Title: Cafe Au Lait
Author: Jenna Tooms
Email: jenna@66exeterst.com
Rating: PG
Category: DSR
Spoilers: A hint of those season 9 rumors.
Disclaimer: Yes, yes, I know. Not mine.
Summary: "No place was home, without Scully."

Written for the First Kiss Challenge on the SHODDS mailing list.

Caf au Lait
***~~~***

They were driving east, into the rising sun.

"On second thought," Scully said, "I think I'll sleep until checkout."

Doggett glanced at her. "We could probably get out of here before noon."

"I have got to get a little sleep before we go home." She covered 
her mouth and yawned. "Two days of this insanity . . ."

Doggett nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. Scully would go into 
instant mommy-mode when they returned to Washington, without a 
chance for rest until Will went down for his nap or the nanny 
insisted Scully take some time for herself. "I'm too keyed up to 
sleep. Do you want me to get you anything for breakfast?"

"No, thank you." She already sounded half-asleep, with her arms 
wrapped around herself and her eyes closed.

It was still another twenty miles to their motel, and she didn't 
look comfortable. Doggett put his arm around her and pulled herclose 
to him until her head rested on his shoulder. "Thank you," she murmured.

"No problem," he said. No problem at all.

***

As usual Doggett pulled the car into a space in front of Scully's 
room. He had to remove his arm from her shoulders to park, and 
Scully awoke, blinking. "Already?"

"You dozed off."

"Hm," she said and fumbled at the door handle.

"Wait there," Doggett said. He got out of the car, went around, and 
opened the door for her. Scully's thanks were a smile and a quick 
squeeze of his arm.

"And they say chivalry is dead."

"And some say good riddance but I don't know . . ." Scully stumbled 
a little, her shoes scraping on the uneven pavement, and Doggett 
caught her again. "God, you are tired."

"Exhausted."

He couldn't stop the smirk. He didn't want to stop the smirk. "Were 
you that worried about me?"

"I was worried," Scully admitted as she took her key out of her coat 
pocket. "I hate undercover work."

"You have to admit, I made a good redneck."

"I'm sure you've had years of practice," she said, smiling at him 
wickedly, and then twisted the knob of her door. "Dammit. It'sstuck 
again."

"Here." The lock on her door was choosy, yielding only to a magic 
number of twists and jiggles. The door fell open to his coaxing.

"Thank you," Scully said again, and shrugged out of her coat as she 
went into the room. Doggett pulled her key from the lock, folding it 
into his palm with his own key.

"Are you sure you're not hungry? It's been a long night for all of 
us." He stepped towards her, still hesitant. He put one of the room 
keys on the table.

"I'm sure. Thanks. I just want to sleep." She was already taking off 
her shoes, slumped on the edge of the bed.

"I could bring you back something."

"Maybe some coffee?" She looked up at him, her shoes in her hands. 
"If you don't mind."

"Sure. You like it with lots of milk, right?"

"Caf au lait if they have it. Yes. Thanks."

Doggett couldn't stop himself. She'd lost weight since Will's birth, 
lost more since Mulder left. The skin over her cheekbone looked as 
fragile as silk. He cupped her cheek in his hand and stroked her 
cheekbone with his thumb. His voice was an octave lower than normal 
when he said, "Yeah. You get some sleep. I hate to see you with 
shadows under your eyes."

At his first touch her eyes closed and she turned her face into his 
palm. She had to be strong for Will, for her mother, for her 
friends, for everyone who was so worried about her, but sometimes 
Doggett was treated with this: a moment of stillness, a moment of 
reliance. A moment when she leaned on him.

As ever it was just a moment, and she pulled herself away. "And you 
go get your breakfast. Country boys need their nourishment."

"Yes, ma'am." Absently he took the car keys from his pocket and left 
the room key in their place. "Do you want to sleep for an hour or so?"

"Mm," was all she said, already lying down, already pulling the 
rayon coverlet over herself.

Doggett paused in the doorway and looked back at her one more time. 
Both he and Skinner had argued with Kersh that Scully was not ready 
for field work, not with a baby just ten months old and a lover who 
had, for all intents and purposes, abandoned her, no matter how 
noble he tried to make it sound. But Kersh was unmovable: Scully was 
a field agent, therefore she would be assigned to the field.

Of course, Kersh didn't have to witness her exhaustion, or hear her 
tearful calls home to check on her baby, or see her guilty look when 
Will screamed each time she had to leave. The nanny, Julia, had made 
up a "Mommy always comes back" song for him but it made little 
difference. Doggett often thought too many demands were being made 
on Scully, and she was far too proud to protest.

"Agent Doggett?" Scully said sleepily.

"Sweet dreams," he said, and closed the door behind him.

***

In his two weeks in this town he had discovered a favorite coffee 
shop, and he thought it would be a good place for his last meal 
here. It served homey food, heartland food: grits, biscuits with 
country gravy, meatloaf, steak and kettle fries. Scully had wrinkled 
her nose at his description and made remarks about heart disease 
statistics in men over forty, but she had also consented to eat 
there with him and admitted it wasn't bad.

Doggett got his usual place at the counter and smiled thanks to the 
waitress when she filled his coffee cup. "Be right with ya,hon," she 
said before rushing off to more demanding customers. Every morning 
for a week Doggett had eaten here, finally with Scully three days 
ago before the assignment came to its climax. He'd liked the place, 
liked showing it to Scully, but as he glanced over the menu nothing 
caught his appetite.

And it didn't take a genius to figure out why.

For a week he'd wanted to show it to her, and now that she'd joined 
him the place had lost its luster. It was like that all thetime now, 
everywhere. Even his own kitchen table seemed too empty nowadays. 
He'd gotten used to her: the precise way she ate, the way she 
prepared her coffee-no sugar, three creams--the way her mind 
sparkled and snapped as they argued and joked and told each other 
theories and thoughts.

No place was home, without Scully.

The waitress came back, taking one of many pens from her 
apronpocket. "What can I get for you this morning?"

Doggett made up his mind. "Do you do takeout at all? And can you do 
something called a caf au lait?"

***

The room key didn't work. Doggett cursed, jiggled the handle, and 
thought about eating his breakfast sitting on the curb. He supposed 
he could get a manager to unlock the door for him, but by the time 
that was attended to Scully's coffee would be cold. He would have to 
wake her by knocking instead of the phone, which he hadn't wanted to 
do: he'd wanted to change clothes, since he'd been wearing the same 
black t-shirt and jeans for nearly two days. He had thought it would 
be clever to invite Scully to his room for breakfast, where she 
would expect bitter coffee from the motel lobby and a danish, and 
get the fresh muffins and eggs he had bought.

Well, best laid plans and all that.

He crossed the parking lot and knocked softly on her door. He 
waited, knocked again. Waited. Knocked again, louder, and then 
looked around the parking lot, wondering if she had left after all.

*Click* went the pieces in his mind. He had put his room key down on 
her table, and kept her own. That had to be it: his door had worked 
fine before. It was opportune, if awkward. He shrugged: breakfast in 
bed, Agent Scully?

He hoped the ritual with her doorknob would wake her, but the room 
was dark when he pushed the door open. "Agent Scully, I brought you --"

He fell silent.

In his absence Scully had taken off the black clothing she had worn 
to the previous night's raid, and lay clad only in white cotton 
underwear that looked innocent and comforting. She had thrown aside 
the sheets in her sleep. Her body was entirely revealed to him, from 
her slender feet to her delicate neck, except for the ripe promise 
of her breasts and hips.

"Jesus," Doggett muttered and hastily shut the door, not wanting 
anyone to come upon them and steal a glimpse of what felt like a 
gift just for him.

It still left the dilemma of what to do with her coffee, though. If 
he left it in the room she would know he had seen her. If he woke 
her there would be no getting around that fact, that he knew she 
slept in her underwear - and his mind was still reeling with the 
vision of pristine white cotton, not to mention the creamy flesh it 
bound.

As a boy he'd been taught to live by the axiom, "What would Jesus 
do?" but he thought now even Jesus wouldn't know what to do with 
Agent Scully in all her beauty. That left his only other example, 
when it came to How To Treat Scully Without Getting Your Head Ripped 
Off: What would Mulder do?

Mulder, Doggett thought, would climb into bed beside her, wake her 
with kisses, feed her breakfast and make passionate love to her. Not 
necessarily in that order. And given the things Mulder had said 
before he left, Doggett didn't think Mulder was his best example 
now, either.

That left only himself. Follow your instincts, he thought. Just try 
not to stare.

He opened the door once again and slipped into the room, set down 
the paper bags and shut the door. He opened the shade a trifle to 
let in a sliver of morning sunlight. Scully had not stirred: her 
hair was scattered over the pillow, one leg was bent, her lips were 
parted, her left hand was spread over her belly.

Doggett looked resolutely away and busied himself with their 
breakfast, hoping the smell of coffee would rouse her. No, he 
thought, given how tired she was it wouldn't wake her if he waved it 
under her nose, if he spilled it on her skin. This impromptu 
breakfast was looking less and less like a good idea: she needed to 
sleep, he had promised her an hour, she would be absorbed in Will's 
needs once they returned home with no time to tend to her own. Here 
was his key: he would take his things to his own room and treat her 
to some really good coffee at the Starbucks at the airport.

Simple, right?

But he couldn't leave her so exposed, either, any more than hecould 
take Will outside without a coat on a blustery day. It Just Wasn't Done.

Doggett went to the bed. He grasped the sheet and began to ease it 
over her, moving aside one leg and making Scully stir and mumble. 
"Go back to sleep, sweetheart," he murmured. He pulled the sheet up 
to her neck and smoothed her hair.

The temptation was too strong: just as he couldn't stop himself from 
touching her earlier he couldn't stop himself now. Who knew if he'd 
ever have this opportunity again. He bent, careful not to put his 
weight on the mattress, and kissed her forehead. It was smooth and 
cool, and he let his lips rest there a moment more . . . a moment 
more . . .

Movement: a hand rising, fingers sliding into his hair, the other 
arm coming strong around his neck, a body shifting so that what was 
under his mouth was not cool skin but warm, soft lips.

It happened so fast he gasped.

And she gasped back and pressed her body towards him, pulled his 
body towards hers. His hands skidded on the coarse sheets. I'll 
crush her, he thought, but the way she was pulling at him it felt 
like she wanted to be crushed.

And meantime she did not let up on his mouth, she was kissing 
kissing kissing him, with wet, pillowy lips. Doggett's arms unlocked 
and he rocked on his knees, wrapped his arms around her. She was 
kissing him like she never wanted it to end. She was kissing him 
like there was nothing she wanted to do more. She was kissing him 
like she'd been waiting to kiss him for a long, long time.

But even lovers must breathe and all too soon her mouth left his. 
Her breath panted against his cheek. She held onto him as if she 
thought he'd take the first opportunity to get away.

Doggett pressed his face against her neck, eyes shut, shaking.She 
wasn't just in his arms--she was everything, everywhere. She was in 
the air he breathed. And he did not want to look into her eyes and 
see anything but happiness there.

A moment or two more passed, then he felt her take a breath and open 
her mouth to speak. He kept his eyes closed.

She didn't say, "Sorry."

She didn't say, "I thought you were somebody else."

She didn't say, "I was dreaming."

"I smell coffee," she said.

"It's on the table." He rubbed his lips against her ear.

"Mm. Thank you." Scully's fingernails scratched lightly over his 
scalp. "Did you eat?"

"No." He had to clear his throat. "I brought for both of us."

"Oh, good, we can eat together." Her fingertips stroked the back of 
his neck.

Doggett spent a moment pondering her tone. Not sarcasm. Not the dry 
humor she would sometimes employ. She sounded . . . pleased.

He lifted his head from her neck and looked into her eyes, andsaw 
happiness there. She smiled at him, fingers now playing with his 
ear, and he smiled back. He wanted to laugh out loud. He wanted to 
shout. He wanted to jump on the bed like a child without a babysitter.

Instead, he kissed her. He kissed her for smiling. He kissed her for 
wearing white underwear. He kissed her for being pleased about 
having breakfast with him. He kissed her for the gentle tug she gave 
on his ear to pull him closer.

"Let's eat," he said when they stopped kissing, or rather paused in 
kissing because he said it mostly into her mouth.

"Mm," she said, which he had learned early on had as many meanings 
as an Eskimo's word for "snow." "I think I'm hungry after all."

He was grinning at her as he backed towards the table, unable to 
look away. She was grinning too, the sheets still mostly covering 
her but not hiding the rosy blush that colored her skin as he looked 
at her. God, she was blushing. Blushing! And that sweet smile didn't 
leave as he sat cross-legged on the bed with the bags containing 
their breakfast between them. She sat up too, careful not to spill, 
still keeping the sheet up to cover herself.

"John," she said hesitantly, then more strongly, "John. I want to 
tell you something."

"Oh?" He took out the Styrofoam containers, the plastic knives and 
forks. "What is it . . . Dana?" Such a pretty little name.

"Last night, at the compound. I saw this man." Doggett stopped 
fussing with their breakfast to look at her, and she went on slowly, 
"I saw a man holding a gun. And he looked strong, and brave, and 
handsome--beautiful, really. He looked like a hero." There were 
tears in her eyes. Doggett bit his lip, waiting for the punch at the 
end. She said, "And then he turned around and he was you."

It took a moment for her point to sink in. He gave a loud relieved 
sigh, that didn't convey half the relief he felt. "Phew! For a 
second I thought you had bad news for me."

She laughed. "Depends on how you look at it, I guess," she said 
lightly, but a furrow started between her brows.

"Hey," Doggett said. He reached over and cupped her face again, 
smoothing the start of a worry line beside her eye. "I've got 
something to tell you, too."

"Okay," she said. She let his hand cup her face. She even rubbed her 
face against his hand a bit, like a cat wanting to be petted.

"I love you," he said, and the sky didn't open to rain down fire and 
brimstone upon them. She just smiled even more happily, her eyes 
bright. "I have been waiting," he said, "watching you, trying to 
figure out if you were ready to love again. I think I missed the 
signal."

"I just got it myself," she said quietly. "Unless you want to take a 
very heartfelt kiss at a bedside as the signal."

"That'll do." He smiled at her and took his hand from her face. 
"Your breakfast is getting cold." It was all well and good to talk 
about abstract things like love and desire but more practical 
matters called: her growling stomach, the tempting smells of 
fresh-baked muffins and hot coffee. "Caf au lait, just like you 
asked," he said as he gave her the cup, and her happy gasp was more 
rewarding than a handful of gold.

They split the muffins--chocolate-chocolate chip, lemon- 
poppyseed--and shared the eggs. He got them both cups of water from 
the sink to temper the hot coffee. They talked a little. They kissed 
a lot.

Scully said, when the containers were in the trash and the last of 
her coffee was cooling at the bottom of her cup, "I've learned my 
lesson, about waiting for love to be safe until it's too late. Love 
isn't safe. It's terrifying and dangerous and thrilling, and you 
have to just grab hold and pray you hang on."

"No, I don't see it that way," Doggett said, and she twisted her 
head to look at him--not easy with her head on his shoulder. "Love 
is safe. Love should be safe. Love should be shelter. This," he 
gestured vaguely to them, lying as they were among the wrinkled 
sheets, "this is a safe place to be. Here," he touched her 
chest,where he could feel her heart beating, "this is a safe place. 
I trust what you've got here."

She caught his hand, kissed him, and said, "But it was a risk I took 
today. You might be filing a harassment suit right now if you didn't 
love me."

"Well, that's the last risk you take on me, then. From here on out 
it's clear sailing."

"Mm," she said, doubtful, but snuggled her face against his chest. 
"How long until checkout?"

"Another two hours. It's still pretty early."

"Do you mind if I sleep a little longer? Until the caffeine hits me, 
at least."

"You sleep as much as you need," he said, kissing the top of her 
head. He could hardly blame her for doubting. She'd given everything 
to Mulder and still ended up alone. Well, Mulder could chase lights 
in the sky until the sky fell down if that's what he felt gave his 
life meaning.

As for John Doggett, he knew what he valued. He knew what he 
cherished. He knew what he loved. One small, strong woman and her 
little boy. That's what's worth saving, he thought, and kissed her 
head again. "Sweet dreams."

"I will," she murmured. She kissed him one more time. "I know I will."

End.

Jenna
http://www.bigbeautifulspoon.com
"Due to regulations, money can no longer buy love. Happiness is 
available but supply is limited." -- Sheep in the Big City