Title: Moments (1/2)

Author: Tasha - tasha@thetruth.de

Disclaimer: All Chris', not mine. Please do not pay me.

Category: DSR

Keywords: Doggett POV, Scully POV, some Angst

Rating: PG-13

Spoiler: Season 8 before TiNH

Summary: Scully comes to terms with the past.

Author's Notes: Thanks to Katrin and Nadine for the big grin, to Shawn
Colvin for the inspiration, to Nadia for the beta and to CarrieF for her
dictionary skills. <g>

To all SHODDS out there. You rock.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


Absent-mindedly he put down the pen, he closed the grey cardboard cover of
the file while with his other hand. He glanced quickly at the clock and
sighed. It was just after three o'clock in the morning. A Saturday morning.
Somewhat disbelievingly he shook his head, pushed aside the folders, full of
photos and autopsy reports, and reached behind him for his jacket over the
back of the chair. His eye fell on the portrait photo in Cassandra Spender's
file. How could this woman simply disappear, together with a few dozen
others, with nothing but a few burnt corpses left behind? He pulled out the
police photo of the scene where the bodies were found, and laid it next to
Cassandra's file. Slowly he got up and stood close beside the chair as he
pulled on his dark jacket, his eyes still fixed on the photo. Since he had
started reading through the X-Files, he had regularly come across events
that he could hardly believe. Or hardly wanted to believe? He thought for a
moment, then picked up the file from the table. Maybe he could come up with
a few ideas if he looked into it over the weekend. The case would be on his
mind the whole time anyway, he knew.

Once he had turned off the desk-lamp the office was pitch-black. Cautiously
he groped his way towards the door and found the light switch, slowly
pushing it down. He turned and glanced around the office, almost reverently
taking in the newspaper cuttings and pictures, the filing cabinets against
the wall, his own desk buried in files, and Mulder's desk, which Scully now
occupied. She always kept it carefully tidied and it looked strangely
unused.

He leaned against the wall and thought. In the last few days she had arrived
in the office late and left again early; had sat silently behind her desk
and carefully avoided meeting his eye. Of course he had wondered what was
wrong, but they had never reached the point of discussing it - Scully had
avoided him as far as possible.  And today - yesterday, he corrected himself
after glancing at the clock again - yesterday morning her chair had stayed
empty all day. It must have something to do with Mulder, he mused, and
nodded thoughtfully. Did she blame him? Because he had promised her that he
would find him and had not yet succeeded in bringing him back?

He shook off these thoughts, tucked the file more firmly under his arm and
switched off the light. Quietly he closed the door, trying not to grin as he
did so: why was he taking so much trouble to remain undetected? He had
nothing to hide - apart from the fact that he had been assigned to the
X-Files, of course. Besides, at three o'clock in the morning there would be
no one in the building anyway, except perhaps the watchmen, and a cleaning
person in the hallway. He walked quickly towards the elevator, and as he did
so his thoughts returned once more to Scully. He decided to call her the
next day, to ask her how she was. He was already searching for the car keys
in his pocket as the elevator doors closed behind him with a hollow clang.


   * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


The loud ring of the telephone dragged him from his sleep. Automatically, he
groped for the receiver, but before picking up he paused for a moment to
collect his thoughts. He was lying in his bed. It was already light outside,
and he could feel a breeze blowing through the open window. The glowing red
digits on his alarm clock showed the time: It was just after eight o'clock.
With a resigned sigh he sank back on the pillow, picked up the receiver
after another ringing and said in a sleepy voice:

"Yeah... hello?"

Silence at the other end of the line.

What a sick joke. He reached up slowly to replace the receiver when he
suddenly heard a quiet "Agent Doggett?"

He stopped short when he recognized the voice. "Agent.Agent Scully?"

"Agent Doggett... I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake you."

"That's alright, Agent Scully. It's just that I was going through the files
yesterday, and that took a while..."  Sleepily he drew his hand over his eyes.
"Anything I can do for you this mornin'?"

"We...we need to talk, Agent Doggett."

He held his breath for a moment. Scully sensed his hesitation and added
hastily:

"It's not what... It's about..."

He sat up. "Mulder? Something about Mulder? You found him?  Is he...?"

"No. Not that." Scully sighed almost imperceptibly.  "Actually..."

He interrupted her gently. "Agent Scully, we don't have to discuss this over
the phone.  Where can I meet you?" He reached out for his watch, which lay
on the bedside table next to him.

"Maybe we could meet at the office in an hour," she answered quickly.

John closed his eyes for a moment. Sure seemed like she had already made
plans for their "talk". Checking his watch he answered, "Okay. I'll be there
in an hour."

He heard her hang up and listened to the following silence for a moment. It
seemed to him that he could still hear her voice, quiet, timid, like an echo
after the cool click of the line. Shaking his head slightly he put the
receiver down. "Damn, Mulder," he murmured, "what the heck?" He pushed back
the sheets and got up.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


The cold light of her flashlight penetrated just a few feet of the thick fog
that surrounded her. She swore quietly as the oncoming darkness transformed
the visible outlines around her into deep grey shadows. She could hardly see
a thing. But she could hear her partner just a few steps ahead, cursing
softly now and then as he broke through the dry forest undergrowth. He was
directly in front of her, but already outside the beam of her torch.
Cautiously she felt her way forwards and listened hard for his voice, trying
to work out roughly where he was. The cool mist crept through her clothes
and thickened into an impenetrable curtain of fog. And suddenly, she heard a
shot. It had come from the right, somewhere up ahead. She had heard the
explosion, but not the bullet. There was a muffled sound in front of her,
and a few branches cracked. She ducked down and tried to get forward as fast
as she could. She had switched off her torch to avoid being targeted
herself. Leaves, twigs and branches brushed against her trembling
fingers.and then finally she felt something warm.

Her breath caught in a sob of fright and she bent over the body, running her
hands over him with practiced swiftness, and she froze as she felt the damp
blood on her partner's clothes. A few moments later, she had found the
wound. And the blood was streaming from it relentlessly onto the
leaf-covered ground.

"Agent Doggett... John?", she whispered, and was answered only by a faint
groan. His breath came in gasps. The bullet had probably pierced a lung. She
bit her lip in desperation. How could she get him out of here? Where could
she find help? And where exactly were they? And the gun shot? Where had it
come from?

She felt for his pulse. It was so weak that she could hardly detect it.
Hastily she pulled at his coat. "John, can you hear me? I need to see if the
bullet passed through. I'm going to take off your coat, do you hear me?
Answer me, John!" He didn't respond.

"Dammit, John! Don't do this to me!" she cried, and noticed that her voice
was trembling. She tugged him to his side and pressed her hand against the
flow of blood, while she searched his back for an exit wound. He groaned
softly, almost inaudibly.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she laid her hand on his chest to check his
breathing.  Weaker and weaker, more and more irregular. You're losing him,
she thought suddenly.  Oh God, you're losing him.

"Please...", she begged. Softly at first, then more loudly. She almost
chanted the words into the grey fog that now closed in around her. "Please.
not another partner. Please.  I can't lose two..." As she felt his body grow
limp beneath her hands and his rattling breaths subsided, she screamed her
desperation out into the forest.

And she woke up screaming.

The curtains in front of the open window were moving gently in the cool
breeze. The faint light of dawn had already filled her room, and she stared
around her, shocked.

She was in her apartment. No doubt.

She had been dreaming.

Exhausted, still shaking, she laid back and stared at the ceiling.

The curtains beat lightly against the windowpane.

Then, after a while, she picked up the receiver and dialed.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


<end of Part One>


Moments

Part Two of Two

Disclaimer, yadda: See Part One.



* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


He reached the basement without meeting a soul. As he turned around the
corner and saw the office door standing ajar, he instinctively quickened his
pace. So Scully was already there. He slipped the key back into his pocket
while with his other hand he cautiously pushed the door open.

Scully was sitting at Mulder's desk, looking across at him. She smiled
faintly, almost absently, at his greeting. He noticed the files lying in
front of her and looked at her questioningly. When she didn't react he stood
indecisively in the middle of the room for a few moments and searched her
face for some clue as to what was going on in her mind. As always, he saw
only fragments. His partner was good at hiding her feelings. Not just from
others, he had realized soon. From herself as well.

He saw quiet anxiety in her eyes. That was nothing new to him. He often saw
it. She was carrying him around with her. He nodded understandingly. Yes.
Mulder. He had promised her that he would find him. And he respected the
fact that her concern for her former partner, and his promise to her, had
made them what they were: partners. That was what brought them together, and
nothing more. The only connection between them. Even if either of them
wished that things were different, their partnership was based solely on
what he had promised her. And neither of them would be able to step outside
the boundaries they had made up without destroying the partnership itself.
This unspoken agreement made it impossible for them to do more than work
together with a carefully maintained distance between them. He had accepted
this, of course. What else could he do? It meant no personal conversations,
no consoling words, nothing more than a look of concern now and then. He
would have liked to tell her about his son. But it wasn't possible. And she
had never asked him.

"How can I help you, Agent Scully?", he asked finally, to break the awkward
silence.

"John", she began, and motioned him towards the chair in front of Mulder's
desk. He stopped short. She had always been careful not to address him by
his first name. Distance was more important than anything else - that was
what her expression had conveyed to him again and again. But now?

"John, I just wanted to say... thank you for everything you do. I know you're
doing your best to..." Her voice shook a little and she broke off.

"Agent Scully. You shouldn't do this to yourself." He should have known that
she would want to talk to him about Mulder. What else could she be talkin'
about to him? "We'll find him," he said firmly.

"No. John, that's not the reason why I..." She stopped again. On an impulse,
he walked around the desk, bent down to her and placed his hand reassuringly
on her shoulder. He had almost expected her to start at his touch. But she
smiled up at him gratefully, fighting back the tears. God, he hated seeing
her like that.

"Come on, Agent Scully. I think I better take you home," he suggested.  "We
can talk about that some other time." She followed him without resisting as
he gently helped her to her feet and guided her to the door. Without turning
around, he switched off the light and quietly closed the door behind them.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


She had told him about her dream. He was surprised how much seeing him die
in her dream had unsettled her. He couldn't think of much to say. It was
just a dream, nothing more. Dreams never come true. At least, his dreams
never had. So he had simply promised her not to get shot when on duty with
her, but she had only smiled faintly in response. He concentrated on the
road ahead of him again, and she hadn't spoken another word for the rest of
the drive. He hadn't disturbed her thoughts. Sometimes you have to be alone.
And sometimes you're so alone with your thoughts that every question or
remark hurts, he knew.

Then she had asked him to walk with her to her front door.

She had smiled gratefully at his answer.

Quietly she had asked him if he would come in.

She had smiled again, and slowly closed the door behind them.

Searchingly, he looked at her and noticed that she wasn't crying any more.

"John, thanks for everything."

He nodded.  "I promised you I'd..."

"This isn't about Mulder," she interrupted him.  "This is about me."
He glanced at her questioningly.

"Thanks for everything you do for me, John. Thanks for watching my back, and
for reminding me what's important."

Hesitantly, he nodded.

"When you have a partner by your side, so many things seem easier. And I'm
glad that it's you."

If I go now, she won't have to give up any more of her 'distance', he
thought. If I go now, we'll still be able to work as partners tomorrow
mornin'. If I go now, tomorrow I'll still wanna find Mulder.

He nodded again, and then stepped slowly back towards the door. "It's a
pleasure to work with you, Agent Scully," he answered hastily. She responded
by reaching out to him and holding him back. He froze.

Slowly she walked towards him, spread her arms and shyly pressed herself
against him. He could feel her body tremble slightly.

A moment later he laid his arms around her and charily returned her embrace.
She sighed softly and buried her head at his shoulder. He held her, tenderly
stroking her back, and his thoughts wandered off to his past and hers, and
for a moment he felt guilty. Guilty because he was holding her now and hadn'
t been careful enough to keep the distance that was so important to her. But
was it really so very important? He felt guilty because it seemed so
intimate to hold her in his arms. But what was wrong with that? He felt
guilty that he hadn't left, that he hadn't protected them both from coming
closer than he had ever thought possible. But at this very moment, it just
felt like the most natural thing in the world.

He closed his eyes for a moment and gently stroked her hair. She had finally
stopped trembling, and slowly raised her head to look at him. Instinctively
he pushed back a strand of hair from her face and then relaxed his hold of
her so he could look into her eyes. He was afraid of what she would say. A
few words could destroy everything, he knew. And in her eyes he still saw
the silent reproach and anxiety that he had noticed before in the office.
Mulder was always with her, was around her wherever she went.  She carried
him with her like a burden she would not allow herself to lay aside. He
vowed to himself that he would find him as soon as possible. He hated seeing
her like this.

She put a hand on his chest and curled her other arm around his body so that
her hand lay on his back and she could pull him closer. Her touch made him
shiver. In vain he waited for a few words from her; she didn't speak, she
didn't question, she simply smiled at him with her eyes, taking in every
reaction from him. She just watched him, and she held him so tightly that it
seemed she would never let him go.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


It had been a long time since she had felt so secure. As far as she could
remember she had always been running away; from her fears, from her
feelings. From her longings and needs. Even from her wishes.

She had blamed herself for Mulder's fate, and since his disappearance she
had come close to cracking under the pressure to do everything right, the
compulsion to be his Scully, to live more in the past than in the present.
For so many years her main ambition had been to keep up this faade. Her
sympathy and concern for Mulder had always been greater than anything else.
Over the years his search for his sister had become hers, and she had made
his quest for the "truth" her own quest, too. She had never resented him the
fact that he was unable to give. In his life he had lost too much to be able
to give.  Sometimes, rarely, he had shared his sufferings with her, more
rarely still his joys. He had not told her that he was terminally ill, and
since she had discovered that she had realized something she had never
wanted to find out. She had been his Scully for all these years - but he had
never been her Mulder.

Now she was tired. She was no longer strong enough to bear all this alone.
And she didn't want to anymore. Sometimes she wished that she could confide
her thoughts to someone, as well as her hopes and fears. There were times
when she wished that Mulder would never be found. She was afraid to look
into his eyes again. She was afraid of what she might see there, of what he
might say to her. And even though she would not admit it, she was afraid of
the future, for she had not yet broken with the past. Every time these
thoughts came to her she would reproach herself moments later. But the
thoughts were there, she couldn't deny them - and they came again and again.

Scully was tired.

She wished that she could stand like this forever, that John would always
hold her and make sure that no one would harm her. Whenever she was near him
she felt how much his tranquillity and his silent attentiveness meant to
her, how he could gave her peace of mind simply by being near her and how
thankful she was for the way he would look at her, making sure she was
alright. She had never felt so safe in her entire life. Why had she taken so
much trouble to deny her feelings for this man? She didn't want to feel
guilty any more.

She felt him breathing calmly, holding her. It seemed so intimate to be so
close to him.

His hand found hers and she smiled.

She would ask him if he wanted to stay the night.

Carefully, she drew him closer. He hesitated for a moment, but the look in
her eyes made him forget every doubt. For the first time he saw her smile
shining in her eyes, prevailing over her anxiety and her fears.

"Tell me about your son, John," she said softly.

He closed his eyes and promised her that he would never let her go.




  The End