Title: Finding Another Way

Author: spookycc

Rating: PG 13

Summary: I'm sure there are many stories to be told of the implications of
the super soldiers, the contaminated water, and the new crises within the
FBI. This ain't one of 'em. ;-p  It's a FitB for "NIHTII", first person
Scully POV

Classification: V A DSF/DSR. Very DF ;-)

Spoilers: NIHTI, NIHTII, general US Season 8

Disclaimer: No characters, human or canine, are mine. And I haven't seen a
paycheck for my writings yet, 1013. ;-D

Archive: I'll take care of Ephemeral and Gossamer. Anywhere else is fine -
drop me a line to let me know where you're puttin' it. SHODDS and OBSDS
sites: if you want it, it's yours.

Feedback welcomed at spookycc@earthlink.net

Dedication: As ever, to Doggett's Bitch (f/k/a "Fox's Vixen" :), my beta and
so much more. My expert on bruised and broken ribs. :-) My soulmate, always.

For girlassassin, faithful friend and rising star.

Thanks to my sisters at SHODDS and those who have formed the basis for my
new group, OBSDS. A great bunch of slobbering Doggett fans. :)

Special thanks to Robert Patrick, the man who brings our beloved John
Doggett to life.

**

Shipyard
Baltimore, MD

I can't believe I'm running away from what may be the only clue to the truth
about my son. With only John's word that there is a bomb on board this ship.
But I haven't doubted John Doggett, not for a long time, and I won't start
again now.

The first explosion is deafening, the concussion only pushing us faster
toward our car. A few more steps and we'll be there. Secondary explosions
rip through the hull of the old ship, as we reach the relative safety of the
car. We crouch beside it, using what little shelter it offers as a shield
from the hot metal falling around us.

My nostrils are assaulted by the smell of explosives, of fire, as we huddle
behind the car. Then relative quiet descends on us, and the only noises are
the crackling, burning sounds of anything on the ship that wasn't metal,
anything that can burn. Probably including any proof I may have had that my
son's life was tampered with, even as it miraculously began.

I feel John's arm around me, his body draped protectively over my own. I
pull myself from within his grasp, looking beyond him, straining to see if
there might be some way to get back on that ship. I have to find out if my
name is on that test subject list. How else can I explain William's strange
behavior?

As the crackle of flames dies down, I hear a sound - a quiet sound, like a
sigh. I turn back towards John, and his glazed eyes lock with mine, pulling
me from my own thoughts. He starts to fall, and I slip my hands around him,
as he goes limp within my grasp.

Monica is beside us in a second, and together we lower him gently to the
concrete. I glance up at her and she nods. She disappears with her cell,
around the back of the car, to afford us some privacy, while she calls 911.

John had said he was "fine" when we found him looking over the pier, where
only ripples of water told the story of what had happened there. Of course,
I'd believed him - I was so intent on getting to the lab on board that I
hadn't questioned him for a moment. Now I see that the "I'm fine" line isn't
mine to misuse, exclusively.

He is just barely conscious. I sit beside him on the cold cement, and run a
hand gingerly over his face, stroking a few strands of wet hair from his
forehead. He winces when my hand crosses his cheek. I pull out my
flashlight, and see his face - really see his face - for the first time
since we boarded the ship.

My God. How could I not have seen the extent of his injuries before now? His
taut, sculpted features are marred by scrapes, and welts that will most
certainly bruise. Dried blood traces telltale paths beneath his nostrils.
Who the hell did this to him? The man he called Knowle? The same man who
went over the edge of the pier?

I shake my head. The conspiracy is more confusing to me now that it ever
was - more personal, more urgent. And this man is getting caught in the
middle of it, because of his concern for me.

My selfless side, if I truly have one, would urge John to walk away from the
X-Files, for his own sake. In fact, I told him he should have taken the
transfer that Kersh offered him. But I know the truth - not Mulder's truth,
Doggett's truth. If I were in any way involved, he would not willingly step
away. And, to be honest, I'm not sure I would able to ask him that, at this
point. I need his help to find out what's wrong with William.

The wind-fanned flames hiss above us, as a breeze comes up off the water,
and John starts to shiver. A combination of shock and the nighttime air, my
clinical side tells me. I pull my coat off, and lay it gently over him. He
seems suddenly vulnerable, now, lying here beside me.

He's having some trouble breathing - his breath hitches every few moments,
and he tries to cough, his face contorting with pain. I run my hand under
his sweatshirt, and I feel a tender spot on the right side of his chest. I
don't know how he got Knowle Rohrer over the side of that pier, but he
certainly took a beating first. I feel tears stinging in my eyes. Monica
reappears with a flashlight and a blanket from the trunk of the car. We tuck
it in around John, and his shivering eases a bit.

"I called A.D. Skinner, too. He's on his way."

I nod, barely hearing her words.

Damn my own personal crusade to find the truth about my pregnancy, my son.
It blinds me to everything, just as Mulder's quest for the truth always did
to him. Tears slip from my eyes, and for once, I don't try to hide them. I
feel a hand on my arm, and look into Monica's face. She smiles a reassuring
smile, and her eyes speak words she doesn't need to say. She knows, then,
how I feel about John.

The ambulance arrives, followed closely by A.D. Skinner. He joins us beside
our windowless rental car, and watches in silence as the EMT's prep John for
transport. Skinner spent a lot of time fruitlessly looking for Doggett,
after he lost him at the water reclamation plant. I know he thought John got
out ok. And I guess he did, though not without Shannon's help. I still don't
understand her real role in all this, either.

Too many questions. Too many doubts. Too many subversives with too many
agendas. And here we are, in the middle of it all. Even with Mulder gone, it
revolves around us. Around me.

I watch them load John in the back of the EMS unit. John Doggett has only
one agenda, and he's never tried to hide that fact from anyone. Why did it
take so long for me to see it?

Skinner takes my arm, and I follow him and Monica to his car, my mind numb.
We follow the ambulance to the hospital. After a stop in ER, Doggett is
released, with a bagful of prescription pain meds I'll probably have to
force him to take. Skinner and Monica help me settle John into Skinner's
rental, for the drive back to D.C. As Monica and Skinner talk quietly up
front, I watch over John, beside me in the back seat. Carefully strapped in,
his head lolls gently against the headrest, as he loses his battle against
sleep.

I sit quietly, watching the shallow breaths my partner takes. He has finally
allowed his body to yield to the injuries he must have been covering with
strength borne of adrenaline and determination. Back on the dock, while I
still scanned the burning vessel for some means to find the lab again, his
eyes had remained open only long enough to assure himself that I was ok,
before he'd passed out in my arms.


**

Falls Church, Virginia
Early the next morning

I awaken with a start, not knowing immediately why. Then I hear a yell, and
I kick off my blanket and rush from Doggett's guest bedroom to his own. John
thrashes wildly, tangled in the sheet and blankets. Harsh coughs are trapped
in his throat, but it doesn't slow him down.

I grab one of his arms, trying foolishly to hold him down - he simply throws
me to the floor and continues fighting his nightmare. I find my footing,
flip on a light, and grab his head, holding it tightly within my hands.
"Agent Doggett!" No response. "John!"

His struggling stops at once, and his head falls limply into my hands - they
are the only things holding him up. I lay a hand behind his neck, and ease
him back down onto the pillow. His eyes open a bit. He stifles a few more
raspy coughs, and his forehead wrinkles with pain as he puts a hand on his
side. He has bruised ribs, and was lucky to get away without any of them
broken.

I sit beside Doggett, wiping the sweat-spiked hair from his forehead. He
still bears other wounds as well, from the one-sided fight he had with his
old friend Knowle Rohrer, when he stalled Rohrer long enough for Monica and
me to get away. His left cheek is swollen, the last vestige of an attack
that almost cracked his jaw, and could have cost John his life if another
"old friend" - Shannon McMahon - hadn't interfered. Before she and Rohrer
were lost in the waters off the pier.

I think back again to our narrow escape on those same docks. And I remember
John kneeling protectively over me, while the ship and its lab exploded. He
would not have been anywhere else, I know. Quite literally, watching my
back, as he has always done.

He's fighting the pain meds - his eyes strain to focus. Finally, they come
to rest on me, and he lets a breath out, slowly.

"You were dreaming about drowning again." It's not a question, but he nods
weakly, anyway. We remain silent for a short time, as his ragged breathing
evens out. He looks pensive, preoccupied.

"Dana, I'm sorry," he states simply.

"Sorry for what?" I look at him, puzzled.

"That you didn't find the truth on that ship." He shakes his head. "Not
enough time."

That is so much the John Doggett I know. "It's ok." I try to reassure him.

I run fingers softly through his hair, and watch as his face relaxes. I hear
his soft words before sleep claims him once more. "We'll find another way."

I smile, and sigh in wonder, as I watch John drift off to sleep. This man
has been to hell and back, all for me. I'm only now learning he has demons
of his own. I hope I can help him face them, as he has helped me.

My life has possibly never been as confusing, as full of questions, as it is
now. But I have the rock-solid knowledge that John will be right here. And I
have no doubt that we will find the answers. He told me we would. And he's
never let me down yet.


**

Shameless plugs:

The rest of my DF fanfic can be found at:

http://www.geocities.com/spookycc/

The Order of Blessed Saint Doggett the Selfless (OBSDS) website:

http://www.geocities.com/spookycc/OBSDS.html

And the OBSDS egroup page:

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/OBSDS