From: Shannon To: whispers list Subject: [XFNC17ff] NEW: Crash, NC-17, MSR Date: Saturday, December 15, 2001 5:53 PM Crash by Shannon Kizzia (lmelao@earthlink.net) Website: http://www.angelfire.com/scifi/xtasy/shannon.html Rating: NC-17 Category: SRA Keywords: MSR, D/Sc friendship (and some UST), Doggett POV Spoilers: Daemonicus, small for Within Summary: It was beautiful...how they were touching each other, so badly needing to touch each other. And so he stayed. Author's Notes: Angst Alert! It's not a happy one. But it's not a story without hope (or hot sex). I love Doggett. I think he's a great guy. I want him to be happy and I think you all know how I feel about Scully and Mulder. Long live their amazing love, I say. I promise to make them all better next time. ;D Also, I don't have the first clue when hockey season starts! Forgive me! Dedication: I'd like to dedicate this one to Lydia Bower. She's the first fanfic author I ever read and still, in my opinion, one of the very, very best. Thanks for all your work, love, and dedication to the truth of these characters. Thanks: To Frank Spotnitz. You rock my world. Thanks also to the MSKipperville ladies for help with the little details. Mokey, I appreciate that MGD. ;D Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine. Rub it in why don't you? The title of the Dave Matthews Band's CD, "Crash", and the lyrics from the song "Crash Into Me" and used without permission. Not that they have exclusive rights over the word "crash", but well, you know. Crash by Shannon Kizzia John Doggett's House December 5th 11:52 AM He wrapped the towel around his waist and looked into the mirror for confirmation. Soulful eyes, lids weighted with old sadnesses. Strong cheekbones and jaw. Hard line of mouth. Hard. <...his easy good looks, his Oxford education....> Unbidden he saw her graceful fingers, clear-polished nails, trail tiny lines of white down his tan chest. *His* chest. Not Mulder's. *His* hard pectoral lines, the flat, strong plain of his sternum. Following her fingers would be her soothing mouth, turning the white lines pink, erasing them. Her tongue would be graceful, like when she sipped her coffee with cream no sugar, like when she pleaded with him to be open to extreme possibilities. He was so sick of that phrase. It was so...him. At the thought of Mulder, Doggett closed his eyes, hand resting heavy on the bathroom counter top, head down, chin to chest. He'd thought about that for three days now. First, the slap in the face of this arrogant, yoga-practicing, murdering prick, that *he* should know of his desire for Scully. That all that he was feeling and had been feeling for her over the past year could be summed up and spat out at him like that, so simple -- "You want her." -- when it was so terribly complicated. How fucking dare he? Second, the crush of having it confirmed, even by this asshole, that she pitied him. Whether it was professionally, or for the loss of his son, or because he was alone...whatever it was, he didn't want it from her. He wanted her friendship. He wanted to know she wasn't going to throw another cup of water in his face. But hell, that would at least be anger. Anger wasn't pity. And third...they. They, Mulder and Scully? They, Scully and Reyes? Fuck, all of the above? How much pity did he actually incite and in how many goddamned people? He shoved off the counter and stalked to the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the freezer, twisting off the cap, and throwing it across the linoleum. He took a long pull and went to lie down on his couch, maybe catch a hockey game, some pre-season action, lose himself in the battle of sticks. No sooner had he settled back with the remote than the phone rang. He reached back behind him with a sigh and picked it up. "Yeah." "Hi. John?" "Speaking." And then he realized who it was. Who had just said his name. "Dana?" There was a pause like she might correct him and they'd be back to titles and formalities. He actually missed calling her Scully. Because He got to call her that. But she was never just Scully to him, to Doggett. She was either Agent Scully or Dana. Never Scully. That was for Mulder. And sometimes the paternal Skinner. "Yes. Uh...I just spoke to A.D. Skinner. There's a case down in Florida he wants you and Agent Reyes to look into. It involves..." There was a pause as she flipped through papers, probably notes the A.D. faxed to her. "...three bodies. Unknown cause of death. I can tell you more when we meet." "You're going, Dana?" He was surprised. She was teaching now. She was safe. He needed to know she was safe. "Because of the strangeness of the case, Skinner thought it would be best if I was there to autopsy the latest victim. It's your case, Agent Doggett. I'll only be there to help out." She thought he didn't want her there, was being protective of the X-Files. As if he had the right. And there was that Agent thing. Damn. Two steps forward. Three steps back. "I'm sure Monica and I can use all the help we can get. Are you sure you can take time off from teaching?" "Well, I'll only be there probably Friday and Saturday. My next class isn't until Tuesday." As she spoke, he realized his left hand had strayed down onto his chest, his fingers lightly scratching. His cock began to stir beneath the towel. He closed his eyes, stilling his fingers, and willed himself not to get hard listening to her talk about how her students probably wouldn't even know she wasn't there. He had to get off the phone. "...so she's been called and the tickets are booked. Agent Doggett?" "Yeah. I got it. See you at the airport." He hung up on her. He didn't like hanging up on her, but Mulder used to do it all the time and he *did* like the idea that maybe it turned her on. Maybe that was the key to her heart: never end a phone conversation properly. He snorted and chugged down half his beer. And then he packed for warmer weather. **** Southern Florida Near Miami December 6th 8:13 PM He stood looking down at the bloated corpse, the fourth victim now and a second body for Scully to autopsy. Reyes walked around the body, getting the feel from all angles, measuring energy, no doubt. Scully knelt in her sensible, black heels and gently touched the body's mouth with latexed fingers, noting evidence he couldn't see. "Dana? You find something there on the guy's mouth?" he asked, coming to kneel next to her, not too close. "I don't know," she said slowly, brows knit, processing. "It reminds me of...I'll need to get a closer look once we get him to the morgue. I'll be interested to check the other victim as well." He could smell her hair that close. It smelled warm and...red. He couldn't really place her scent except that it was now something familiar to him, something he could recall when sitting at home watching the news, something he wished his pillow smelled like. Too soon she stood to go. She looked around almost furtively and it struck him as a very Mulder thing to do, that slightly paranoid casing of the area. He'd never actually seen her do it before. "I need to, uh, get back to the hospital. Let me know what else you find out," she said stripping off her gloves. It was a rather unseasonably warm December night in southern Florida and she was in a short-sleeved, V-necked, green sweater and black slacks. She looked so pretty with her bare arms and throat, the breeze moving her hair sensuously. He didn't want her to go yet, but he had nothing left to say. He nodded and watched her turn to go, once again looking around at her surroundings. He noted the underexaggerated sway of her hips as she walked away from them. It was still a sway, though, and it was intoxicating. "John?" "Yeah?" "I said, we need to get over to the Cromwell's. We need their statement." "Yeah. I heard you. Monica, could you wait just a minute? I forgot to tell Agent Scully something." She nodded, concern and perhaps suspicion showing on her face. He nodded back curtly and walked briskly in the direction Agent Scully had gone through the park. He wondered what he was going to say when he caught up with her. Thought you might need some help slicing and dicing? How about after this case we go for some Italian, Dana? You look so pretty when you talk about dead people; can I lay you down in the grass and worship your body for a few hours? Since none of those seemed at all appropriate, he decided to tail her back to her car until he thought of something this side of ridiculous. He was about fifteen yards away and starting to feel pretty silly about ducking behind trees when she happened to look around, when he saw a hand reach out for her in the yellow light from the gas lamp from behind the trunk of a particularly large tree. The assailant grabbed her wrist and she turned sharply toward him. The weirdest thing happened in the next moment and Doggett watched in complete astonishment. Without any coercion, Scully stepped in toward the stranger behind the tree and out of his sight. He immediately went into fibbie mode, drawing his gun and silently creeping up the path toward where Scully just voluntarily disappeared. He didn't want to put her in more danger than she already was by shouting to her. It was not yet the time for, "FBI! Let go of that woman, you assfuck, I think I love her!!!" He crept back off the path and behind a crop of bushes to where he could see and hear what was going on without his presence becoming known. What he saw when he rounded the corner and ducked behind the foliage was not what he expected but was almost as shocking. The mysterious hand belonged to none other than the prodigal Fox Mulder and it was currently squeezing possessively at Agent Scully's breast outside her sweater. Every futile line Doggett had contrived to get Scully to see him as more than her friend died in that moment. He swallowed back the lump in his throat, letting his gun arm relax. He watched them kissing, how Mulder had her pressed up against the trunk of the tree, how they looked starved for each other, how she clutched at his hair and his neck and moaned desperately into his mouth. He saw his fingers tremble on her breast, wanting to dig in, needing to, but unable to hurt her, squeezing and releasing like when you test the ripeness of a grapefruit in the supermarket. Doggett was going to try to quietly slip away into the darkness, he really was, when she broke the kiss, panting. "Mulder, it's too dangerous. We..." He was attacking the fragile column of her neck with his hungry mouth. "We...God...we can't." And then she hissed on what was a particularly demanding suck and she slammed one hand back against the tree by her side, the other still devoted to the back of Mulder's head as she turned her head for him, mouth opening, tongue peeking out to touch her lip, her teeth, unconsciously mimicking his worship of her neck. She then bit her lip to keep from yelling. He heard Mulder's murmurs, muffled slightly against her throat. "I *need* this, Scully." He pressed his hips into her belly. "Jesus, I gotta have you." She whimpered then and Doggett was mesmerized and sobered by the tear that slipped tellingly out of her eye. This was not a joyous reunion. This was a moment, a mere drop in a dry bucket, and afterwards they'd be separated again. He would return to wherever it was he needed to be to help her make the world safe for their baby, and she would return to her empty bed and her changed life. Doggett felt horrible then for the selfishness of his self-pity. This was the really sad thing, witnessing how deep their love was for each other and how irreparable they were when apart and cut off from that love. Two more tears followed the first one down Scully's flushed face. "Mulder, fuck me." It was so strange and heart-breaking to hear her say it and mean it but to watch her crying, to see the sadness written on her face as well as a desire so intense it seemed tangible. With those words, Mulder was an animal for her and she returned the power of his need with her own. He tugged her sweater out of her pants and they sucked and bit at each other's lips and tongues. Her hands went for the buttons on his jeans, ripping them open. "Where?" he asked into her mouth. "Here," she answered breathlessly. "I'll hurt you." "I want it." He roughly pushed her sweater up and ducked his head to pull her nipple into his mouth through the rose colored gossamer of her bra. One hand slid up under her sweater and pressed against her shoulder, both holding her top in place and holding her against the chaffing bark of the tree. His other hand went to the cheek of her ass, gripping her sweet, round flesh and pulling her hips into his thigh which pressed between her legs hard. Despite the underlying sadness of their circumstances, despite the fact that Doggett wanted to be the one touching her, wanted to be the person in her life that Mulder was, despite his guilt at being there to see it at all, he felt himself stiffening as a result of their frenzied love making. You'd have to be dead not to. It was beautiful...how they were touching each other, so badly needing to touch each other. And so he stayed. He didn't touch himself, couldn't conceive of making this in any way about him. It would just be confusing later. But he couldn't make his legs move to walk away. They were magic together. Mulder undid Scully's slacks and pushed them and her underwear down past her knees to her ankles. It was not dignified. It was not romantic. But it was real and powerful and Doggett loved her more for letting it happen this way, for loving him enough to take it anyway that she could get it. Mulder reached under her ass and lifted her off the ground, leveraging her against the tree. Scully kicked futiley with her feet, forgetting that she couldn't wrap her legs around his waist with her pants still on. Doggett saw her smile through her tears, heard the sweetest little laugh bubble up out of her. Mulder, who had been too busy trying to get his cock out of his pants one handed while holding her up, looked up at her giggle. "Sorry, Mulder." He looked confused and she looked down at her feet and back up at him for clarification. "Oh, shit." "'Sokay," she smiled tenderly at him. "Bench. Over there." She chinned the direction. Mulder leaned in and captured her full lips in a searing kiss, his tongue fucking her soft, pliant, surrendering mouth. He then looked into her eyes. "Scully, I..." Doggett supplied. It was so obvious it was what he was going to say, but she stopped him. "I know. I know," she whispered, cupping his face. "Me, too." He kissed her one more time quickly and then spun around and carried her to the backless, stone bench. They never broke eye contact as he first knelt beside the cool stone and sat her down, then laid her across it length-wise and followed her down. She immediately lifted her legs slightly and spread her knees, welcoming him in. He took his cock out of his pants and leaned over her, guiding himself to her opening. His other hand was planted above her head on the bench, strong arm muscles holding him up. Her hair was flowing out around her, lying softly against his fingers. And then he pushed himself inside and she arched into it, gasping. "Fuck, you're tight, Scully. Does this hurt?" *He* looked like he was in pain, grimacing as he slid slowly into her heat. "'sgood...'sgood....Keep going," she urged. He let go of the base of his penis and held her silky, white thigh open as he penetrated her fully. "Ssssscccuuh...." He breathed her name. He started to withdraw and then push back in carefully. "Do me...hard," Scully moaned, eyes squeezed shut. Mulder obeyed her request, thrusting deeply into her rhythmically and stroking his hand all over her body, up her naked hip, her waist, under her sweater and between her breasts to her throat, back down to the red-gold hair hiding her clit. He threaded his fingers through her hair, fondling the top crease of her folds gently as he fucked in and out of her roughly. "Miss you...Scully," he whispered to her. "Miss...fucking..." He found her clit with his fingers then, rubbing, circling, pinching and she clamped her legs against his, holding him inside her. "Coming..." she whined unnecessarily. Mulder kept rubbing fast and furious on her clit and Doggett's cock twitched in his pants. She was gorgeous, her small body shuddering violently against him. When the contractions ended, Mulder took his hand from between her legs and wrapped his arm beneath her upper torso, hauling her up to straddle his lap. "Guuh!" she grunted with the force. "Fucking ride it," he hissed at her, already making small, hard thrusts upward into her, bracing his left hand behind him on the bench, his feet on the ground on either side, and keeping his other arm wrapped around her tiny waist. "You know I like it when you...ffffuuuuhh," he finished as she began slamming herself down on him with his every shove upwards. There was no more talking then. Only the sound of her impact, his grunts, her breathing. Through it they held eye contact. The power of their stare brought rare tears to Doggett's eyes. He couldn't have said what passed between them exactly. It would forever remain unnamable, without voice or definition, but he saw and understood its weight, the incredible, raw poetry of it. She coaxed Mulder's orgasm from him with those eyes boring into his. Her hands were as gentle cupping his face as her hips were not crashing down on his thick penis over and over as he tried to say her name. At the end, no longer able to exist in the depths of her gaze, he pulled her mouth to his and they kissed once again. They stayed connected, her soft, pale thighs trembling, and licked and sucked tenderly at each other. And then she started to cry. Mulder broke the kiss to hug her tightly to him and they clung to each other. He sifted his fingers through her hair, petting her, and she tried not to sob into his shoulder. "I miss him," Mulder murmured into her hair. Doggett saw the look that passed over Scully's face then, one she would not even let Mulder see, of agony so deep she probably didn't even know the bottom of it. But then she composed herself, wiped her tears on his shirt, and went to get up off his lap, letting his penis slip out of her warmth, awkwardly standing and pulling her pants up. "You know it has to be this way right now," she said defensively. "I know," he said sadly. Then Doggett saw her put aside her own pain to go to him. She held his head to her belly and stroked his face, looking down at him, loving him. "He has your mouth, Mulder," she said, her watery smile transforming her face. "Each day..." she trailed off, not wanting or unable to finish that thought. "Mulder, I want for you to see him. I need for you to see him. I do." She stepped away slightly and turned his face and all its child-like sadness up to her. "Soon." She held his eyes and he couldn't help but nod. But Doggett saw how devastating this separation was for both of them. Mulder obviously loved his son very much. If anybody got the idea that this was easy on them, Doggett now had undeniable proof of the damage being done. It was horrible and in some ways reminded him of losing his own son. All those childhood memories he would never have, was robbed of. He looked into Mulder's face now and saw a little bit of himself. It was a startling and unexpected sight. He'd thought the only thing he would ever have in common with Mulder was loving Scully. But now he saw in him a loving father, missing his boy, and he swallowed back the old pain thinking of Luke. What a mess they all were. Feeling deflated and tired, Doggett decided he really didn't need to see anymore. He quietly slipped away from the bushes, back away from Mulder and Scully who were no doubt going to have to say their good-byes. Without a noise, Doggett crept back into the darkness, back toward the crime scene, back to the normalcy of dead things and yellow tape and the comfort of his partner's warm voice. Maybe he'd see if Monica wanted to get a cup of coffee with him after the Cromwell interview was over. The temperature was dropping now and he needed something to wrap his empty hands around. Maybe if he tried hard enough he could forget for a couple of hours that look on Scully's face. Maybe.... **** Super 8 Motel December 7th 11:21 PM He sat leaned up against the headboard in his blue jeans, the bucket of ice by his side. Six Miller Genuine Drafts sat at varying degrees of vertical in the ice. Three were empty. He rubbed at his bare chest with cold fingers and sighed, flipping to the weather channel. Cooler and 68 tomorrow in Miami. Fucking-wanna-kill-yourself 16 degrees in D.C. Great. The case was over. The bad guy caught. Nothing left to do in balmy Florida except drink and think too much. He was about to ring over to Monica's room and see if she wanted to order from the Pizza Hut down the street when there was a knock at the door. Doggett got up and threw on his old button down denim shirt but didn't bother to button it before opening his door. Standing there looking chilled and unsure was Scully. She wore a soft-looking grey sweater and black cotton pants. She looked smaller than ever. "Dana? Are you okay? It's late." "I know. I'm sorry. I'm fine." He nodded, knowing different. She had been quiet and business-like since.... But he knew what was behind the dull azure of her eyes. He also, unfortunately or not, knew what her naked legs looked like, what was between those strong thighs, what soft flesh was hidden beneath that pretty, feminine sweater, and right then he really wished he didn't know. "You want to come in for a bit?" he asked. She nodded almost imperceptibly and he stepped back to let her in. She walked into the middle of the room, turned away from him, and he wasn't sure what it was she wanted or needed. He was sure Mulder would know, could read her. A sinking feeling of inadequacy washed over him. "Thanks for the help on this case, Dana. We wouldn't have wrapped it up so fast without you." She had her hands on her hips and she turned to look at him. She just nodded. Inspiration struck him. "Would you like a beer?" She smiled softly at him. "Yeah, I would. Thanks...John." He walked over to the bed and grabbed two more MGD's from the bucket. He handed her one and sat down in the chair by the little, off-balance, formica table, twisting his cap off. She sat on the edge of the bed facing him. She twisted off her own cap and took a long drink of her beer. "Thanks," she said again and wiped her mouth with her thumb. "No problem, Dana," he said and berated himself because it came out like a croon. She looked down, fiddling with the coverlet. "How long..." she started. "How.... I'm sorry, it's too personal." If she only knew. "You can ask me. Whatever it is. We're friends, Dana." And he wanted it to be true. He wanted her to consider him her friend. She looked up. "How long were you married?" He swallowed, sensing why she might be asking. "Five years." She nodded and paused. She drank to fill the silence. And then she asked, "How soon after Luke died did...?" "Six months," he answered. He kept his voice strong. He knew if she saw his pain she would feel the need to comfort him. And this wasn't about his pain. It was about hers. She drank again and he saw that her eyes had grown moist. When she finished and brought the bottle away from her lips, now three-quarters gone, Doggett reached over and took it from her hand, placing it gently on the nightstand. He took her hand in his and squeezed and it was like that simple action spilled the tears from her eyes. Immediately he was off the chair and in front of her, pulling her into his arms. She reached into his shirt, around his bare back, to hug him and he tried to ignore the fire she lit with her hands across his ribcage. The sobs shook her small frame and he held her tight. "Shhh, Dana, it's okay. I know." She slid off the bed to kneel before him, as he was already kneeling in front of her, and he rocked her gently. "I know you miss each other. I know what a bitch it all is." She laughed through a sob but kept crying just the same. "I'm not good with words and I'm sorry for that. But believe me, Dana, I know." She cried herself out on his shoulder and then drew back to look at him. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry," she said reaching for his shirt and touching a place where she'd accidentally wiped her nose. Her fingers rested against his chest briefly as she worried the material. He took her hands between both of his, stilling her. "It's nothing." And then he kissed her knuckles impulsively. She tilted her head and looked at him. Like he was some interesting, colorful bird at the zoo. Then she sighed and sat back onto her bottom. He took her cue and sat on the floor next to her. He picked up her beer from the table and handed it back to her then picked up his own and held it out. She tapped the neck against his bottle. "To love, Agent Doggett," she said ruefully, wiping at her cheeks. "To ever-lasting love, Agent Scully," he said pointedly. She smiled at him and drank. They sat like that on the floor, drinking their beers, then splitting the last one, and they talked for really the first time. About everything and nothing. Scully's head was resting on the side of the bed tiredly when Doggett's stomach growled loudly. Her eyebrow arched up. "Hungry much?" Doggett looked at his watch. 12:45. "You know, there's an all night Mexican place about half a mile west of here." He paused gauging her reaction. She just smiled that soft, enigmatic smile. "Wanna see if Monica's still up?" She nodded and got up to stretch her legs. Doggett stood, too, and buttoned up his shirt. He was fumbling through his carry-on looking for his wallet when he heard her small voice behind him. "Thank you, John." This time his name came easier. He wanted to tell her it would all be okay. He wanted to tell her to believe in what she had. He wanted to make all her troubles disappear. Instead he smiled. He picked up his wallet and his room key and held the door for her. "So are you one for hot or mild sauce, Dana?" "Mmm, depends actually." "On what?" "On what the entree is," she answered defensively but with a smile in her voice. And he closed the door behind them. End Y'all okay? Let me know what you thought: lmelao@earthlink.net I kept thinking of this song while writing this story. (When is that not true?) I'll include the lyrics here: Dave Matthews Band: Crash Into Me You've got your ball You've got your chain Tied to me tight, tie me up again Who's got their claws in you my friend Into your heart I'll beat again. Sweet like candy to my soul Sweet you rock and sweet you roll Lost for you I'm so lost for you You come crash into me And I come into you In a boy's dream In a boy's dream Touch your lips just so I know In your eyes, love, it glows so I'm bare-boned and crazy for you When you come crash Into me, baby And I come into you In a boy's dream In a boy's dream If I've gone overboard Then I'm begging you To forgive me over my haste When I'm holding you so, girl Close to me Oh and you come crash Into me, baby And I come into you Hike up your skirt a little more And show the world to me Hike up your skirt a little more Show your world to me In a boy's dream In a boy's dream Oh I watch you there Through the window and I stare at you You wear nothing but you wear it so well Tied up and twisted the way I'd like to be For you, for me Come crash into me Crash into me Crash into me