are two people,
regardless of age and gender and physical difference
of appearance and God knows what else, have truly come
together.
"The Gators just scored another touchdown," she says,
clicking off the portable radio she's got tuned to
some Florida station where she follows University of
Florida college football.
He glances sideways at her, a mischievious smirk on
his face. "An actual touchdown or you want it to be a
touchdown?"
"Actual touchdown, John," she says, rolling her eyes
before she starts an old argument that must be from
another game. "It was a touchdown."
"It was not a touchdown," he replies calmly. "He had
the ball for two seconds."
"More than that."
"It wasn't any longer than two seconds."
"It was more than two seconds," she insists, and the
argument starts up.
It's not really an argument. It's one of those
casually warm-heated, mostly in jest and fun
discussion-type arguments. I have never seen them
actually argue. They will debate in sometimes
repetitive, conversationally anal-retentive phrases,
but I've never seen them fight. I know how A.D.
Skinner must have felt when he had peace and quiet -
Mulder and I fight all the time. These two keep the
peace and we debate it; I suppose that's an even
split.
Two minutes later he concedes that the final score
put the Gators over the Tennessee Volunteers and
there's nothing he can do about it, but he still
doesn't agree with her. As if they've forgotten me,
they both glance at me.
"Agent Scully?" he prompts me.
"Wha .. what?" I'm startled I'm even being talked to.
They don't do it intentionally, but nonetheless.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine, Agent Doggett."
That's another clue. It's always 'Agent Doggett' and
'Agent Scully.' Never 'John' and 'Dana' or even a
last-name basis. I suppose we could make it that way,
but we don't. Even with me and Mulder, it's a
last-name basis. But between the two of them, they are
'John' and 'Stark,' on a casually first-name basis
that comes with years of an enduring, close friendship
both inside and outside the Hoover Building. I stir my
iced tea one more time, glance out the window and
wonder how much credit to give to the rumors that the
two of them are more than friends.
The signs are there, I'll admit.
But the principal rule of research is to look for
what never lies: the facts.
It's in watching them that I think I, Dana Scully,
medical doctor, FBI Agent, mother and would-be
obsessive Bureau social scientist, have finally lost
my mind.
That I'd even entertain thoughts that the two people
sitting across from me are doing more than working
together and watching NASCAR on Saturdays is entirely
not me. I've spent eight years of my life fighting the
rumors that Mulder and I are more than friends (and
sometimes I don't even know the answer), and yet first
chance I get, I'm sitting here doing exactly what was
done to me. I'm sure I'm not the first person to
suspect it, but I feel like a hypocrite. And I'm sure
Mulder would be laughing if he knew.
Oh, that's what I want to think about.
"Hey, is it Thursday, or Friday?" she asks.
"It's Friday," he supplies easily.
"You know, I could have sworn it was Thursday," she
says, almost amused with herself. Doggett's right. I'm
surprised she remembers her own birthday. But in terms
of cases, she's got a mind that everyone in the Bureau
should be jealous of (and some are).
"What are you doing with your weekend, Agent Scully?"
"Well..." I smile almost sheepishly. Like I have a
choice with motherhood on my plate. "I figured I'd
just stay home and rent a movie or something like
that. What about you?"
"I think the Daytona 500's this weekend," she says,
looking to him for confirmation. He nods. As usual,
they'll probably be watching the race together. "But
other than that, I don't really know. Like I have a
life, right?"
No, she doesn't. The last vacation day she took, we
had to force it on her. And then she came in after
lunch.
So where was I? Oh, yes, the illustrious question of
whether Agents Doggett and Patrick are more than
friends. Lots of people have said so, taking how his
eyes light up when she enters a room and vice versa
and how they often end up leaving together as
evidence. Do I believe it? I don't know. They're
obviously very close and have built a very strong
relationship. But that doesn't mean that they're
involved. I don't believe that they'd try that. I
don't see Agent Doggett mixing business and pleasure.
I wouldn't see that from Stark. She has a strong
belief in the system, in the rules (even as she bends
them), in good and evil. I don't see her doing
something the Bureau would fillet them both for.
But who was the first person I called when I found
out he'd gone missing with Agent Harrison?
Okay, it was Mulder, but after that, I called her.
Reports vary as to what actually happened that day.
She, Mulder, Doggett and Harrison all offer various
versions of how Mulder and Stark got him out of there.
The report is, as usual, black and white enough to
pass Kersh's tests, but they know something else.
They're not hiding it, they just don't know how to
explain it. My, doesn't that sound familiar?
I asked Mulder, and he said she seemed to be acting
on instruction, as if she knew where he was. He said
that she had said something about being able to hear
him telepathically. Yet they've never been able to
duplicate it. This doesn't mean I don't believe that
stress and fear and emotion could have caused it, even
if I've tested them for the possibility. And looking
at them, I wouldn't doubt it if they were able to read
each other's minds. There's just something in their
eyes that tells me they know each other deeper than I
ever will know them.
I've read his file, and I've read hers, too. We
graduated from the same university, albeit years
apart. She has her degree in Administration of
Justice. She spent four years with Baltimore City
homicide. And then she came here. Her whole life, it
seems, has been transitioning to something else, from
college to the police academy to the National Academy
to the Bureau, from Criminal Investigations to the
X-Files. The one constant within the last decade of
her life has been Agent Doggett. She seems to be
always in motion, always involved in change, and yet
he is always there.
One of Mulder's favorite anecdotes is the time he and
Agent Doggett had lunch in an attempt of Mulder's to
try to figure out exactly what was up with the two of
them.
"You like her, don't you?" he'd said of Agent
Patrick.
"Of course I like her," Doggett had deadpanned.
"She's my partner, she's my best friend, she blew up
her own career to come back to me."
Mulder had scrambled to say something that would get
results. He paused.
"She's not half bad to look at."
Doggett had turned on him with a defensive stare and
firmly told him, "Touch her and you die."
Needless to say, no further explanation was
necessary.
As defensive as he is of her, she is more so of their
partnership. She has followed him into hell and back
willingly, even when he didn't want her to risk
herself. When he left for the Galpex-Orpheus, she
followed him and then proceeded to flay him about
leaving her (in an anger that lasted all of thirty
seconds according to Mulder). I was surprised to hear
her voice on the other end of that radio, but then I
should have expected it. Anyone who comes at their
partner's two a.m. phone call will follow him
anywhere.
Even more interesting to me is the one date she went
on almost a year ago. Nothing happened, and it's the
only date she's ever been on since she joined the
Bureau, she admits. But watching him that night, after
she'd left, sit there almost dead, somewhat sullen,
out of it entirely, was telling. She had left him to
be with another man he didn't know, in a place he
didn't know, and something could happen to her and he
wouldn't know it. She had done so reluctantly, but she
had done so, and I could see the conflict in his eyes.
He wanted to keep her heart from being broken, he
wanted her to be happy, he wanted her to be safe. And
he didn't know how he was going to do it. Although the
event was of no consequence, what I saw in him that
night was certainly worth remembering.
A few days into her return - December 12 - there was
no uncertainty in his voice, no strategizing, no
updates on what had happened while they were apart, no
"are you sure you know what you're doing?"
conversations as there had been when she had walked
into the office, introduced herself to me and
proceeded to open one of her current case files. It
was as if Doggett had seen, when he came into the
office that morning to see her at the desk I'd
requisitioned for her, changing one of her case names
on her white board from red to black, that the secret
hope he had carried inside of him since Kersh had torn
them apart was no longer secret:
She was never leaving him again.
Mulder said it best, perhaps: she is his past, and I
am his future. But I can't help but know that she is
his future, too. And that if they get what they
deserve, what is best for them, she'll be his future
for a long time to come.
I told him no one gets there alone, and I now know
who he got here with.
"We're going to be late," I remind them almost
sheepishly. Lunch is almost over.
They don't appear to be surprised.
We head for the car, crossing the parking lot until
we find where he parked it. She offers me the
passenger seat without saying a word, and I buckle
myself in. I pause when I realize neither of them is
following me, and glance up. He's standing there with
the driver's side door open, and I follow his glance
to where she's standing with one hand on the extended
back seat door and another on the radio earpiece.
After a second, she looks at him and smiles.
Touchdown.
He smiles, conceding the argument before it begins.
In the silence there is the distinct presence of
peace.
********
If this were a medical condition which required a
medical perspective, I wouldn't know what to call it.
Using my would-be social scientist skills, however, I
can only offer this diagnosis from the inside:
They are meant for each other.
Take that however you want - to mean that they are
two halves of one whole, to mean that they are the
perfect partners, to mean that they are best friends,
to mean that they'll get married and live in a
white-picket-fence neighborhood that would make Ozzie
and Harriet sick from the sugar rush - but I know that
it is the honest truth.
I'll always continue to watch them, watch their signs
and their ability to speak in code and how they can
communicate with simply a glance, watch the easy smile
that comes to his face when she speaks, watch the
light in their eyes, and to continue my research from
base camp, from the perspective of honest amazement at
how two people from two different walks of life can
come together by chance and create an unrivaled
miracle.
I know that we deceive, inveigle, and obfuscate,
hiding the truth from ourselves.
But Agent Doggett and Agent Patrick have found their
truth.
They find it every day, in every case, in every
closure, in every file, in every experience, in every
step of the way, in every word. They find it in each
other.
END
Thanks to all who sent feedback ... I hope you had
half as much fun reading as I did writing, because
that means I had twice as much fun writing as you did
reading :)
=====
"Oh, for God's sake, please be somebody else."
- Lewis Black
Natalie: Two guys have ascended 5 miles into the sky. They walked up a wall of ice and are preparing to knock on the door of heaven itself. There's really no end to what we can do. You know what the trick is?
Dan: What?
Natalie: Get in the game!
- "The Quality of Mercy at 29K", "Sports Night"
AUTHOR: Brittany "Thespis" Frederick
E-MAIL: baltimorelt@yahoo.com
RATING: PG for language
CATEGORY: New character, character-centric, Scully POV
SUMMARY: I told him no one gets there alone, and I now
know who he got here with.
DISCLAIMER: All nonoriginal content belongs to Chris
Carter, 1013, and FOX. Agent Stark Patrick and all new
content/ideas et cetera belong to me and I'm proud of
it. Archive's okay, with my permission.
If I could ride this light into forever
You know this is not another waste of time
All this holding on can't be wrong
Just come back to me and I am not alone
All this holding on can't be wrong...
- Train
I've spent eight years looking for things no one is
supposed to see, but I'd be blind if I didn't see
what's there.
She's lounging in her chair, reading through an older
copy of Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets by
David Simon. It's true crime, the story of the
Baltimore Police Department's homicide unit in 1988.
She worked there for four years, seven years ago.
Agent Doggett tells me she's read it a dozen times, if
not more. I remember when I first met Special Agent
Stark Patrick. She struck me as a unique person -
incredibly genuine, honest, blunt, and with a
voracious attitude that continues to amaze me. She
always appears instantly approachable, with a comeback
and a suggestion at hand. And yet, you can see it on
her face, even now. Her eyes are somewhat distant, her
dark hair neatly combed back, her posture
professional. She appears to be the consummate
professional. But I can sit here and ignore the
mounting paperwork on my desk and watch her look over
at him, and watch those eyes come alive.
I keep telling myself "Scully, it's none of your
business, these two are old partners - old friends -
and of course they're going to be close." But this is
a different kind of close, even for partners of four
years in Criminal Investigations. This is
baptism-by-fire, never-let-you-go,
never-leave-your-side, running-at-four-a.m. kind of
close. I wonder, sometimes, what must have happened in
their past to make them this close, this strong. And I
can only imagine that it must be a terrible event, a
unique circumstance the likes of which I cannot
comprehend. The likes of which I thought could only
apply to myself and Mulder until I saw the same light
flare up in his eyes when she first walked in here
almost two years ago. Until I saw the mist forming in
his eyes, even though he tried to hide it from me.
John Doggett definitely cares for Stark Patrick and
vice versa, to an astounding degree. And I smile,
watching the signs, as I am now, because I know that I
too feel the way they feel, and that they deserve it,
and that they have earned it.
But the dialogue is my biggest clue.
"John," she says, putting down the book.
His attention is immediately hers, with a curiosity
in his eyes like that of a young child, a permanent
interest that only comes from familiarity. "Yeah?" he
says conversationally, turning in his chair.
"Get this," she continues, a small smile forming on
her face, "Landsman once passed Pellegrini off as a
woman so they could pick up a female prisoner from
county jail."
I watch him laugh at the absurdity of one police
detective passing off another as a woman, and he
smiles easily. That alone baffles me. For the first
few months of our partnership, I never saw that. He
was business, grim and simple, no distractions, plenty
of distance. Granted, I never made it easy for him - I
still find myself apologizing for that long-forgotten
water incident - but it makes me feel somewhat on the
outside. They have their own language of signs and
codes that seems to be at a glance. And I am reminded
sometimes of how I don't speak it.
He shakes his head, "Your predecessors did some crazy
things, Stark."
"Tell me about it," she quips, "I worked with
Meldrick Lewis."
Doggett's eyes flicker knowingly, as I suspect he
knows very well all of her Baltimore ex-coworkers,
former cases, old haunts and probably tax returns. On
more than one occasion, they've come into work
together, and on many occasions, they have stayed long
after I can't stand another minute. She knows he
knows, and he knows she knows that he knows, and so
on. And I'm learning. Gradually, I am learning this
dynamic that they built, even if I will never be a
true part of it.
I watch him study her for a moment after she's gone
back to the book, taking in her renewed interest, her
ability to simply relax and fade into the background,
the peace and pause on her features. He is almost
fascinated by her youth, her vitality, the dozen
years' age difference between them. I'm tempted to
throw something in his general direction or scream the
phrase "coffee filters" and see if I still exist. He
finally smiles to himself and turns back to his own
desk. Ever since she arrived, it appears as if a great
weight has been lifted off his shoulders.
And I suppose it has.
Her arrival - her sacrifice of an entire prosperous
career, of the future of a young, smart, charismatic
agent to follow her politically screwed partner to the
realm of the FBI's Most Unwanted - says very much
about her and about them. They are survivors, and not
just survivors, survivors together. They have held on
through these years. That she would follow him is a
testament to that, to her loyalty, to their friendship
and to all that they have and stand for. If the same
thing were to happen to me and Mulder, I know that I
would probably follow him. But it takes a real person
to throw a way a whole life, an only chance. And
apparently she has no qualms with being that person.
Her watch beeps.
She takes a moment and glances down. "It's time for
lunch," she announces quietly, marks her page, and
reaches for her backpack. Doggett and I both stand
almost simultaneously. I, the intrepid researcher,
take time to do some research of my subjects outside
of base camp.
*********
They are, I realize as we sit together at lunch,
almost a complete contradiction.
He is six foot one, tall, with a strong build and
imposing stare. She is five foot ten, more slender and
Ryan Stiles-esque in her build, less imposing, more
inviting. But they also have some of the same traits:
the eyes that can say everything or nothing at all,
the ability to flash an easy smile or conceal it just
as quickly, the calm and reasoned approach. Age-wise,
they would be extremely distant relatives, or by a
long stretch of the imagination, he's old enough to be
her father. The first moment either of them says
anything, however, tells that these are two people,
regardless of age and gender and physical difference
of appearance and God knows what else, have truly come
together.
"The Gators just scored another touchdown," she says,
clicking off the portable radio she's got tuned to
some Florida station where she follows University of
Florida college football.
He glances sideways at her, a mischievious smirk on
his face. "An actual touchdown or you want it to be a
touchdown?"
"Actual touchdown, John," she says, rolling her eyes
before she starts an old argument that must be from
another game. "It was a touchdown."
"It was not a touchdown," he replies calmly. "He had
the ball for two seconds."
"More than that."
"It wasn't any longer than two seconds."
"It was more than two seconds," she insists, and the
argument starts up.
It's not really an argument. It's one of those
casually warm-heated, mostly in jest and fun
discussion-type arguments. I have never seen them
actually argue. They will debate in sometimes
repetitive, conversationally anal-retentive phrases,
but I've never seen them fight. I know how A.D.
Skinner must have felt when he had peace and quiet -
Mulder and I fight all the time. These two keep the
peace and we debate it; I suppose that's an even
split.
Two minutes later he concedes that the final score
put the Gators over the Tennessee Volunteers and
there's nothing he can do about it, but he still
doesn't agree with her. As if they've forgotten me,
they both glance at me.
"Agent Scully?" he prompts me.
"Wha .. what?" I'm startled I'm even being talked to.
They don't do it intentionally, but nonetheless.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine, Agent Doggett."
That's another clue. It's always 'Agent Doggett' and
'Agent Scully.' Never 'John' and 'Dana' or even a
last-name basis. I suppose we could make it that way,
but we don't. Even with me and Mulder, it's a
last-name basis. But between the two of them, they are
'John' and 'Stark,' on a casually first-name basis
that comes with years of an enduring, close friendship
both inside and outside the Hoover Building. I stir my
iced tea one more time, glance out the window and
wonder how much credit to give to the rumors that the
two of them are more than friends.
The signs are there, I'll admit.
But the principal rule of research is to look for
what never lies: the facts.
It's in watching them that I think I, Dana Scully,
medical doctor, FBI Agent, mother and would-be
obsessive Bureau social scientist, have finally lost
my mind.
That I'd even entertain thoughts that the two people
sitting across from me are doing more than working
together and watching NASCAR on Saturdays is entirely
not me. I've spent eight years of my life fighting the
rumors that Mulder and I are more than friends (and
sometimes I don't even know the answer), and yet first
chance I get, I'm sitting here doing exactly what was
done to me. I'm sure I'm not the first person to
suspect it, but I feel like a hypocrite. And I'm sure
Mulder would be laughing if he knew.
Oh, that's what I want to think about.
"Hey, is it Thursday, or Friday?" she asks.
"It's Friday," he supplies easily.
"You know, I could have sworn it was Thursday," she
says, almost amused with herself. Doggett's right. I'm
surprised she remembers her own birthday. But in terms
of cases, she's got a mind that everyone in the Bureau
should be jealous of (and some are).
"What are you doing with your weekend, Agent Scully?"
"Well..." I smile almost sheepishly. Like I have a
choice with motherhood on my plate. "I figured I'd
just stay home and rent a movie or something like
that. What about you?"
"I think the Daytona 500's this weekend," she says,
looking to him for confirmation. He nods. As usual,
they'll probably be watching the race together. "But
other than that, I don't really know. Like I have a
life, right?"
No, she doesn't. The last vacation day she took, we
had to force it on her. And then she came in after
lunch.
So where was I? Oh, yes, the illustrious question of
whether Agents Doggett and Patrick are more than
friends. Lots of people have said so, taking how his
eyes light up when she enters a room and vice versa
and how they often end up leaving together as
evidence. Do I believe it? I don't know. They're
obviously very close and have built a very strong
relationship. But that doesn't mean that they're
involved. I don't believe that they'd try that. I
don't see Agent Doggett mixing business and pleasure.
I wouldn't see that from Stark. She has a strong
belief in the system, in the rules (even as she bends
them), in good and evil. I don't see her doing
something the Bureau would fillet them both for.
But who was the first person I called when I found
out he'd gone missing with Agent Harrison?
Okay, it was Mulder, but after that, I called her.
Reports vary as to what actually happened that day.
She, Mulder, Doggett and Harrison all offer various
versions of how Mulder and Stark got him out of there.
The report is, as usual, black and white enough to
pass Kersh's tests, but they know something else.
They're not hiding it, they just don't know how to
explain it. My, doesn't that sound familiar?
I asked Mulder, and he said she seemed to be acting
on instruction, as if she knew where he was. He said
that she had said something about being able to hear
him telepathically. Yet they've never been able to
duplicate it. This doesn't mean I don't believe that
stress and fear and emotion could have caused it, even
if I've tested them for the possibility. And looking
at them, I wouldn't doubt it if they were able to read
each other's minds. There's just something in their
eyes that tells me they know each other deeper than I
ever will know them.
I've read his file, and I've read hers, too. We
graduated from the same university, albeit years
apart. She has her degree in Administration of
Justice. She spent four years with Baltimore City
homicide. And then she came here. Her whole life, it
seems, has been transitioning to something else, from
college to the police academy to the National Academy
to the Bureau, from Criminal Investigations to the
X-Files. The one constant within the last decade of
her life has been Agent Doggett. She seems to be
always in motion, always involved in change, and yet
he is always there.
One of Mulder's favorite anecdotes is the time he and
Agent Doggett had lunch in an attempt of Mulder's to
try to figure out exactly what was up with the two of
them.
"You like her, don't you?" he'd said of Agent
Patrick.
"Of course I like her," Doggett had deadpanned.
"She's my partner, she's my best friend, she blew up
her own career to come back to me."
Mulder had scrambled to say something that would get
results. He paused.
"She's not half bad to look at."
Doggett had turned on him with a defensive stare and
firmly told him, "Touch her and you die."
Needless to say, no further explanation was
necessary.
As defensive as he is of her, she is more so of their
partnership. She has followed him into hell and back
willingly, even when he didn't want her to risk
herself. When he left for the Galpex-Orpheus, she
followed him and then proceeded to flay him about
leaving her (in an anger that lasted all of thirty
seconds according to Mulder). I was surprised to hear
her voice on the other end of that radio, but then I
should have expected it. Anyone who comes at their
partner's two a.m. phone call will follow him
anywhere.
Even more interesting to me is the one date she went
on almost a year ago. Nothing happened, and it's the
only date she's ever been on since she joined the
Bureau, she admits. But watching him that night, after
she'd left, sit there almost dead, somewhat sullen,
out of it entirely, was telling. She had left him to
be with another man he didn't know, in a place he
didn't know, and something could happen to her and he
wouldn't know it. She had done so reluctantly, but she
had done so, and I could see the conflict in his eyes.
He wanted to keep her heart from being broken, he
wanted her to be happy, he wanted her to be safe. And
he didn't know how he was going to do it. Although the
event was of no consequence, what I saw in him that
night was certainly worth remembering.
A few days into her return - December 12 - there was
no uncertainty in his voice, no strategizing, no
updates on what had happened while they were apart, no
"are you sure you know what you're doing?"
conversations as there had been when she had walked
into the office, introduced herself to me and
proceeded to open one of her current case files. It
was as if Doggett had seen, when he came into the
office that morning to see her at the desk I'd
requisitioned for her, changing one of her case names
on her white board from red to black, that the secret
hope he had carried inside of him since Kersh had torn
them apart was no longer secret:
She was never leaving him again.
Mulder said it best, perhaps: she is his past, and I
am his future. But I can't help but know that she is
his future, too. And that if they get what they
deserve, what is best for them, she'll be his future
for a long time to come.
I told him no one gets there alone, and I now know
who he got here with.
"We're going to be late," I remind them almost
sheepishly. Lunch is almost over.
They don't appear to be surprised.
We head for the car, crossing the parking lot until
we find where he parked it. She offers me the
passenger seat without saying a word, and I buckle
myself in. I pause when I realize neither of them is
following me, and glance up. He's standing there with
the driver's side door open, and I follow his glance
to where she's standing with one hand on the extended
back seat door and another on the radio earpiece.
After a second, she looks at him and smiles.
Touchdown.
He smiles, conceding the argument before it begins.
In the silence there is the distinct presence of
peace.
********
If this were a medical condition which required a
medical perspective, I wouldn't know what to call it.
Using my would-be social scientist skills, however, I
can only offer this diagnosis from the inside:
They are meant for each other.
Take that however you want - to mean that they are
two halves of one whole, to mean that they are the
perfect partners, to mean that they are best friends,
to mean that they'll get married and live in a
white-picket-fence neighborhood that would make Ozzie
and Harriet sick from the sugar rush - but I know that
it is the honest truth.
I'll always continue to watch them, watch their signs
and their ability to speak in code and how they can
communicate with simply a glance, watch the easy smile
that comes to his face when she speaks, watch the
light in their eyes, and to continue my research from
base camp, from the perspective of honest amazement at
how two people from two different walks of life can
come together by chance and create an unrivaled
miracle.
I know that we deceive, inveigle, and obfuscate,
hiding the truth from ourselves.
But Agent Doggett and Agent Patrick have found their
truth.
They find it every day, in every case, in every
closure, in every file, in every experience, in every
step of the way, in every word. They find it in each
other.
END
Thanks to all who sent feedback ... I hope you had
half as much fun reading as I did writing, because
that means I had twice as much fun writing as you did
reading :)
=====
"Oh, for God's sake, please be somebody else."
- Lewis Black
Natalie: Two guys have ascended 5 miles into the sky. They walked up a wall of ice and are preparing to knock on the door of heaven itself. There's really no end to what we can do. You know what the trick is?
Dan: What?
Natalie: Get in the game!
- "The Quality of Mercy at 29K", "Sports Night"