Title: "Red"Author: Gina (Feretopia@aol.com)
Date: April 9, 2001
Feedback: Gimme feedback PLEEEEEEEEEEASE!
Rating: PG-13, maybe R, for language
Category: Erm... V, Doggett POV, Scully POV, implied D/S UST I guess...
Spoilers: None, really. Maybe "This Is Not Happening."
Summary: Doggett loses his temper and Scully is incensed.
Disclaimer: Doggett, Scully, Mulder, and Mulder Jr. do not belong to me. I repeat, they do not belong to me. Sob. Mrs. Angie Doggett is MINE, though. :)
Author's Note: I was bored and this came to me. I would LOVE to see Doggett actually do that... lol...
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We had brought in a suspect for questioning. The case dealt with ritualistic crime, and for someone accused of such horrific crimes, the suspect's obvious disdain and smugness were infuriating. That, coupled with the jaunty way he sprawled in his chair, and the way he kept answering my questions, was enough to make me wish we had a reason to shoot him.
Every time I asked him something, a question pertaining to his whereabouts or his alibi or something like that, he'd lean back in his chair and drawl, "Don' know whatcher talkin' 'bout, Red." I *hate* it when I get called "Red". It's demeaning, reducing me to my looks. Men, jerks like this guy, use it when they want something from me, something I have no intention of giving.
But this guy just wouldn't quit. Every single time he spoke, he'd find some way to add "Red" in there. And he was coming on to me like crazy, too.
However, I wasn't letting it bother me too much. After all, he was a complete lowlife anyway, and I knew he was doing it only to rattle me, to provoke a response. I wasn't biting.
Every once in a while I'd look over at Agent Doggett, who was hanging back, leaning against the wall. His face was, oftentimes, dark with anger. It seemed strange, but I paid it no mind.
At last we decided to take the man back to his cell. I wasn't making any progress, and the local P.D. wanted to question somebody else. I stood up, went to the door, opened it, as Doggett took the suspect by the arm and hauled him to his feet.
They walked past me. As they did, I saw the suspect's head turn downwards, and I realized that the bastard was looking down my shirt. He looked up at me and smiled, revealing crooked, yellowed teeth. "Not bad, not bad, Red. Say, who's the lucky guy who fucked *you*?"
I was about to give him a freezing glare when Doggett . . . Doggett seemed to snap.
Doggett grabbed the man by his shoulders and whirled him around, slamming him up against the wall. His face was inches from that of the suspect's. He was angry as I'd never seen him before. "You listen to me, you fuckin' son-of-a-bitch, and you listen good! When you talk to her you call her *Agent Scully*! And you show some *respect*. Is that clear?" His blue eyes searched the suspect's, and when the other man didn't say anything, Doggett pulled back on the man's shoulders, shoved him back against the wall. "*Is that clear?*" he demanded.
I suddenly found my voice. "Agent Doggett!"
He froze. Slowly he looked at me, then released the suspect. He gave the man a push towards where the police were waiting. Doggett turned to me, his shoulders slumping, the sudden rage retreating. The anger on his face was replaced with nervousness, regret.
"Come on, Agent Doggett. We'll discuss this outside." I bit my lip, stared at him hard. What the *hell* had he been thinking?
*****
We'd hauled in a suspect for questioning. The case was some weird thing, ritualistic murders or some crap like that. The asshole sat there with a smirk on his face the whole time, hardly even noticing that he was wearing cuffs.
Scully was doing the questioning this time. She sat across from him, her hands on the table, her voice low as she interrogated him. Every time Scully asked him something, he'd smile with his crooked teeth and say, "Don' know whatcher talkin' 'bout, Red." Once in a while he'd wink at her or lick his lips or do something equally offensive. Once he leaned in close to her and whispered, "Whaddaya say, you an' me, Red, we find us a nice place to shack up for the night? Huh? Whaddaya say? Red?"
Those blue eyes'd ice up, but other than that, Scully didn't let him know he was pissing her off. She's like that -- never lets on her true feelings if she can help it. Which makes me want to know those true feelings even more.
But I was getting mad. That son of a bitch, who the *fuck* did he think he was? One part of me said to calm down, that he was just trying to get a rise out of one of us. But I couldn't stand him. Angie had had that same fiery hair, and I knew the kind of shit she took for it. The jeers, the catcalls. Guys thinking they could own her, like she was some flashy broad who'd spread her legs at a word. To this day when a guy says "Red" to a woman I wanna knock him flat on his ass.
We weren't getting anything out of him, and the local P.D. wanted the guy back in his cell. "Come on," I said sourly to him, leaving my spot at the wall and taking the guy by the arm. Scully stood up and walked to the door, opening it for us.
As we passed by, I saw the guy's head turn downwards and my blood boiled. That bastard was looking down her shirt -- and over her belly, too, which was starting to swell just a little. He looked up and smiled at her, and said lazily, "Not bad, not bad, Red. Say, who's the lucky guy who fucked *you*?"
I snapped.
I grabbed him by the shoulders and swung him around three hundred and sixty degrees, slamming him up against the wall as hard as I could. I stared into his eyes and shouted, "You listen to me, you fuckin' son-of-a-bitch, and you listen good! When you talk to her you call her *Agent Scully*! And you show some respect. Is that clear?" He didn't say anything and I pulled forward on his shoulders, shoved him back against the wall a second time, forced out through clenched teeth, "*Is that clear?*"
"Agent Doggett!" Scully hissed. My fingers loosened on the guy's shirt and I shoved him towards the door, towards the waiting cops. I glared at him as he swaggered towards the police like nothing had happened.
I turned slowly back to Scully, not knowing what to say. Shit. I didn't mean to do that.
Her eyes were wide, and she looked pissed. She took a deep breath, then said, "Come on, Agent Doggett. We'll discuss this outside."
Shit, shit, shit.
*****
A few moments later we'd left the police station and were going down the stairs to where our rental car was parked. I fidgeted with the keys nervously, not knowing what she was gonna say.
"What the hell was that back there?"
I can't look at her or she'll rip me apart. Well, she'll rip me apart either way. But if I don't look at her she won't know how successful she is in her reproach. "I'm sorry, Agent Scully. I -- I don't know. I lost control. I --"
"--assumed that I was in *dire* need of your help and that I was incapable of taking care of myself. That's it, isn't it?" Her whisper was deathly quiet. "I'm a woman, a *pregnant* woman at that, and I can't handle the big, bad suspect. I need a *man's* help, don't I? Well, let me tell you something, Agent Doggett. I don't need to be saved." It was practically a hiss.
"I know, Agent Scully." I swallowed. We'd reached the car. I pulled the keys from my pocket, unlocked the driver's side, went around to the passenger side. Figured I'd let her drive -- maybe that'd appease some of her wrath. I heard Mulder never let her drive.
"I know that. I do. You're . . . you're one of the toughest people I've ever met, Agent Scully, male *or* female. No joke. But listen to me, you need me --" She glowered at me. "-- and I need you. We're partners. And when someone's jumping on my partner like that, I can't help but get upset. Now, I know I overreacted. I know I shouldn't've done what I did. But surely you'll agree with me that he had no right to say any of *that*." I ducked into the passenger side.
Scully got in and took the keys I held out to her. She placed them in the ignition and I looked away, out the window, sighing. "Look at me." I did so, almost fearfully. I'd gone too far this time, shown her something inside me that scared her. . . . And scared me, too. I wasn't supposed to be so defensive . . . I wasn't supposed to care *this* much.
She knew it. She knew exactly what that scene back there meant. And *that* was why she was trembling with anger, why I was wincing at the tone of her voice now, when moments before I would've gotten into a shouting match with her over this. She had me.
Her blue eyes blazed. "I don't need your misguided chivalry." She glared at me. "And I don't need your pity."
For a moment I was terrified -- yes, terrified -- that she would continue speaking and say, "And I don't need -- or want -- your love."
But she didn't say that. Suddenly there were tears in her eyes. She looked down, one hand on her stomach, and she took a deep breath. Her hand reached out and took mine without warning, and she gave my hand a quick squeeze before withdrawing. "I'm sorry. I -- I know you mean well."
"Yeah," I whispered, so quietly that I couldn't tell if she heard me. "I do."
Then she was starting the car, looking the other way, her resolve strengthened again. And I was left staring out the window.
There was nothing else to say.
~FIN
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