From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: 30 Dec 2002 05:11:53 -0000 Subject: Resurrection Day by Emma Brightman by Emma Brightman Source: direct Reply To: emmabrightman1013@yahoo.com Resurrection Day by Emma Brightman emmabrightman1013@yahoo.com Disclaimer: Not mine Classification: VA, DeadAlive post-ep, E-muse Secret Santa fic Spoilers: DeadAlive. It helps if you remember the episode fairly well. Rating: PG Thank you, Lilydale. Your beta was greatly appreciated, as always. :) For Elizabeth Rowandale, with many thanks for her own lovely swap story. Happy Holidays! - - - Luke saw meaning everywhere, in that wide-eyed way kids have. Cowboys and Indians fighting in the clouds, spaceships and angels floating in the stars. The clown faces he imagined in his bedroom ceiling's stuccoed plaster gave him nightmares for months. He was a sensitive kid, artistic and high-strung like his mother. Gone before his father's bullheaded pragmatism could weigh him down. Doggett sits with his head in his hands, shoulders hunched and bony elbows poking into his thighs. He stares at the floor between his feet and strains to picture what Luke would've in the worn linoleum, but all he sees are ugly brown specks on a dull tan background. If there's some meaning in what he's seen these past few days, he damn well doesn't know what it is. Until recently, seeing things as they really are has served him well; lately it only leaves him feeling impotent and useless. He presses his fingers hard into his closed eyes, but the specks are still there, spots of light dancing before him like a negative of the real thing. "Agent Doggett? You're still here? I thought you'd gone home." Scully's voice cuts through the bubble of silence surrounding him, the hush of death and near-death that seems to permeate this part of the hospital. He tilts his head up and she's looming above him, her brows drawn together in a look of consternation he's come to know too well. When he springs to his feet every muscle in his body throbs, every joint aches with the sudden motion. He can't help wincing in pain, but she doesn't seem to notice it, or his face, battered and bruised from his run-in with Krycek. Not that he can blame her; she has something else -- someone else -- on her mind. "Agent Scully. How's Mulder doing?" He stands before her feeling old and creaky, pins and needles racing up and down his thighs. If he's this uncomfortable after a couple of hours in a plastic chair, she must feel miserable. One hand rests on her round belly while the other rubs circles into the small of her back, but she smiles that tiny half-smile of hers and the lines in her forehead disappear, her face growing soft with a look he knows he's never seen on her before. "He's sleeping. He can't keep his eyes open for more than a few minutes at a time, but he seems okay. I think he's going to be okay." She sighs softly, and her eyes flutter shut for a second. "I just can't believe it's true. That he's really in there. That I can talk to him again..." Her voice fades as she turns toward Mulder's door, gazing at the blur of his sleeping body through the beveled window. When she turns back around long seconds later she seems almost surprised to see Doggett there, and her face changes again, becomes more businesslike and recognizable. "I'm sorry Agent Doggett, did you need to speak to me about something?" "I had a meeting with Deputy Director Kersh this morning. Looks like you're gonna be stuck with me down in the basement a while longer after all. Just stopped by after I left the office to tell you. See how Mulder was." She nods, distracted, and he feels foolish for waiting there to tell her news that could've held until morning. The truth is he was embarrassed, interrupting the two of them before, and thought he'd sit for a minute until he could talk to Scully, apologize for barging in on an intimate moment. But as the minutes passed into hours he forgot that altogether, lost in thoughts of life and death and a little boy who'd never miraculously rise from the grave. "Anyway, that's it. I better get going." Doggett grabs his jacket from the back of the chair and gingerly slips it on, one stiff arm at a time. "Are you going home? I'll give you a ride. You're probably too tired to drive." As soon as the words are out he's sure they were a mistake, that he'll somehow get her back up again with his protectiveness. He knows from personal experience how hard pregnancy can be on a woman, and if she thinks he's a sexist pig for his behavior, well, so be it. His comments seem to slip past her ball-busting radar this time, though, and he has to admit he's relieved, despite his bravado. He's not up to being told off right now, not after the shitty day he's had. Scully tucks a strand of tousled hair behind her ear, and Doggett imagines Mulder's fingers weakly stroking her head, tangling in her hair as her hot tears fall on his chest. "Thanks, but I just came out here to make a few phone calls. I'm going to spend the night." Doggett narrows his eyes at her and opens his mouth to protest. He never did know when to shut the hell up. Scully cocks her head and purses her mouth as if appraising him, searching out his motives. She seems satisfied with what she finds in his face and favors him with a tight-lipped smile. "One of the nurses said she'll bring me a cot. I'll get some sleep." As if on cue, she yawns, hiding her mouth with the back of her hand. "You need to eat, too, Agent Scully. I bet you've barely eaten all day, have you? And don't forget, you're eating for-" "For two, yes, so you've mentioned before. I'll be fine, don't worry about me. Go home." She chuckles. "Kersh will be waiting to kick your ass when that report on our Bigfoot-hunting success isn't on his desk at oh-eight-hundred, so you need your rest." God, she must be exhausted, punchy, something. Scully doesn't joke about the work. Doesn't joke around, period. Her iciness has thawed over the last six months, but he has yet to hear her laugh, or even see her show her teeth when smiling. And now she's standing here in front of him, her lips twitching with barely-suppressed mirth. He can't help smiling in return, even if her behavior's a little unsettling. "Report's done. After Kersh sent me back to the basement this morning I figured I might as well make myself useful. I _can_ do paperwork, if nothing else," he says. Their earlier conversation still rankles, mostly because he's afraid that what he told her is right. That he's not up to this job. Scully sobers, the smile fading from her face. He didn't mean to sound quite so bitter, really, and he smiles again, trying to recapture their earlier lightheartedness. Her hand leaves its spot on her stomach, hovering just above his arm but not quite touching him before falling to her side. Whether it's an overture of forgiveness or apology he's not sure, but either way, he'll take it. "I appreciate it," she says, her tongue darting out to wet her lips in a nervous gesture he's come to recognize. "It's one less thing for me to worry about right now. Thank you, John." His name is barely more than a whisper, and she seems to have noticed the same spots on the floor that he'd found so fascinating, toeing them with her clunky black shoe before looking at him again. "Go home, Agent Doggett," Scully says gently. "Get some rest." Doggett simply nods, then turns and walks away, his footsteps echoing in the silent hall. In the parking lot, he leans against his truck, looks up at the clear, starry sky, and sighs. Some things are beyond understanding, he thinks. Sometimes understanding is beside the point. Inside, a man who'd been dead for months is alive and gaining strength. Inside, a mourning woman can finally smile again, and an unborn child will have a father. Outside, the air is cool, refreshing. Doggett gazes up into the darkness, his breath catching when he sees angels and spaceships floating in the stars. end