From: Josephina Chang Date: Mon, 25 Jun 2001 00:16:22 -0400 Subject: 7-9-01 (1/1) by Eisoj5 Source: direct 7-9-2001 (1/1) by Eisoj5 Rating: PG-13 Category: VA Spoilers: Season 8 Keywords: Doggett/Scully/Mulder friendship Disclaimer. Damned if I don't wish they were mine, but they're not. Otherwise I would not need to disclaim them. Summary: July 9, 2001. DoggettAngst. July 9, 2001. Luke would be eleven today. I hate waking up on this day every year. The alarm goes off, and even though I have to be at work in a couple hours, I lie in bed, listening to the silent house around me. It shouldn't be quiet like this. There should be the sound of footsteps coming down the hall to see if I'm up yet, water running in the bathroom, a little-kid voice singing "Happy Birthday" to himself in the mirror. As I come down the stairs and go through the living room, I remember Luke liked sitting on the floor between the sofa and the coffee table. He'd be eating his cereal at the coffee table, watching Saturday morning cartoons (or whatever cartoons he could find on weekday morning t.v.) "Aren't you gonna be late for school, Luke?" I'd ask. He used to give me this wide-eyed 'uh-oh' stare, then giggle into his milk and Cheerios. I know as he grew up-if he had ever had a chance to grow up-into a teenager, that giggle would disappear and be replaced with a roll of the eyes, mildly indignant that I could be so dense. Scully's in the office when I get there. Not often that she beats me in to work, but it happens. "Hey, Scully," I say, setting down her cup of coffee on the desk. I'm on my second cup of the day myself. "How're you doin'?" She glances up from the file she's reading. "I'm fine, just a little tired." She frowns slightly. "Are you all right? You look . . ." "I'm okay," I lie swiftly. "Just not lookin' forward to these expense reports we gotta file." "At least you don't have to report that Mulder's lost another gun or cell phone," she tells with a smile. I check my email. There's a message from Monica, who was gone for the weekend on family business and apparently hasn't returned yet. It's just one line: Are you okay? The four intervening birthdays between Luke's death and now, she's sent me the same email. I'd get the messages at work, sitting upstairs in the old office with my head in my hands, trying not to lose it in front of everybody. I never told her the profound effect those emails had on me. It was, at times, almost comforting that somebody else remembered him, remembered that it was his birthday besides me. Work would take my mind off of my son for a while, going about the business of tracking down wanted criminals, reading and filing case reports. Now, however, it's a surprisingly slow Monday. Mondays are usually pretty busy, what with the cases reported on the weekend finally making it in to our office. I don't answer Monica's email. She'll call later, she always does. Scully's looking at me strangely. "Is everything all right, Doggett?" I stare at the computer screen. It's blurry. Then I realize the screen's not blurring, my vision is. "I'm sorry, I have to go," I mumble, standing hastily and getting the hell outta there. She calls after me. "John?" I'm in the elevator then, and as the doors close I see her frowning worriedly in the hall. I don't know how in hell I made it home in one piece, but I find myself mechanically tossing my keys and gun on the table beside the door. It's still too damn quiet in here. There should be lots of kids running around with cake and ice cream, brightly colored wrapping paper tripping me up as I go. There's a knock on the door to shatter the silence of my thoughts. Mulder's standing there with a concerned expression on his face. "What are you doing here, Mulder?" I say, rubbing at my face tiredly. "Scully called me. She said she didn't think you should be alone right now. She's coming over as soon as she can get out of work." "Where's William?" I ask as he walks in the door. It's funny, but I'm almost afraid to see their child. I don't know what kind of reaction he would trigger in me. "With Scully's mom." He takes a long look at me. "Scully didn't know what's wrong, but I do." I raise my eyebrows at him. "It's his birthday, isn't it?" Damn his eidetic memory. "Yeah." I turn away from him. "He'd be eleven today." "Four years," Mulder mutters softly. "Luke would have been going into middle school in the fall." He sits on the couch, says nothing, just looks at me. I run a hand through my hair, sit on the edge of the sofa at the opposite end. "For his seventh birthday he made me rent Star Wars," I say, remembering. "There were a bunch of kids over to watch it. He was obsessed with those movies." Mulder smiles, makes a lightsaber noise. "Vvwing . . ." "Yeah. A couple days after that he wore long-sleeved shirts even though we didn't have AC in here and it was hot as hell, just so he could pull his hand into his sleeve and make it look like his hand was gone." I look down at my own hands. Comprehension dawns on Mulder's face. "That makes you . . ." "It was real easy to make him go to bed after that too," I say, nodding. "All I had to say was-" I cup my hands around my mouth, breathe noisily and do my best James Earl Jones: "Luke, I am your father." Mulder chuckles. "That worked?" "Every time." Silence falls again. "Birthdays are the hardest," I mutter slowly. "Every birthday marks another year he should've been alive. Middle school, high school, college . . . God knows what his life could've been like." I put my head in my hands. "You're not supposed to outlive your kids," I tell him. "You're not supposed to be putting flowers on their graves on their birthday, you're supposed to be making sure candle wax doesn't get in their cake." I don't even recognize my own anguished voice speaking, and when I look up, Mulder's face has gone blurry. "Another year gone by that he could've been here. So much he never gets to do or learn or know . . . a life he never got a chance to have." "But he did have a life," Mulder says gently. "He had seven years on this earth with a father who loved him." The tears start for real then, and I'm struggling to get words out past the choking sob that threatens to escape. "It's . . . not enough!" "I know. No matter how long they're with you, it's never long enough. But you got to know Luke for seven years, John. Seven years that you'll never regret, even though it ended too soon." I bury my face in my hands again, speak through my interlaced fingers. "Be grateful for the time we had together? I tell myself that, Mulder. It's . . . just not enough, not on his birthday, not ever." "I know," he says again. "But it has to help, somehow." A short while later, Mulder touches me gently on the shoulder as he leaves. "Call me or Scully after, okay? You know you don't have to be alone today." I nod. "Thank you." He smiles slightly, and then I'm alone in the empty house again. I swipe at the wetness on my face, sigh. Time to go. I walk across the grass towards where my son is buried. I stand over the small headstone that reads "Luke John Doggett," holding a stuffed teddy bear in my arms as I talk. "Hey buddy, it's me. I'm really sorry I missed your birthday last year. I was on a case and I wasn't in town. But I thought about you a lot, and I missed you. I still miss you." I take a deep breath. "This last year has been kinda crazy, Luke. I got assigned to this unit at work called the X-Files. It's all about aliens and the supernatural and stuff like that. And I was on this case with Monica, you remember Monica? She came here with me one year. She was seeing things on the case that reminded her of you, anyway, and . . . it scared me, Luke. It really scared me that there might've been somethin' else I could've done to save you. And God, I'm so sorry . . . I didn't know . . . I could've saved you and I wouldn't be standin' here right now if maybe I had just . . ." I trail off. There doesn't seem to be anything else to say. "I love you, Luke. Happy birthday, buddy." I swallow tears, bend down and put the bear next to his headstone. As I walk back to the car I glance over my shoulder. The bear looks very small in the grass. Birthdays are funny things. They are reminders of mortality, as each year marches us inexorably towards the end of our existence, yet birthdays are also a time to celebrate the life that has come before. I don't know if I can ever really think of Luke's birthday as a day to celebrate the seven years he lived. I know I will never stop regretting that there is a life he will never get to lead. He would be eleven today. end Author's Note: Okay, I've got some continuity issues with the show. We know from the file Mulder reads in Empedocles that Luke disappeared at the age of seven and his birthday is given as 7/9/90. Hence, he disappeared in (August of) 1997. Doggett's supposedly been with the FBI since 1995, right? But Reyes tells us that Luke was abducted and murdered before Doggett joined the FBI . . . yes, I am a freak to have paused my tape of Empedocles to examine this closely. This vignette was a sort of sequel to another story of mine called Gift Bags and Other Unmanly Sentiments which can either be found here(wherever you are) or at www.geocities.com/jcfos2001. (Constructive) Feedback is appreciated at jscz@umich.edu. Doggett-bashing or other related flames will be promptly fed to my dragon. Thanks for reading! -Eisoj5 What's a nice person like you doing in a world like this?