Title: "What Could I Say to Her?"

Author: Gina (Feretopia@aol.com)

Date: March 25, 2002

Feedback: Give me feedback or else I'll have to go to that great spaceship in the sky...

Rating: PG-13 for a bit o' language

Category: A, Doggett POV, UST/DSR(?), post-ep, character death

Spoilers: "This Is Not Happening", maybe a slight one for "Invocation"

Summary: Doggett's take on Scully's breakdown.

Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, Doggett, Skinner, Monica Reyes, Doggett's son, and any other XF characters I may have mentioned belong solely to CC and company. Don't worry, I'm not making any money, I just like to put all of them in MY universe every once in a while.

Author's Note: I admit it, I am madly, madly in love with Doggett. But then again, this is SHODDS, and that's nothing new at all. ;) This was written pre-"Empedocles," and I don't feel much like changing it.

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I knew she didn't want to be followed. Knew I didn't want to be followed either, that day when I gathered Luke's limp body into my arms, when I buried my face in his cold, small shoulder, when I broke and started sobbing at the tortured look on the face of my very little boy.

But my legs started moving and I ran along the path Scully had taken, almost stopping when I thought I saw a bright light in the heavens. Then it was gone, and I looked down at the ground and ran.

I raced into the building, breathing hard. "Agent Scully?" There she was, kneeling in the doorway of a small room, face lifted up to the sky. Just as I skidded to a stop she screamed, "NOOOOO!"

I looked down at the floor, torn between giving her privacy or going to her and hugging her. My eyes were watering. What the hell could I say to her? Mulder was dead. I failed her. *What could I say to her?*

"Oh God, oh God," Scully cried. Really *cried*, with sobs that shook her entire body, that looked like they were going to literally tear her apart.

I felt like turning and running back into the darkness, back to the little circle of the others who couldn't meet Scully's eyes either. I shouldn't be the one here trying to comfort her, I thought. I knew what she thought of me; I knew she barely tolerated me. I didn't want to think of what she might do if I tried to comfort her.

But I whispered anyway, "Agent Scully."

I couldn't help it. Couldn't help letting this tortured, beautiful, *strong* woman suffer right in front of me. I braced myself.

She scrambled to her feet when she heard me and turned to face me, her eyes wild, tears streaming down her cheeks, her chest heaving. She drew herself up to her full height, such as it was. She wobbled just a little.

"Agent Doggett," she gasped, trying desperately to compose herself. She wiped at her face, trembling. "Get out."

I hesitated. God, this was so hard. "I can't do that . . . Dana."

She grimaced, jerking her head, trying to hide her face from me. She took a weak step backward, stumbled, caught herself. She straightened up, her lips moving soundlessly. At last she managed, "Please, Agent Doggett. Leave me alone."

She sounded weak, and vulnerable, and utterly destroyed.

I studied her, a terrible guilt spreading through me. We'd found him, all right. But he was dead and cold, and she was so damned tiny. . . . I wondered, if I touched her, if she would break. I placed a hand on her shoulder as gently as I could. "Oh, Dana."

She suddenly fell forward against my chest, a limp, quaking body. I held her up and she wrapped her arms around me like I was her last link to the real world.

I hugged her back, tightly, and she buried her face in my shoulder and wept. I tried again to speak as I rubbed her back, wishing that I could take away the pain that was burning her now, the pain I felt when I saw Luke lying there. "I'm so sorry . . . I'm so sorry. . . ." I whispered, knowing the words were clumsy and wrong but knowing that nothing else would come out of my mouth.

"Oh God," she wailed into the shoulder of my trenchcoat. Her skin was warm through the fabric, and I shivered suddenly, wanting her here in my arms, but not like this. Not with her tears soaking my coat. Not with her little hands clutching so desperately at my back. "Oh God," she whispered again.

"I know," I mumbled, less to her than to myself. The words got lost in the mane of smooth, sweet-smelling red hair that rested on my shoulder. I swallowed, holding her. I wanted so much to bring Mulder back to her alive, if only it could restore the happiness I'd never seen but knew she was capable of. But I knew it was beyond me to help her that way.

I felt a man's hand on my shoulder, the one that Scully wasn't sobbing quietly into. I turned red eyes towards the hand to see Skinner. His eyes were red-rimmed, too. He looked down at the ground and swallowed, his arms hanging limply at his sides in defeat as he watched his agent breaking down.

"This is not happening," she breathed, her hands at last stopping their frantic clawing motions. She let them fall and huddled closer into my embrace, shaking with exhaustion.

"Dana," Skinner said softly, his voice tight.

She raised her head, slightly. The grief had disfigured her so badly that I could hardly recognize her as that strong-willed woman who could kick my ass. "I want to see him again." The words sounded foreign, like she had trouble remembering what they meant. "Let me see him. . . ."

"Oh, Dana. Of course," he told her kindly. Carefully, like he was handling a priceless porcelain doll, he transferred her from my arms to his. He led her away, whispering words of comfort, and I was left alone in the small room. Alone with myself.

*****

I was sitting on the still-made bed a few minutes later, my head in my hands, when I heard a soft, female voice. "John."

I looked up. It was Monica Reyes. I tried to give her a greeting like a normal person would, but it was impossible. I hung my head again.

"Oh, John -- I know you tried. . . ." She sat down beside me and put her hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it away, turned my head. I wasn't the one who needed the comforting. I don't deny I could've used it, but I knew that Scully was feeling a helluva lot worse than I was, and I didn't want any sympathy. Besides, I also knew that if I showed what I was feeling, that I'd break. Like Scully.

"Please, Monica. Jus' . . . leave me alone for a few minutes."

I could tell she was about to speak again but instead, she got up and walked out. I stared after her for a minute. When I was sure she had gone, I put my head back in my hands, and I did break, then. I cried. Because it felt like my little boy had died all over again.

And the one woman I could never wish pain on was wounded so badly, so deeply, that I didn't know if she could ever recover.

Tears don't come easily to me; they never have. But they came then.

*****

Now, climbing into the silent ambulance with Scully and Skinner, looking at Fox Mulder's gray face and hearing Scully sob, all I know is that I want to run from it all. Run the way I wanted to when a different circle parted to let *me* in, and I saw my son, small and limp and cold, lying there like something broken, something useless. I didn't run then, though. I couldn't leave him lying there. Instead I cradled him in my arms and kissed his cheek, gasping, sobbing. . . .

I want to run from the horror that I couldn't save her from.

I want to run from the horror that I wasn't saved from.

But mostly, I want to run from the screams of Dana Scully, the screams of pain and loss and grief, because I've screamed those same screams. Because I know they'll haunt me, and her, forever.

Because I know there is no way that I can take those screams from her, no matter how *badly* I want to try, to try and help this tragic lovely woman who suddenly means so much to me.

*****

Scully's still crying, I realize. She pushes Skinner's arm away and strokes Mulder's face, her little fingers stopping at the sickening wounds on his cheeks. The paramedic hangs back, knowing there's nothing she can do.

Scully looks up at me with dead eyes. "He's gone, isn't he?" She whispers it, already knowing the answer. Her face is white, starkly contrasting with Mulder's nauseating gray hues. Tears leave clear tracks on her cheeks, and I want to wipe them away, but I know my touch won't be welcome there. Not yet.

I bite my lip and meet her gaze. "Yeah." I take her quivering hand in mine and look into her face. Her skin is cold to the touch, and I rub the back of her hand with my thumb, trying to warm it, trying to bring it back to life.

I watch those agonized eyes, and, for the first time since I've began working with her, I lie to her. "It's gonna be all right."

~FIN

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