Title: A Rare Bootleg
Author: FirePhile (FirePhile@aol.com)
Category: VA
Spoilers: Up to Trust No 1
Rating: R 
Keywords: Doggett, DRF
Summary: A night to get drunk and forget about the world.
Post-Trust No 1.

Disclaimer: Not mine, The Rolling Stones and the bootleg
copy of their concert especially not mine.  Thank God for
the internet and research.  Who Went to Church This
Sunday was the title of the 1975 tour.

3:22 AM

It was too quiet in the house.  After a few minutes of sitting
and drinking in silence, Doggett realized he needed music. 
Feeling in a strange nostalgic mood, he walked over to his
records and pulled out a Rolling Stones album.  He wanted
to hear them tonight, especially the one he held in his hand. 
There were no liner notes on the album cover, just a giant
picture of the band.  Above the picture was written "Live in
LA: July 9-13, 1975."  He took it out of the cardboard and
with a steady hand put it on the record player.  After placing
the needle on the vinyl, he heard the scratchy beginnings of
the bootleg concert.  

It had been a Christmas gift from a few buddies in the
Marines.  They must have gone through hell to find it.  
He'd been almost out of high school, the summer that the
Stones finally got around to Atlanta.  He'd saved up for a
ticket to their July 30th concert.  He looked forward to it all
of June and July.  Instead, his best friend fell down a flight
of stairs the afternoon of the concert and smashed up his
leg.  John had driven him to the hospital without complaint. 
He was, after all, his best friend.

That night, he'd sat on a hard plastic chair and wavered
between concern for his friend and anger that he'd missed
the concert.  As usual, concern won, and besides, it was
only a concert.  Still, he'd told a buddy in the service that
missing that concert ranked up there with the biggest
disappointments in his life.  So, he was shocked and
delighted when they presented him with a record of the
concert in LA, the closest they could find.  "Atlanta doesn't
fucking exist." they said as they gave him the thin badly gift
wrapped item.  That was a time when it was much easier
to be happy.

He downed a beer as he walked back to the couch.

No stopping at one beer tonight, he thought as he sat back
down. 

No, sir.  This was a drink till you pass out on the couch and
wake up with a screaming headache night.  This was a late
night run to the 24-hour Safeway down the street to pick up
a few supplies and drown your sorrow in alcohol time.

Who could blame him?  Only woman he'd let himself care
about in years finally made her real loyalties known, other
allies didn't understand his pain or why the hell he should
want to protect her so much.  Worst
of all learning that all his striving, all his attempts at trying
to prove himself trustworthy and loyal were useless.  He'd
never be more than an occasional acquaintance to her.  Even
friendship might be beyond their reach.  

He'd wanted so much more.  He wanted to hold William
when he arrived home and Dana at night.  He'd wanted to
make her smile, even if only for a few minutes.

It was a sucker-punch to his stomach when he realized the
only way to make her happy was to bring back the man she
loved.

The man *she* loved. 

"Fuck it," he whispered, and started another beer, he hadn't
even looked at the brand as he ran into the supermarket and
grabbed it off the shelf.  

He was already on his fourth and starting to feel a little out
of it.  Hard liquor would have been the better choice, but,
he was all out of whiskey, tequila and vodka.  The liquor
stores were closed at the time he desperately needed to be
numb.

A bar would have been an option, but by the time they'd
resolved what they could, it had been past last-call.  

Well, at least he didn't have any new injuries from this little
adventure.  All the scars were emotional and the kind that
no one would understand anyway.  In this situation, he was
isolated.

He'd watched Dana look at the train with all the longing and
need he'd hoped she'd show him and realized that attempting
to get under her skin was more useless than a fool's errand.

Hell, that degenerate criminal was right.  Maybe she did
only pity him, maybe he was in the wrong fucking line of
work...but it was too late now.  Like the lowest member of
a Mafia cell he knew too much to get out.

He knew enough to get himself killed and not enough to
make any real difference.  Pieces he should put together he
found himself at a loss to understand.

Mulder could have put pieces together, that's what the guy
had said, the shadowy character from a bad spy novel.  

Mulder, who everyone still referred to as "Agent" including
himself because they just couldn't understand how he wasn't
one anymore. 'Cause that was the least of the things they
were pretending.

At least he no longer wanted to grab Dana by the shoulders
and shake sense into her.  He'd have to give a crap to wanna
do that.  No, she'd made her priorities pretty fucking clear. 
She was only there to do a job, to find out something, and
no one was going to get in her way.

The knowledge that she trusted a distorted voice on the
phone more than she trusted him was almost the last straw. 
Still, like an addict...he needed to see her.  He told himself
time and again to stay away from her, stay away from her
cause she used his concern against him and lied to him
about anything concerning her personal life.  Even when it
edged into the web that's grabbed hold of him and won't let
go.

But hell if she didn't look more gorgeous than ever.  Her
soft strawberry auburn hair hung longer than before, her
body was healthy, her clothing impeccable. 

She'd handed him the shirt wrapped in plastic and for a
moment, just a moment, he'd wanted to touch it.  It was the
closest he'd get to touching her.  Even if sometimes she
looked at him in a way that made him think that she
sometimes thought of him too.  That was probably wishful
thinking.

Time for another beer.

As he reached for the bottle, a car pulled into his driveway.  

Now he regretted drinking, this couldn't be good.  He
grabbed his gun from the drawer and peeked out the
curtains.  Oh for Christ's sake.  He put the
gun away and walked to the door.

A woman ran up the path, her leather coat zipped for once,
and her dark hair getting wet from the falling snow.  

He should have known.  Monica Reyes.  

"It's a bad time, Monica,"  he said as he opened the door. 
She looked up slightly, her lips curved into a smile.

"It's always a bad time with you," she said.  She entered
anyway and closed the door.

"You're too awake for four in the morning," he said as she
followed him to the couch.

"You haven't taken your jacket off yet.  Then again, I'm still
wearing my suit too, so, I guess, we're both unable to
sleep."

"Wouldn't you sleep better lying down in your bed?"

"Move over," she sat on the couch next to him, 
picking up a full beer and opening it.  

She flopped back against the couch, and took a long pull
from the bottle, then put it down and sighed dramatically.

"Didn't bring any liquor by any chance did ya?"

"Sorry. Used up all my tequila doing body shots with
Kersh."  

She looked at him, surprised that he didn't smile.

"Would it have been funnier if I said someone else?"

"It'd be funnier if tonight hadn't happened," he answered, 
looking away from her.

She took another sip and held the bottle close to her chest,
almost cradling it.

"I've been thinking, John."

"About what?"

"Maybe...maybe we shouldn't rely on Agent Scully so
much."

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

"She's obviously under a lot of stress and maybe us
asking for her help so often is only adding to it.  She
has a job, John.  We really have no right to ask her to
perform ours."

"The X-Files are more hers than they'll ever be ours.
We're not begging for help, she's offerin'.  You don't
know what you're talking about."

"Don't give me that crap, John.  If we keep running to her
every time a case gets a little difficult we'll never learn how
to deal with these things on our own.  She is not part of the
X-Files anymore.  Someday soon she might be gone and
then what?"

"Then we'll kick ourselves for not asking her questions
while she was around."

She had no answer for that, just sat nursing her beer, fingers
tapping against the bottle, tap, tap, tap.

"It's not quite what I expected."

"I'm not in the mood for this."

"For what?"

"For whatever you're trying to do.  Jesus, Monica, we've
known each other for years...and you just never learn."

"Never learn what?" Automatically on the defensive, he
hated hurting her, but he wanted her to leave so badly.

He didn't have an answer, it was one of those statements
that was made without much thought, a rare thing for him
but sometimes something broke down his natural mode of
behavior.

"At least we didn't get Mulder killed."

Wrong thing to say.  Really wrong thing to say.  It would
have solved so many problems. When he died the last time,
Dana had almost opened up.  She became a little less
serious, a little less closed off.  And he'd held out
hope that she'd open her arms to him instead of curling into
herself.  

He shrugged instead of talking.  Hating his inner thoughts.
Those beers were getting to him.

"John, do you agree?"

He shrugged again, she shook her head slightly.

"You know what losing him would do to Agent Scully...you
meant for us to fail."

"For God's sake, do I look like Kersh?" He responded a bit
too defensively.

"No, but you tried to sabotage Mulder's return."

"I only want to make her happy.  She wanted him back, fate
conspired against it.  It has nothing to do with me."

"I'm sure it doesn't."

"What the hell are you trying to say?  You're pussy footin'
around some issue or other and it's not Mulder."

"Fine, fine.  I'm trying to tell you that I miss...I want us to
be partners."

"We are."  

"I don't feel like we are.  A partnership is not three ways."

"It can be."

"Not in this case.  Agent Scully...Dana isn't as invested as
she once was, and you're letting your concern for her 
come before our partnership."

"Stop it," he said tiredly.

"I'm sorry, what I mean is...the minute she can she's going
run off with William and into Agent Mulder's arms and I'm
afraid of what that'll do to you."

"It'll do nothing, I don't care."

"Did you drink that six pack out of indifference?" She
motioned to the empty bottles lined up neatly on the coffee
table.

"So help me, Monica, you just don't know when to stop."

"Should I be like you?  Keeping everything inside, like
Agent Scully. Maybe it's the curse of the X-Files, one
partner has to be emotionally unstable while the other is as
stoic as ice?"

"You're not emotionally unstable."

"How would you know?" She gulped her beer quickly. 
"You've been so preoccupied...you probably wouldn't notice 
that I lay bleeding to death if Agent Scully needed someone
to change William's diaper." 

It was as if hidden and almost forgotten memories suddenly
lined up.  

The anger drained from his face, replaced by a horrified
look. 

She blinked quickly, and put down her half-empty beer
bottle. "That...wasn't fair.  It's been a stressful day, I know
you watch my back.  You're a good man, and someday
you'll make someone a great partner."

Alcohol loosened his tongue, he had no way of stopping the
words.  "I haven't meant to ignore you....I'm really grateful
that you accepted the position, I'd be lost right now if you
weren't here." He admitted softly, picking up another bottle.

She grabbed his hand, always very touchy herself.  "It's a
learning experience.  You had a year to get used to...all of
this...I've only had a few months.  I jumped into this head
first and John, now I'm just scared.  Why are they watching
us?"

He let go of her hand.  "'Cause they're sick bastards,
Monica.  Maybe this is all a waste of time.  Sometimes, I
wanna just lock the door, cover everything in plastic and
leave this mess for someone else."

"Agent Scully would never forgive you."

"I'm not a quitter.  Besides, there's always the chance there
won't be a next generation to take care of this mess."

She smiled in a forced way, "You always did have that hero
streak."

"Hey, there are worse people to copy than John Wayne." 
He said tiredly, the bottle drooping in his hand.

"At least they weren't little green men."

"Grey," he said quickly and then smiled slightly.  "I've read
too many of those damn case files."

"I need to catch up on my reading." She took the bottle out
of his hand.

"I didn't want to even like her..."

"Everyone loves her, why should you be any different." She
muttered softly, standing up as he stretched his legs the
length of the couch.

"I always got your back, Monica."

"My own personal guard dog," she smiled slightly.

"Wait.  I'll go upstairs.  You take the couch."  He stood up
and started moving towards the staircase, his steps slow and
deliberate.

He watched her disappear as he got closer to his bed. 
Downstairs, Mick Jagger's voice was replaced by silence.

Doggett slept with his suit on, and dreamt about some time
that he could barely remember. 

Morning blinded him as he grabbed his head and picked up
the phone that was ringing by his head.

"Hello?"  he said groggily.

"Agent Doggett? It's Agent Scully."

"Yes, Agent Scully?"  He wanted to slam the phone down,
but he couldn't. 

"I came looking for you and Agent Reyes this morning. 
While I was down here, Skinner called.  He wants to see
you two ASAP."

"About last night?"

"I'm sure it is.  John, I just wanted to say thank you.  If you
hadn't been there last night..."

"Just doing my job," he cut her off.  Unwilling to hear her
talk about how he saved her life or Mulder's or anything.

"I should have listened to you."

He could actually feel her instability over the phone lines.  "I
better hurry if Skinner's looking for me.  I'll call Monica." 
He hung up, without waiting for a reply.

He walked downstairs and saw Monica looking at his
record collection.

"That was Scully, Skinner wants to see us."

She straightened up quickly, looking slightly guilty.  "I was
putting the record back.  I forgot you had such good taste in
music."

"That's why I control the radio."

"If Skinner's looking for us, I should head back home."  She
sat on the couch and retied her sneakers, the strangeness of
her outfit suddenly hitting him.

"You're wearing jogging pants with a dress shirt."

"Drink water, it'll make your head feel better," she stood up
and walked to the door, putting her jacket on as she opened
it up.

"Did it stop snowing?" He called from the kitchen.

"Yeah, and the snow plows actually decided to make an
appearance.  It's cold out though."

"You forgot what weather was like up here."  He opened up
a bottle of water and leaned against the counter.

"Remind me to get snow tires."

She smiled as she stepped out the door.

"That's why I own a truck, it'll get through this with no
problem."  He took a swig from the bottle, his head starting
to feel a little less fuzzy.

"If the FBI doesn't work out, you can always be a
plowman."  She called back as she ran down the 
snow covered path.

He walked up to the door, but she was almost at her car and
he was at a disadvantage since it was early and he actually
lived in the neighborhood.

Oh, to hell with a good neighbor policy.  None of them
noticed someone creeping into his house at night anyway.

"Monica!"  He yelled and waited for her to turn around.

For a childish moment, he thought of pelting her with a
snowball, but she was the type to fight back and if they were
late for that meeting snow plower might become a viable
career choice.

"What?"

"See you at the office, partner!"

She smiled widely and opened her car door.

As she drove off, she gunned the engine and honked the
horn.

Doggett got a strange satisfaction out of the annoyance she
was causing his neighbors.  He owned the house, it wasn't
like they could throw him out.  Maybe next time they'd
notice someone breaking into his home.  The vindictive
thought wasn't like him, but sometimes it felt good to break
character a little.

He smiled and went inside to change for the meeting.

END

Author's Notes: After seeing Trust No 1, I wondered how Doggett
felt about Scully's actions and how she treated him -- this
was the result.