From: "Anne Hedonia" To: ; ; Subject: [XFNC17ff] NEW! "Something Like Shrapnel" NC-17 DSR (1/5) Date: Friday, March 08, 2002 10:42 AM TITLE: Something Like Shrapnel AUTHOR: Anne Hedonia RATING: NC-17 - Mucho sex, even for me. CLASSIFICATION: S, A KEYWORDS: DSR, Doggett/Scully Relationship, AU SPOILERS: Season 8 ARCHIVE: Please ask first - I'll make sure you get the right version. There are a few out there. DISCLAIMERS: He is Chris Carter, millionaire. He owns a mansion and a yacht. SUMMARY: Sequel to Dace Liepins' "Comfort During Wartime", wherein the phenomenon from that fic continues, and Doggett flails for sanity. Where can I read that fic, you say? Why, here! http://home.attbi.com/~annehedonia/ComfortWartime.html SHIPPER WARNINGS, in this day and age, seem ridiculous. Hell, this whole fic is really just an exercise in finishing what you've started, even though the world (and series) you started it in is falling to pieces. If you've read this far and paid any attention, you know what you're getting into. FEEDBACK: makes life worth living. ( You think I'm exaggerating.) Send it to ahedonia@yahoo.com MORE OF THE SAME CAN BE FOUND AT: my *NEW WEBSITE URL*: http://home.attbi.com/~annehedonia PRAISE BE TO: Dace Liepins, for saying "yes" to my sequel request, and for writing a story whose sequel potential grabbed me by the muse and wouldn't let go. FirePhile, as usual, gets beta thanks. Shawn Colvin gets thanks for the title(s) - go listen to her song "Steady On" if you're curious as to why the hell I chose 'em. ------------------------ /Part I: / /Imploded/ It had only happened once. It hadn't repeated itself since its occurrence after the Tipet case, since well before William was born. He assumed it never would, which was what made it so priceless, and dear. Doggett had had to watch his one "encounter" with Scully - the strange, blissful, soul-saving morning of sex she may or may not have actually granted him after waking him from his Anthony Tipet-inspired nightmares - grow further away from him, becoming distant with time and changing circumstance. For weeks afterward he'd carefully watched her demeanor, but if there was any confession to be made, Scully seemed unaware of it. He gradually began to believe she had nothing to confess - certainly the truth would out, wouldn't it? Certainly an impulsive sexual encounter with a co-worker couldn't go un-talked-about all these months, more than a year? Not even by Scully, whose capacity for personal denial did seem to go way beyond anything he'd ever experienced. So as his pride refused to let him push her on it, he was left with no other choice: he came to believe as she did. With one fierce, tiny mutiny: he let the memory of that dream - or whatever it had been - become the thing he lived for. He relived it silently, in little daydreams, whenever he was in her presence, watching her body drift and sway and lean and sit through the days and months they worked together. He would watch the play of light on her hair when her back was turned. When he was alone, he would graze his tongue against the roof of his mouth and recall the taste of her kiss. He would let his eyes drift half-shut and remember the soft rasp of her tongue on his chest, licking away the sweat of his fever dream, proving they were both alive. He would glance slightly upward and think of being on his back as she rocked above him, of her eyes losing focus as she shook and whimpered and came, as he arced off the bed to thrust his cock into her tight, clenching pussy. His groin would flood with heat, and excitement would bloom in his chest, in the place where hope used to be. He knew the whole thing wasn't healthy, but he was angry. And tired. And sick of being alone. Mostly, he didn't let himself give a fuck. On the outside, he continued to do his job, letting nothing slide. Cases got worked, freaks got snagged, and perhaps most importantly, his partner's back got watched. He kept his priorities straight - he wouldn't be of much use to Scully or himself if he let his daydreams take away his edge. He'd given them their place, but work wasn't it. He separated his personal needs from his job, kept it all under control. But when he was alone, he let his needs take over. He didn't know what had actually happened or how to explain it, but his belief was set in stone: he had somehow been granted the actual, first-hand experience of what it was like to be with her. Now that experience was his - nothing and no one could take it away. It was the one salve that seemed to ease the hurt of Mulder's return, of their baby together, of the family that wasn't his. Even though that had always been the point of it all. Even he was surprised at how hard he'd taken that particular blow. His sleep had become disturbed, seemingly permanently. Even when he wasn't lying awake wishing for another "visitation", the dreams that he counted as "real" ones always included Scully, and quite often involved her life with Mulder. He was tortured with dreams of their happiness, their love for each other, their closeness. It was hellish to wake up and recall what he'd witnessed. Sometimes the tone of his visions changed, and became about Scully's problems with Mulder - her anger at him for his inattention to family while he continued to chase phantoms - or various other scars that were on her heart. Those were no less agonizing - he angered at the thought of her suffering at the hands of her "choice", when he wanted to give her so much better. Still, he labeled that category of dream "wishful thinking", and marveled at his brain's originality when it came to conjuring ways to torment him. He dreamed about her more frequently than he did about himself. He saw her laughing and crying and in fear. He saw her with William, and sometimes saw both of them with Emily, playing at being a cobbled-together family. He saw sides of her that seemed unreal and yet perfectly honest. Sometimes, when he was very lucky - in a pathetic sort of way - his dreams let him participate with her, in ways she accepted, and appreciated. It was almost as if his dream self got bolder when this happened, because with each "success", the dream time he shared with her seemed to increase. But still, never in the way he really wanted to. As the months passed, he did not chide himself to let go, or to open his heart and accept other possibilities. He learned to forget the shame of being obsessed and turned back to that one experience for comfort and strength, again and again. It was a way of controlling the uncontrollable, of flipping the proverbial finger at a life that took away wives and children and peace of mind as capriciously as if it were changing its order in a restaurant. A life that would reward his devotion to a woman with a front-row seat to her choice of another man. Any way he could, he fought against his and Scully's encounter going dim with repetition. He'd written it down once, though he felt he couldn't do it justice with language. His attempt to chronicle it just made it seem tawdry, but he wrote it down anyway. He thought about speaking it into a tape recorder. He murmured the story to the shadows in the corner of his bedroom at night, hoping that one of them would come alive again and take her shape, coming to him to fill his empty spaces with her sainted touch and her blessed body. It didn't happen. Night after night, Doggett fell asleep bereft, awoke the next morning with an sour feeling in his soul. And on the last night of his solitude, that was exactly what he expected to happen again. Except it didn't. He'd been dreaming one of his usual scenarios, one where Scully was in a cage that sat in the middle of an open field. He'd been standing by, wanting to get her out and powerless to do so, when suddenly she'd opened it herself, stepped out and raised a hand to his cheek. He'd awoken with a jerk.. .surprised beyond belief to feel gentle fingers drifting over his jaw. -- continued in part 2 -- /Part II/ /Rockets in the Dark/ He looked up and gasped to see her sitting at his bedside, her hair hanging forward as she leaned over him. Her blue eyes looked down at him - gentle, concerned, a little sad. He blinked and pulled back, tried to make sense of what she was wearing - some kind of nightgown, something gossamer and unreal. "Agent Scully..." was all he could say. His heart was pounding, both from the dream and from the surprise of her. Was he awake? He thought so. If he was, then why was she here? So many different scenarios tangled in his head, only one of them calling for excitement while the rest called for alarm. He had no idea where to begin. He settled for repeating what was in his head. "I wanted to see you," she replied softly. She kept touching his temples, combing his hair with her fingers. He shuddered as goosebumps rushed down his limbs. "I wanted to *really* see you," she clarified, her expression strange. The smile that fluttered across her face made Doggett think of a witch. "Like you deserve." "Did I leave my door open?" he stammered softly. He was trying to assign reality to the proceedings, flailing for facts. "Agent Scully, I'm just surprised to see you. I-" "Shhh..." she leaned close. Doggett felt his heart race to triple-speed. "Let me enjoy this," she purred. He felt her lips touch his forehead, like before. "Oh, God..." he moaned. It came out much less manly and more uncertain than he ever wanted to sound. He fought for mastery of himself. He needed to know if this was real - he needed to think clearly, do something different this time, break the spell if there was one so he could see the facts. Except...he wasn't sure he could stand it if this disappeared. He cleared his throat, spoke against the warm spicy smell of her neck. "Agent Scully, I need you to tell me why you're here." Her lips moved to caress another part of his brow. He felt more than heard her reply. "Is that really what you *need* me to do?" she inquired softly. Her scent was everywhere, clouding his mind. "I don't know," he whispered. He felt frozen in place as her mouth traveled down, kissing his nose, his cheeks, hovering above his lips. He felt a humiliating urge to whimper, but didn't have to feel it long. One breath later and her lips were pressing to his. His arms and body sprang to life, clutching at her, pulling her on top of him. Her slight weight and warm mouth thrilled him with the thought - desperate and unproven as it was - that this was real. Their kisses were air in his lungs, water on his parched tongue. He pulled her face away slightly, his whisper a desolate rasp against her lips. "Where have you *been*?" She didn't answer, responded by kissing him, with a slow relentless pace that drove him mad with urgency. He had no patience to ask his question again. Her hands moved under his t-shirt, their cool softness making him gasp. She moved back to remove it for him and he followed her up, devouring the skin of her neck, the soft swell of her cleavage. The taste of her wouldn't let him stop. She disentangled a bit more firmly, and pulled his t-shirt off. He cooperated long enough to let her remove it, but nothing more. He was on her again without ceremony, clenching the breath out of her. He worked his way up her neck again and her head fell back. Her breathless moans poured fire into his soul, hot iron into his dick. She tried to push him away again and he fought her, shamelessly, until she draped onto him and whispered wickedly in his ear: "You'll like this, I promise." He relented, and lay back to look at the miracle of her face, at the unearthly white glow of her skin in the light from the window. His chest rose and sank as he watched her, and her expression was inscrutable. She looked at him as though she understood everything that had ever happened throughout all of time. And then her fingers rose, moving the thin straps of the gown off her shoulders. The thought occurred to him fleetingly that, though he'd had his hands on that gown just moments before, he couldn't recall the feel of it at all. But then the front of the gown was dropping and she was catching it teasingly with her forearm, hiding a little, showing a lot, clutching its flimsiness against herself. Moonlight was spilling onto the tops of her pale, perfect breasts, where he wanted his hands to be. She held him away again with one small hand as she rose from the bed. "No," she chided softly, her eyes betraying only the barest flicker of anxiety, and then only for an instant. She turned her back to him and slowly released the gown, letting it flow languidly down her body until it was a snowdrift around her feet. All that remained on her were a tiny pair of panties, all lace and thin straps arched high over her hipbones. She smiled back over her shoulder at him, siren-eyed, as though she too could see the sculpted perfection of her sleek back and legs and buttocks and was admiring them with him. She was radiant, glowing with a delicate, unabashed femininity that made him ache. She turned back and leaned forward, oh so slowly, arching her exquisitely curved ass toward him as she eased the panties off an inch at a time. Doggett squirmed almost uncontrollably, feeling his steel erection strain against the weight of the covers. He felt sure that if he hadn't gone mad earlier just to have this happen, he was definitely doing so now. She leaned forward even farther, exposing her lips to him. Doggett rose urgently and grabbed her by the hips, held her in place as he slithered to his belly and pressed his mouth to them, forced his tongue between them. "Oh, God!" she cried out, her whole body flinching with the contact. She hastily spread her legs to give him access. Doggett held her hips and continued tasting her. Scully put her elbows on her knees and writhed unsteadily against him. John moaned against her slick flesh, jerked his hips against the sheets. He wanted more, wanted all that she wouldn't give him last time with her distance and her cool control. He felt a pang of fear, afraid that his frenzy might cause him to take something against her will, but when he pulled her back onto the bed he found her urgent for more contact. She rolled quickly off him onto the tangled bedspread, then flipped to pull him on top of her. Despite his dominant position, he quickly discovered that he was no more in control of this encounter than he had been the first one. He leaned to kiss her, but she rolled her head inexplicably away. Instead she pushed his pajama bottoms off, reaching to grab his cock. An instant later she was rubbing it lengthwise against herself, the quicksilver slickness of her folds making him jerk and gasp. He found himself moaning, and his control slipping even farther. "I've wanted you so bad, Dana," he confessed helplessly. "So bad..." She kept rubbing, arching against him, and his arousal surged so hard that he felt as though he'd left the earth for a moment. An instant later he "returned" to the realization that she was coming, crying out and recoiling with spasms, just from rubbing his cock against her clit. He couldn't bear his own excitement at the sight of it - he moved slightly and thrust into her just in time to feel the last aftershocks clenching around him. Oh God, oh God... the feel of her was unspeakable, and he realized now that none of his dim recollections of that feeling had come close to capturing it. She was catching her breath, murmuring in satisfaction, when she locked her feet around his back and pulled him deeper. He complied, thrusting into her as far as he could, over and over, grunting with exertion. He didn't know what this was. As his frenzy built, he didn't *care* what this was. He just knew he needed it to go on forever, that they should never leave this bed, that he felt completely fucking delirious and that the questions raised by this impossible situation were being banished to the furthest reaches of his mind. This would heal him, this would save him. It didn't matter that it was insanity. Suddenly her palms were against his shoulders, pushing him up and off of her while she squirmed for purchase beneath him. The cold slap of it had him crying out hoarsely in surprise. Before the disappointment had truly sunk in, though, she had flipped over onto hands and knees, her ass rising insistently against his groin, her hand reaching back to grab him. Even in his state of fogginess, he needed no further instruction or encouragement. He plunged into her again, a ragged snarl curling his lip. He leaned down over her and tried to reach around her to massage her clit, but her own fingers were already there and too insistent. He felt the vibrations of her cries through his chest as she neared orgasm again. He took the clenching around his cock as his cue to pound wildly into her. A few more thrusts was all it took, and then they were folded together, wailing and convulsing in tandem, molten and animal fragrant and sweat-slick. He felt sure the sense memory of that moment would be imprinted on his mind for as long as he lived. He bent forward in exhaustion, arms outside of hers, feeling her torso move as she panted. He let his chest rest against her damp back, buried his nose in her hair. Even as his body still tingled, he felt the world coming back to him, ominous in its reality, as the hormonal grace period receded. He closed his eyes and continued to gasp for air. Whatever this specter was, John knew then that its purchase of his soul was complete. --------------- - continued in part 3 - /Part III/ /Pulling Out Splinters/ She stayed with him without a word, as before. He welcomed the warmth of her in his arms, hoped it would dispel the cold worry in his heart. He tried to wrap around her so tightly that she couldn't leave without his knowing. He fought sleep for hours. He lost. Sometime in the night his eyes opened to the foggy image of her standing across the room near the door, dressed again. Alarm surged through him, but with his next blink he saw the back of her head inches from his face, felt his arm around her waist, heard her breathe. He wasn't sure he should relax. He was too sleepy not to. He blinked again, several times, fighting his own lethargy to make sense of his what he saw. What he saw kept changing. One blink showed her suddenly facing him, wide awake - the next blink showed the empty space where she had been. The blink after that returned her fragrant hair to the space right under his nose. The following blink took it away. Inside, he felt like crying in confusion. He fought harder to come to the surface. The words that bellowed in his head came out his mouth a sleepy, half-formed mumble: "Dana?" For some reason, no amount of blinking would return her this time. He felt his mind simply accepting this, despite the railing in his heart. It was as though he were under a spell. Even in his state of concern, alarm, despair, he couldn't hold on. A moment later, he had drifted off. ---------------- Doggett slept hard for the last few hours of the night, like he hadn't slept in months. He opened his eyes that morning to the sight of his other pillow. He didn't remember immediately, until the night before came back to him in a flood. The memory changed his "other" pillow into an "empty" one. He raised and scanned the room with his investigator's eye, looking for some proof of her presence. He found none. A thought occurred to him; he picked up the pillow next to him and sniffed it. Her scent wasn't there. He sighed and tossed it back, raising a hand to rub sleep from his eyes. As it neared his face he startled, then put it right under his nose and inhaled, continuing to his forearm and bicep. Her scent *was* there, unmistakable. He blinked and raised his arm to his nose again, inhaling deeply. Wait. His brow furrowed. Now it seemed gone. He wondered at how he'd never thought to ask about Agent Mulder, or even to think about her alliance to him. There had been nothing more important last night than the fact that she was simply there. If she was. He lay back down. He had to admit he felt something like happiness. There was a sweet relief coursing through him. He felt like he could breathe again, after months of a dead weight residing in his chest. At the same time, he could sense his former frustration in a whole new light. ------------------ Later, Doggett paused in the hallway, a few feet shy of his open office door. His stomach was flipping at the thought of seeing Scully here. Part of him felt fairly sure nothing would change, that Scully's reaction to him this morning would be no different than any other. After all, he had no evidence of her actual presence last night. He had spent the better part of the morning before his shower sniffing his own body (and feeling ridiculous), but her scent had not returned. The dream theory was gaining credence, this morning. But another part of him was hoping against hope that this latest visitation might give him another chance to get to the bottom of this, to perhaps find that it *was* real. Maybe some other sign would present itself, maybe this time he could spot a telltale reaction, and if he did, maybe he could find a way to broach the subject to her. A moment later he rolled his eyes. *Talk* to Scully about this? Bring up the subject of his own lunacy, just because maybe she blinked funny and he thought he'd found a clue? Yeah, great. Perhaps afterwards he'd flap his arms and fly to the moon. He entered and found Scully at her desk with her face in her hands. Her shoulders were still, but her posture slumped. This alone made Doggett stop, but then she sighed and looked up slowly, directly at him. Doggett's pulse accelerated. The moment was suddenly alive with possibilities, both beautiful and terrible. At the sight of him, her posture became stiff and proper. She dropped her eyes from him and looked at her lap. "I suppose I might as well get this out in the open," she began. Doggett tried to swallow, and found he couldn't. She closed her eyes and sighed in a way that made Doggett's heart clench. "Mulder's really gone," she said. ------------------ Doggett listened as Scully told him what little she would of the story. Mulder had left last night, because of a threat he perceived to himself or Scully or the baby, or some fucking thing. She didn't know when he'd be back, or even if. Doggett wanted to be there, wanted to help with the situation, but he could only listen so well with his mind racing. Hell of a coincidence, he thought, Mulder leaving on a night like the one he'd - and possibly *they'd* - had last night. Could Mulder have left angrily, because he found out she'd been with Doggett, either last night or the incident so long ago? Could she and Mulder have had a fight, causing her to have come by *after* he'd left? Those were "logical" explanations, but strangely they didn't ring true. He searched every flicker of Scully's face for some scrap of hidden meaning, but her dispassionate façade never fell. She recounted the bare scraps of the tale that she *would* divulge as though she were reading them out of a newspaper. Doggett almost squirmed with frustration and disappointment. If she was denying what had happened between them last night, well then, he couldn't believe her restraint, and if she wasn't...well, that possibility made his heart fall. For a number of reasons. Besides the obvious - yes, he *was* crazy - another was that, if this situation with Mulder really was her only news from last night, then once again she wasn't trusting him to hear the whole thing. He felt like she might splash him in the face with a cup of water just for asking. It had been so long, and he had done so much. In his head, he railed unreasonably against the way the topic of Mulder still caused her to shut him out. After Doggett realized she'd share no more, the morning passed slowly and uncomfortably. Doggett discreetly checked the story with Skinner, and found that she'd told him the same, with pretty much the same amount of detail. The AD didn't seem to be hiding anything. Doggett looked at his hands as he rode back down in the elevator. He felt a little selfish now, for only thinking about her story as it might pertain to him. He had just been hoping that something might finally make sense, that today was the day he got excused from the virtual looney bin. Evidently his time wasn't up yet. As he walked back to the office, he was back to hating Scully's pain, whatever its cause. He hoped she'd let him do something to soothe it. Then a realization hit him, and he looked at his watch. It was Friday, just past noon. On Fridays they ate lunch out together, when they were in town. He smiled, walked a little faster. When he reached the office again, he gently offered to treat her to today's meal. "Um, thank you, Agent Doggett, but I really think I should stay here and get a few things done." She looked up at him in stiff apology. This time he didn't have to search her face for hidden meanings. This time the lie was obvious. Doggett extracted himself graciously, and then strode back down the hall, his face burning faintly. He'd forgotten, he thought, that the term "in your dreams" applied *literally* to him. ------------------ Doggett lay in bed that night, staring at the light coming through the curtains. He chided himself for taking everything that had happened that day so personally. His feelings were all over the place, didn't make any fucking sense. Then he chided himself for chiding himself - it wasn't like there was a set of rules for how to feel in his particular situation. He also didn't know what to expect tonight. The idea of sleep sounded foreign and impossible, but somehow it descended anyway. He didn't remember when he drifted off. What he *did* remember was awakening suddenly and the jolt of feeling her weight across his hips and her legs suddenly straddling him. He startled, his eyes flying open and finding only her face, drifting close. Tingling warmth shot through him as her hand caressed his cheek, like before. Jesus, he didn't know what he'd done to deserve it, but evidently he was going to be blessed again. Still, for all his gratitude, his first soft words surprised the hell out of him. "Is this about Mulder?" He didn't want to push his good fortune, but he still wanted answers. "Any of this? Are you here because he left? Or are you here for...me?" She pulled back, but said nothing. It didn't even seem as though she'd heard his question. Her hands pulled the covers down from his bare chest, and she stroked his skin lightly with her nails. He shivered. Her face drifted closer again, her lips brushing his like a whispered prayer. With that, Doggett stopped asking and took what he was given. ----------------- - continued in part IV - /Part IV/ /Weaving Like A Drunkard/ The Scully that John met in the office for the rest of the week was even more tight-lipped than she had been the first day, even more curt. The Scully he saw at night began visiting reliably. John's fantasy life and his real life became more distinctly separated than ever. He cursed his situation during his waking hours, then at night, he welcomed her specter. She would soothe his pain, corral his demons and rock his world. She let herself loose on him as though he were the answer to every wish she'd ever made, the object of every passion she'd ever felt in her life. And then she'd be gone, like vapor. Maybe not immediately, but at some point. He'd turn his eyes away for a split second during the afterglow, and find himself alone. She'd ask him a question - as she lay drowsing in his arms, clinging to him warmly, sweetly - and a moment later he'd find himself answering his elbow. He never saw how she disappeared, he never saw when - with the possible exception of the one night when she'd gone to the window, lifted the sash and climbed out, launching herself from the eave of the roof with a positively merry laugh. He could see the sweat on her naked back - still there from their exertions moments before - glistening in the moonlight when she did so. He'd flung himself from the bed and made it halfway down the stairs before the sound of his own screaming had registered in his ears. But outside, he found nothing. No injured Dana, no non-injured Dana, no Dana. It had taken half a bottle of Jose Cuervo to stop him shaking. She never disappeared before she was satisfied. She never disappeared before she'd satisfied him. But she always disappeared. Then the next morning he'd face a Scully that gave him short answers and even shorter glances, that scooted out of the office on errands that felt false and would rather spend lunchtime in the dark at her desk than out in the sunshine with him. When the morning came that she called in and said she'd be working from home that day, Doggett knew he was seeing the start of a trend. She'd explained it by saying she wanted to be home with the baby, which he knew she really did, but still. It felt like she couldn't stand to be in his presence. It stung like hell. As the nights went by it became more and more difficult, when looking at the "real life" Scully, to discern what exchanges he had had with her, and which had involved her "other" version. Of course, some events remained fairly clear - he was *reasonably* certain, he thought dryly, that the Scully who now sat ignoring him across the office had not sucked him to the Come of the Century last night. But aside from that, he wasn't sure of much. And even those distinctions put him on the brink of disaster. Real Scully moved to stand over the printer, waiting for a report to emerge. She peered down at it, hair falling forward. Suddenly Doggett found himself flashing on another time when he'd seen the same hair fall similarly...only then part of it had stuck to the sweaty face of her phantom counterpart as she moaned, and he'd watched her whole body shake as he'd slammed into her from behind. He felt alarmed, illicit, at remembering something like that so close to her - the memory was so vivid he was sure she could feel him thinking it from across the room. It also had him powerfully excited. He suddenly wondered what she would do if he crossed the room, reached out and kissed her. After all, it wasn't the first time, was it? It felt so much like they'd done it before. He would take her face in both hands, in the way he'd watched her enjoy so many times before. He swore he could still taste the way their tongues and lips would mingle. He became alarmed with how close he felt to acting on these thoughts. Without warning, Scully raised her eyes and looked at him, her eyebrow questioning. The harsh light of being discovered quickly defeated Doggett's prurient impulses. "Uh, sorry. Just...daydreamin'." He smiled politely, looked back to his paperwork. To his surprise, Scully pressed him. "Does that answer also count for all the other times I've caught you staring at me today?" Doggett's face flushed warm. He hadn't realized he'd been staring at her repeatedly. He felt stupid, yet entitled. he thought. He chose his words less carefully than he could have. "Well, after two weeks of you still not givin' me the whole story about Mulder's disappearin', you can hardly be surprised when I'm curious about how you're doin'." Doggett watched Scully's ire rise, watched her pull her dignity around her like a prim, high-necked blouse. "Agent Doggett," she began. "I appreciate your concern. I also appreciate the fact that that concern has helped me immeasurably in the past." Despite the compliment in her words, she still sounded like he'd been kicking her dog. "But the fact remains that my private life is not your affair." The irony of that statement was one tiny bit more than Doggett could bear just then. He felt his self-control slip even farther. "I'm sorry, Dana, but after all we've gone through, that's bullshit." Oh, this was stupid, very stupid. He was acting way more offended than was seemly. She looked up sharply, eyes wide and definitely pissed. He couldn't stop himself from continuing. "I've proven you can trust me. I've defended you and thought of your welfare first on every occasion you can name. And yet when the subject is Mulder, suddenly I'm public enemy number one." He cocked his head to one side, an angry mockery of curiosity. "Why d'ya think that is?" Scully was too furious for words. She got up to leave. As she did, Doggett also rose to stand in front of her. She glared at him for blocking her. They were inches apart. Doggett's emotions tangled hopelessly. When he spoke, his voice was low in his throat. "You wouldn't be this mad if I wasn't right." A scorching heat was simmering between them. Doggett felt a flash of despair. The feeling was passionate, familiar, yet so wrong. This was not what he was used to, not the way he ever wanted heat between them to be. Scully's breathing was erratic, and her eyes were narrowed. "Agent Doggett, if you knew half of what you *think* you do, you'd be the smartest person on earth." She left. He deflated, sitting hard against the edge of his desk. he thought, as his heart pounded in his ears, <...well, I don't know what you'd do then.> ------------------ As Doggett ran his hands up and down the sides of the sweating, writhing woman atop him, he couldn't stop feeling like a man who never got what he wanted. Even when he did. So far, tonight was already better than last night, when she was skittish and restless, refusing to let him touch her. She'd wanted no attention for herself but had been almost desperate to lavish it on him - she'd gotten him off so hard he saw stars, but had pulled her vanishing act almost before he could catch his breath afterward. Tonight was not like that. Tonight she leaned decadently into his touch, rubbed herself against him, would not make a move that separated his skin from hers for even an instant. Tonight was better. But still, it nagged at him, wouldn't give him a moment's undiluted peace or pleasure: he needed more out of his Dream Scully - the Real Scully was deserting him now. He tucked his chin toward his chest and looked down at their bodies' connection, compulsively watching them fit together, over and over, hoping for distraction. He tried not to be ungrateful, tried not to let the words flit through his mind... ...bits and pieces... He looked up at the beautiful wraith currently wracking his body with heat and pleasure, wondered at the pictures behind her closed eyes. He could feel desperation coming off her, fierce need, but he couldn't discern love. Jesus, he was a greedy fuck. All of this that he had - all of this that was already such a blessing - and he still wanted more. He couldn't help it. He wanted it all. Some way or another, he needed to assemble all of the sides of the woman he worshipped. He didn't want any mitigating circumstances. He wanted permission to love her freely, all of her. He wanted to be Dana Scully's man in a way that the whole world acknowledged. If he could, he'd rent billboards about it. He almost wanted the chance to fight bigger guys for her favor, except he knew she'd hate it. But if she didn't, he'd do it. In his thoughts, 21st century ideas about gender roles hit the circular file. He wanted whatever would be the civilized, new-millennium, non-debasing version of dragging her into his cave by her hair. His angst was interrupted, briefly, as his body indelicately reminded him the point of all this. Her body was shaking and rioting above him, squeezing so tight. Oh...Jesus, oh Jesus, oh *fuck*... For a few endless, soundless, soul-altering seconds, everything that had had ever happened on Earth and that would ever happen again was perfect. And then he was breathing again and she was collapsing her slight weight onto his chest and his arms were slipping around her while his face nuzzled into the damp hair at her temple...and essentially, the countdown started. And with the exception of a few extra endorphins in his system, he was right back to where he'd been a moment ago. She stirred against his chest, lifting her head while re-situating. She glanced at him before she lay back down with her head facing the other way. "Hey," she sighed quietly. He was surprised to hear her speak. "Hey what?" he rumbled gently. His hand slipped into her hair. She was here now, at least. For now, he had her. "What are you thinking?" she asked. Her voice was sleepy with satisfaction, thick and distant. He thought about voicing the truth. He found it too big, especially to tell someone who was asking so absently. "What am I not?" he sighed. ------------------ "Fuckin' WHAT??" "Agent Doggett, calm down." "Shit no, I won't calm down! How can she do that?" "She didn't mean any harm by it, I assure you." Doggett thought through his sudden rage that Skinner was a lousy liar. "She just thought it might be a good move to ease some of the tension that's been going on between you two for the last few weeks. And she didn't necessarily mean it to be permanent." Doggett wasn't sure the arms of Skinner's office chair were going to survive his clenching hands. "That's her answer to everything, isn't it?" he accused. "Somethin' makes her uncomfortable, she just pretends it ain't there. Well, she ain't gonna do that with me." "Agent Doggett--" "And how come *I'm* the one's gotta transfer? Why can't *she* go somewhere if she's so fuckin' unhappy?" "*John.*" Skinner's voice was a stern bark, one that said he'd had enough. That and the use of his first name seemed to cut through the noise in Doggett's brain. He fixed Skinner with an unearned glare as his boss continued. "Nobody's transferring anywhere, *yet*. It was just a suggestion that she wanted me to go over with you, to see how you reacted." He leaned back in his chair, looking tired. "Your...*objection* to it is duly noted." Doggett felt the muscles in his jaw jump as he watched Skinner. This wasn't fair, Scully using the A.D. to do her dirty work. Now he was also mad at her for putting Skinner in the middle. Although to be honest, "mad" was too simple a word for his current state of emotion. He rose from his chair. "In all fairness, sir, you shouldn't be pullin' this duty. This is for me and Agent Scully to get to the bottom of. And believe me, I will." Skinner leaned forward again, wary concern etched on his face. "John..." "In a civilized way, I promise." Skinner's hard look didn't change. "I promise." Still nothing. John paused, nervously tried to cut the tension by joking. "C'mon, what's to worry about? We'll just be two adults arguing in a small room while completely armed. It's the American way." Skinner's face got even grimmer, if that was possible. Doggett sighed. "I think it's fair to ask for an explanation." Skinner sighed too. After a moment he nodded, waved his hand in acquiescence. Doggett left quickly, before the screaming and sobbing in his heart spilled over onto his face. ------------------ He didn't go to her immediately. He wasn't like that. Even though he couldn't be sure she wouldn't jet home to be with the baby at any moment, he took his time, gathered his thoughts and emotions. He tried to, anyway. When he next laid eyes on her from the office doorway, he wasn't at all sure his preparation would mean a thing. "Did you want a bigger desk?" Scully looked up from her work with a start. Doggett strode slowly into the room, his measured pace at total odds with the lack of control he felt inside. "Yeah, the Big Desk Scam, that makes sense. I can easily see how havin' my big hunka metal in here would not only cramp your style, but ruin your view." He sat against the edge of said big hunka metal. Scully's face flushed hot and pink. "I don't know what you're talking about." "Then how 'bout this: why'd you ask about havin' me transferred?" The corners of his mouth tried to tug downward, just from saying the words. She said nothing. He continued with a doubled urgency. "If you're havin' a problem with *me*, tell *me* about it, not Skinner. He doesn't need that crap." Her blush turned indignant. "It *is* his job to mediate disputes between partners. And I was trying to talk things over with him first. I needed to get my bearings." "And with any luck at all, I wouldn't have to be here to find out what those bearings were, s'at it?" John could feel his temper - and the conversation - slipping away from him. Something like panic rose in his chest. Her eyes flared with hurt. "That's not fair." "Well, how were *you* bein' fair to me?" His voice strained up an octave, gathering gravel. "I don't find out that you got *this big* a problem with me until Skinner hands me my ass?" She stood and wheeled around the desk toward him. She somehow got the maximum amount of intimidation possible out of her tiny stature. "You're *just* figuring out the size of the problem?" she snapped. "You haven't said a *single* civil word to me since that first day we argued." Doggett blinked, momentarily thrown off his stride. Was this true? How had he been acting? He forged ahead without answering himself. "Maybe that's because we never resolved our original point of contention, which is that *you don't talk to me* about what's really going on with you, about important things that happen outside this office." Scully's temper and obvious discomfort raged. "I don't HAVE to tell you that!" "I'M YOUR PARTNER!" John roared, barely aware of where his fury was going. "I'm MORE than your partner! I've gotta watch your back, and, and I can't keep living off these goddamn bits and pieces, for Chrissake! I know too much about you now! It's gone too far!" Scully squinted at him in confusion and near-tears. Oh Christ, he wasn't even making sense. He suddenly felt as crazy as her face said he'd sounded. She looked at her fingers. John saw they were trembling. "I'm going home," she managed quietly. "No, don't bother." He turned, more in sheer mortification than in anger, and grabbed his coat. He had no idea what would happen now, and was sure it was all his fault. "I'm outta here." ------------------ - continued in part V - /Part V/ /Boats on the Ocean/ That afternoon when Doggett arrived home, he changed clothes as fast as he could and went out on a run. He ran twice as far as he could ever remember running previously, and then ran a little more. He ran out of frustration, but also determination. He was determined to fall asleep that night. The argument with Scully had unhinged him to a degree he wouldn't have thought possible. He didn't see how he could sit still for the rest of the evening, much less sleep. He felt a desperate need for contact with any version of Scully that would have him. He couldn't go back to the Scully at whom he had bellowed nonsense this afternoon. His panting, sweating face cringed tight in embarrassment every time the memory drifted through his mind, which he estimated was approximately every other minute. He let his hot, rasping lungs distract him from his sureness that he had burned every possible bridge with his "real life" Scully, that she would be leaving soon, taking her reassuring "reality" with her and leaving him a pathetic wretch trapped in some hellish version of an Everly Brothers song. He barely remembered his shower upon returning. He did in the other half of his bottle of Cuervo with his hair still wet and collapsed on his bed, exhausted. Hours later, the wind had picked up outside, and its low, hollow howls contributed to John's fitful sleep. It was as if, even unconscious, his mind and body were still anticipating the dip of the mattress that announced her return. Bizarrely, at the moment when he finally, suddenly jarred awake, it was because of the realization that it *hadn't* happened. His first rush of relief to see her was quickly marred by the knowledge that something was wrong. She stood far back from the bed, her eyes wary, as though visiting a dangerous animal in the zoo. Not only that, but the Scully before him was wearing the same clothes the "real" Scully had worn to the office that day. Doggett's stomach flipped with nausea as unwanted memories became instant and immediate. "Dana?" He sat up. She didn't answer. When he leaned forward, she backed up. Oh, shit. This was not happening. He needed her so badly tonight, and something was definitely wrong. "Dana." He hesitated a moment, and then moved to stand up. She backed up further and faster, her eyes a glaring non-invitation. "*Dana*," he pleaded. He stood and took a step. She raised a warning palm at the end of an outstretched arm. "This won't bring you back any more." Her voice shook with emotion, yet was firm in its intent. "It won't bring you back." It was Doggett's turn to squint in confusion. "No...There's no need to bring me back...I'm right here...I..." Scully was shaking her head sadly. Doggett had a sensation of falling, plunging. "Tell me what you mean. I can 't-" The wind chose that moment to slam a tree branch into the side of Doggett's house. His jangled nerves yanked his head in the direction of the noise, before his brain reminded him in alarm that he had made a fatal error. His head whipped back to where Scully had been, and was no longer. Doggett's next utterance scrubbed his throat raw. "NOOOOOOOOOOO!" ------------------ The windy night had not made conditions ideal for 2 am knocking - too many noises competed with the sounds of Doggett's knuckles slamming against Scully's door. It seemed he had pounded forever before he was rewarded with the sound of her wary inquiry. He didn't know what it was in his voice that made her open the door so quickly after that, made her stare at him across the safety chain in such apparent fear and concern. He was just thankful that he finally had her attention. "Dan-" he began hoarsely. "Ag---" Fuck. "Please let me in." She sized up his face with her eyes. A moment later the door was open and she was standing aside. Evidently he frightened her just enough to make her to comply, and not enough to deny him entry. He lingered in her entryway as she closed the door. He followed her, watching her bed-tousled red hair bob ahead of him as she walked into the living room. When she turned and faced him, Doggett realized that during the breakneck ride over, he had made little headway on the months-old problem of how to broach this subject to her. After a long beat, he started with the obvious. "I need to apologize," he rasped. "I've been having...a problem. I haven't been myself lately." "I know," she said quietly, a little too quickly. The firm set of her mouth did not disappear, but did soften visibly the minute her words were out. Doggett relaxed incrementally, rubbed his eyes. "Actually, my biggest problem is that I don't think you're gonna believe my problem." Doggett could hear the faintest trace of wry mischief in her reply. "Well, as long as *you* believe it, Agent Doggett, then I think we're halfway there." Doggett looked up at her in surprise. He could see from her look that she wanted to fix this, too. He felt something like relief, perhaps the possibility of smiling in the near future. He called up the truth into his mind, tried out the idea of telling it to her...and the horror of her possible reactions to it killed his nascent courage in a heartbeat. "Ah, there's just no way I can say this to you. This is nuts. You're gonna think I'm crackin' up." He turned away wretchedly, knowing that he couldn't possibly leave *without* telling her. Scully moved closer to him, her sympathy invoked. Doggett looked at the understanding in her eyes, and tried desperately to tell her the truth, all of it, just blurt it out. But to his own surprise, he blurted something else instead. "I need to know what happened the night Mulder left." A second passed while Scully got over her shock at his words. Her eyes rolled and her mouth turned cruel. "I don't believe this..." Doggett held to his line of questioning, somehow preferring it to the humiliation of the truth. "Look, I know you think this is none of my business-" "Which it isn't!" she spat furiously. "But if you would *just tell me*, I really think it could help me figure out what's been going on!" Scully wheeled on him, more enraged than he had ever seen her. "You think you can just bully me into confiding in you? Into telling you about my separation from the person who was more significant than anyone in my entire life?" Doggett felt smacked with the significance of the word "was". It took him a minute to refocus on the end of her tirade. "I'm your partner, Agent Doggett, not a suspect. You're not supposed to grill me till I crack!" Doggett noted that although her resolve might not have been cracking, her voice was. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." he murmured, backpedaling quickly. "Let's start over..." He mentally berated himself to get back on track. He looked at her downturned face and the slump of her shoulders, and hoped he hadn't just blown his last chance to talk to her. "What are you thinking?" he asked carefully. She sighed, rubbed her eyes. "What am I not?" They both froze. A long moment passed between them, during which it felt impossible to move. They both knew. Doggett's now-hummingbird heart rate shot blood through his body at a dizzying pace. He threw out all previous thoughts of going easy on her and let his wide-open eyes grill her for an explanation. Scully stared back. She seemed to understand perfectly what was being asked of her. "That phrase, it's...something I dreamed," she confessed shakily. She was mumbling and looking away. "Or maybe I heard it somewhere..." Doggett was having none of it. He watched her face burning red. A moment later she had turned from him and was heading toward her bedroom. "I need you to leave," was all she said, over her shoulder as she beat her retreat. He charged after her, beat her to the door, closed it before she could enter. "Don't run away from this." His urgency was reckless. "I *need* you to stay with it!" She looked everywhere but at him, mightily embarrassed. "They're just dreams," she protested tearily. "How do you know my dreams? How is it you've been SPYING on my dreams?!" He had her by the upper arms. "They're your dreams, you sure of that? That's what they are? How can you know for sure? "Yes!" she sputtered. "I mean, they have to be, don't they?" Her voice and face turned teary, desperate. "They have to be..." Doggett barely heard her. He was working through the words, juggling them until they made sense. "I'm seeing your dreams. Your dreams are happening to me. I'm there. I'm...in them. I'm in your dreams..." Suddenly it all slammed into place, with the certainty and weight of a bank vault door closing. "Tipet." He'd forgotten that Tipet had made it start. Tipet was there at the beginning. Tipet's effect was still here now. Somehow it had been transferred to him - or Scully, or one of them, or something. He could figure out the particulars later. What mattered to him now was that it was traceable. It made - in the most oblique way possible - a kind of sense. Doggett started to laugh in a way that - if Scully's eyes were any indication - was not entirely comfortable to watch. He slumped against the hallway wall behind him and kept laughing, just let it all out, a release of *everything*. Soon Scully's face was splitting its time between being alarmed at his state and annoyed that he wouldn't explain what he'd discovered. He pulled himself together, wiped tears of.*whatever* from the corners of his eyes. "Okay," he breathed, "I made a connection here. You 'member the Anthony Tipet case?" Scully thought a moment and then nodded, faintly mystified. "This same thing..." He stopped to qualify: "Well, not *exactly* the same, but something real similar started out happening between me and Tipet. I thought I was goin' crazy. When I was asleep, he was in my dreams, makin' things happen. He made me believe I was awake, that the events were real, an ' that he was really there." She was no longer looking at him. He continued carefully: "I don't know how it transferred, but, somehow, it's happenin' between us." He caught her again as she flinched toward the door. "Dana, you gotta know...I didn't make this happen deliberately. I wouldn't know how to." And then, significantly: "An' I'm sure you didn't either." He felt her relax slightly in his grip. It made him braver. "But you know that dream, that dream where I said that thing you just repeated?" He breathed in deeply. "That *happened* to me. These dreams you've been havin', they've been *happenin'* to me." He laughed nervously. "I'm goin' outta my tree all over again. So please. if it's happenin' to you too.you gotta tell me. Say it for me. Don't leave me alone on this." He faltered, looking for some response. She wasn't giving one, so he kept talking. "Do you remember the first time, months and months ago? In the mornin', with the light through the windows, an' I was all sweaty and you came in and woke me up." She stopped him suddenly, with a raise of her hand. He could see she was embarrassed, and he watched her fight it, until finally, something in her eyes changed. "Yes," she said quietly. "Yes, I do." Doggett felt his heart rabbit-punching his ribs as she continued, slowly and softly, but building steam. "I slept in that morning, because I was still recovering from that trip to the hospital, and, uh...I had a dream. A dream that was.more than a dream." She blushed with the memory, looking down, fighting disbelief and shame and pleasure, all at the same time. "When it was over, I chalked it up to the effects of the drugs they'd given me in the hospital, but..." She looked up at him finally, and the pleased flush on her face brought the whole morning back to Doggett. Her next sentence was the softest whisper he' d ever heard: "Yes, it's been happening to me, too. " Doggett nearly swooned. It was all real, she was saying so. After all this time... "Jesus, Dana, why didn't you tell me? Scully leveled a disbelieving look at him. "Why didn't you tell *me*?" A moment passed where they both grinned like morons. "Okay, point taken," he chuckled. "But I been goin' crazy, Dana. Stark ravin' crazy. How'd you keep it together?" Scully let out her own shaky laugh, wiping her eyes. "Who says I kept it together? You haven't seen me at work much lately, have you?" Doggett paused. "So you *were* avoidin' me." Scully's look sobered. "Yes, sometimes. Partly because of that." "What was the other part?" She looked at her bare toes. "The part where we were fighting. The more we argued, the less I wanted to open up. It just...didn't seem like a good idea." Doggett felt a stake go through his heart. God, all the damage he'd done - that *they'd* done - running around hurting each other when they could have just said something... Doggett felt himself wash over with a kind of calmly crazed resolution. He grabbed Scully by her upper arms once again, startling her gently. "I don't wanna have those dreams anymore," he stated. She looked hurt, which made him both heartbroken and gratified, but somehow it still didn't convince him she would approve of his next words. Still it didn't matter. He said them. "I need it to be real." He watched her eyes flood with a million emotions, including relief. His heart realized it could start beating again. "Oh thank God," he breathed. After the barest second he wondered what he was waiting for, and then couldn 't kiss her quickly enough. Oh, Jesus. To know this was real. To know that it was really her lips, her tongue, her moans filling his mouth. His kisses roamed all over her face. He nuzzled her silky cheek, his eyes squeezed shut in relief and joy. He felt her breath against his jawline as she spoke, her voice fluttering with emotion: "I didn't think the *real* you wanted me at all," she whispered. "You were acting so distracted...I thought you had someone else..." He fought to keep his own voice from cracking. "I thought I didn't exist to you, with the way you shut me out." "I thought I was..." He finished the sentence with her: "...losing my mind." He nodded, sharing her tears, wiping her face gently, smiling. "God," he whispered, drinking in the sight of her. "I wanna...*linger* with you. Out of all the things we've.well, sorta, already done.I've never gotten to do that. And that feels like the most important thing of all." She just gazed at him, nodding faintly, her eyes enthralled. "Then let's linger," she said. ------------- For the rest of the night, their main occupation was kissing. Kissing and touching and giggling and reveling, looking at each other. They took a bath together. Before they did Scully suggested candles, and they ran around half dressed, half undressing, still kissing and silly, looking for them. His legs were way too long for the tub. She washed his back, his chest, laughed as she soaped his big feet. He washed her hair, lovingly, lingering over its care. They embraced and tangled and entwined, deliciously lost. At one point their embrace was so close to the missionary position that he pushed into her, languidly. It was lovely and sexy but there wasn't enough room in the tub, really, and they were easily distracted from it. It was not the main agenda on their minds. They checked on William. The care and love in Doggett's eyes as he painstakingly adjusted the small blue blanket made Scully lead him from the room, intent on hallway activities that were not for a child's eyes. They raided the fridge while sitting on the kitchen floor, wrapped in blankets from the couch and lit by the light from the fridge. He loved watching her savor her ice cream. They kissed some more, her mouth sweet and sticky with Phish Food. And then they were lying sideways across Scully's bed, naked and dreamy. The light in the room was a faint, drowsy, underwater blue, the hallmark of the sun's first peeking over the horizon. Doggett lay on his side, head along his bicep, tracing lazy shapes on Scully's bare back with one finger, making her smile and shiver. She repositioned her head to face him. The calm in her eyes gave no indication of what she would say next. "Mulder's not coming back." Doggett's languid body belied the jump his heart had just taken. "Okay.how do you know?" "It was something we both decided, the night he left," she said matter-of-factly. Doggett saw no apology in her face for having concealed this from him, only the assurance that he was getting the truth now. "I'd had enough of him running off all the time, leaving his son so he could go chase things. It was so obvious to me, by then, that we should take the happiness we had and be grateful, and I assumed he saw it too." Her eyes became far away. "I shouldn't have assumed that." Doggett let his hand go flat on Scully's back, his tracing finger becoming a reassuring caress. "By the time he left, I had made some peace with it," she continued, her voice even. "At least, enough that it didn't destroy me. My feelings for him were really not what they had been. Which leads me to the second problem we were having..." Doggett raised his eyebrows in honest questioning, and Scully smirked. "You." Doggett blinked. Scully nodded. "As my feelings for Mulder were waning, my.feelings for you were growing," she admitted shyly. "But they were there even before that. That morning that I first, um, *visited* you." Now it was Doggett's turn to smirk and Scully's to blush. "That was the first morning I ever really let myself fantasize about you." Doggett felt his breathing quicken. "I fell asleep and it turned into a dream, and.well, you know the rest." "Yeah, I do." Doggett's eyes clearly wanted to swallow her whole. Scully silently met his gaze, and then rolled over beneath his hand so that it landed squarely on her right breast when she had settled again. Doggett grinned appreciatively and brushed his palm over her nipples, avidly watching Scully's face contort in pleasure. "So you knew you wanted me then?" he asked huskily. "I knew I was attracted to you," she said, a little breathlessly, "although I really couldn't admit it, even to myself." She closed her eyes and her head lolled. "And then Mulder came back, which was all so overwhelming." Her eyes turned apologetic. "It was a second chance I couldn't turn down." Doggett nodded soberly. Scully swallowed and her eyes closed again as Doggett's hand continued its gentle assault. "So I put my feelings for you aside, for a while..." she breathed, "...but the longer I knew you, the harder that was. I saw what kind of man you really were. It became about...more than attraction." In Doggett's chest, arousal suddenly fought with pride for dominance. "Even Mulder knew. The night he left, he told me that I should face it. So that night, as I was lying in bed.I did." Doggett's pupils darkened. hhe watched Scully's hips start to pulse in a gentle rhythm, up and down, as she continued. "I thought about exactly the way I'd like to come to you, every detail." She locked eyes with him, her expression both languid and charged. "I didn't have the courage to do it in real life, but in my mind.I was going to do whatever I wanted." Doggett couldn't stop himself from draping his body over hers. Scully moaned with his weight, widened her legs to let him settle in between. She gasped softly, as he pushed his hips against her. "I fell asleep that night, too," she murmured, "and I can't remember exactly the point where my fantasy left off, and the 'dream' began." "I can," Doggett murmured. His voice was predatory. "It was the moment you sat on my bed and touched me, and I couldn't believe you were there. I had waited for you to come back for so long." His voice became rough with emotion. "So long." Scully reached up to touch his face, and her own eyes filled with amazed realization. "You leaned over me, and you kissed me, and then you got up and did that little strip tease." One of his hands gripped her breast with increasing need as her legs parted further and he ground his hot, hard cock against her slick lips. "And then I couldn't wait to taste you." Doggett crushed his mouth to hers, as if to prove his point. When he pulled away, she was gasping, both from the kiss and the building exertion of their bodies. "I don't know why I didn't just bring it out in the open, John. I meant to face it, for real, soon after that." she vowed. "But I was thrown by what was happening to us at night, and then pretty soon we were fighting so badly." He stopped her remorse with another kiss, pulled back just enough to murmur feverishly against her lips: "But we're not fightin' now." Scully laughed breathlessly. "And none of it matters because.you still made it happen. Somehow what you did reached out to me." He had to let a shudder of pleasure go through him before he could continue, his voice thick with amazement. "You saved my life." Impulsively, he adjusted so that his next thrust pushed his cock deep into her. She cried out at the feeling, and then laughed again, sheer happiness made into sound. Doggett marveled at her glowing face, at where he was and what they were doing. He pushed in again, determined to transfer the happiness he felt to her. Reliably she moaned and arced, letting him know he was on the right track. He kept moving, mischievously fishing for reactions, concentrating on the sweet buildup happening in his groin and trying to replicate it for her. Scully rolled her hips in such a way that Doggett couldn't hold back a moan, or keep his head from snapping back in astonished surprise. The change of angle showed him that dawn was approaching more quickly now; light would soon be spilling in his window. It gave him an idea. He rolled the two of them over, putting her on top. "Just like the first time," he told her. His eyes overflowed with the significance of it. "Only now it's real." She smiled and her eyes drifted closed. "Only this time I want you to touch me," she told him. Doggett had absolutely no problem with that. He ran his large hands up and down her sides, over her slim shoulders. He brought his palms up to brush her nipples, grabbed her hips to urge her to rock on him. He watched her angle herself carefully, finding just the contact she needed, gasping and riding faster when it was just right. He wanted to keep watching her, but his body kept yanking him away from the sight, pulling him away with the promise of sweet oblivion. Scully was losing finesse in her movements. She panted a steady stream of "oh"s, each one sending a sharp electricity shooting through Doggett's limbs. She'd be there any minute, and he couldn't possibly get close enough. He wanted to feel it happening to her, in every way possible. As her body flailed and her wailing became animal, he bolted up to press their bodies together. They clung together as her orgasm seemed to rip through them both and she battered his body with hers, riding him hard. It felt impossible to hold back, and before Doggett knew it he was shooting off, hot and endless, wave after wave. They sat panting afterward, gradually slowing their rocking, reluctantly letting go of the delicious feeling. Scully sighed in contentment, pulled back to share a look with Doggett, and then embraced him again. Doggett felt lightheaded with both elation and exhaustion - he could feel sleep beckoning, his guard finally lowering at the end of this long nightmare. But when Scully pulled back to look at him again, her expression had abruptly changed to one of concern. "It just occurred to me - is this dream thing going to stop now?" Doggett was taken aback. "I got no idea," he admitted. He thought a second. "I sorta figgered it happened because, ya know, we were both reachin' out for each other. Now that we're doin' that in real life, we shouldn't need it, right?" Scully shook her head. "What if that's not why it's happening?" Doggett had no answers. He shrugged, and a moment later smiled at her with an affectionate question in his eyes. "Well," she tried worriedly, " if it doesn't stop, it could get to be too much. The lack of privacy could be a problem." Doggett moved to pull back her bed covers and scooted beneath them, beckoning her to join him. "If it is, it'll be *our* problem," he told her. "And we'll solve it together. And besides," he said, laying back and gathering her in his arms. "There's only one way to find out." She nodded. He was right. They fell asleep. -------------------- End