Title: Dead Reckoning 1/?
Author: Trajan Dunn
Summary:  So where do they go from here? Doggett's
less-than-gracious introduction to the X-Files demands further
investigation.
Keywords: Scully. Skinner. Doggett. Sam Domanico. Mulder (in
absentia.)
Spoilers: The obvious. (Want to know more about Sam Domanico?
Read the "New York Stories" series at www.trajanswarehouse.net.)
Warning: Rated R; rude language other likely offenses. Adults
only, please.
Disclaimer: All X-Files characters are owned by their respective
production houses, including 10-13, Chris Carter, Fox, etc.  I'm
just borrowing them for a while; no money is changing hands.
Archive: Anywhere you like, but keep author's name, rating, and
disclaimer attached.
Comments to: trajan@optonline.net




"Detective Domanico here, Twenty-third.  Talk fast."  The scruffy
perp cuffed to the chair beside Sam Domanico's desk spat a wet
gob onto the floor beside his feet.

"Easy," his partner said, hauling the crack dealer up before
Domanico could slam the telephone receiver into his jaw.

"Thank, Maggie," he called after her, covering the mouthpiece
with his palm.  She was a gift, she was.  It had taken three
years of whining and cajoling, but he'd finally gotten her to
ride with him.  And it was working out.  Very well.

"Sorry," he said, remembering the caller.  "What can I do for
you?"

"It's me, Sam. John Doggett."

Domanico broke into a broad grin and fell into his swivel chair
in the old precinct house.  "John, long time!  Heard you were
down in DC."

"FBI, actually."

"You don't say.  Had a partner for a while on loan from the
Bureau.  Maybe you know him."  Until he knew what Doggett wanted,
he was happy to play the Good Time Charlie Doggett probably
remembered.

Doggett didn't really want to take an earful of Domanico's
banter, not just now.  He didn't have time.  "Sam, I need you to
tell me about Walter Skinner."

The phone went silent in Doggett's hand as Domanico digested the
request.  He hated putting Domanico on the spot but he needed
information and he needed it fast.

"Can you help me?" He repeated his request, trying to keep the
urgency out of his voice.

"What's it about?"

"Can't tell you that, Sam.  Not yet."

"Then I can't help you," Domanico said gently.  "When you're
ready to tell me what's going on, you know where to find me.  Oh,
and say hello to Miriam."

Doggett dropped his head into his hand.  It still hurt to dredge
up her image.  "She died, Sam.  Two years ago.  Traffic
accident."

"I'm sorry, John."

Then Doggett heard distant shouts, the familiar bustle of a New
York City station house that he'd missed on more than one
occasion.  And never more so than during these past few weeks.

"Yeah, I'll be in touch. Goodbye, Sam."

***


Doggett had hesitated to call Domanico after so many years.
They'd trained together, gotten drunk together; hell, they'd even
whored together.  They'd gone their separate ways, to be sure,
but he'd counted on the brotherhood of blue that at one time had
transcended petty differences.  Wrong call.

He knew from the records Kersh had made available that Skinner
had taken an extensive leave from the Bureau to work with the
NYPD, and that Sam Domanico, his old buddy from vice, had been
his partner for the duration.  He also knew Skinner's record.
The man had an honorable discharge and a top-drawer education; he
hadn't come up through the cesspools.  He wondered now what made
the Assistant Director put a promising career on hold to go there
now.  Especially there.

The events of the past few weeks were eating into his gut and he
didn't like it.  He was used to straightforward cases and
straightforward answers.  This X-Files crap was turning into a
goddamn fuck-up the likes of which he'd never seen.  He wasn't a
particularly trusting man by nature, but one thing he'd learned
on the force was that you trusted your fellow officers.  They
were your lifelines and you were theirs--without that trust there
was nothing.

He'd come into this assignment with a measure of trust, for Kersh
at least, and an open mind.  Find Agent Fox Mulder.  Sounded
simple enough; missing persons didn't usually stay missing
forever.  Within two weeks he'd seen things that made no sense,
heard explanations that made even less, and had grown suspicious
of not only Mulder's partner but also their former boss.

It was hot.  He stuffed his tie into his jacket pocket and tossed
the coat onto the bed.  He opened a beer and took a long swallow,
then stretched out in the single chair in his hotel room.  Agent
Scully was easy to figure.  He'd seen it before, partners falling
in love.  She had it written all over her beautiful face in
ten-foot high letters.  He could respect that.

But he didn't understand AD Skinner's risking his career over
this.  By all accounts Mulder was a flake.  He'd done some
brilliant work, no doubt about that, but he'd been a thorn in
Skinner's side since Day 1.  He wondered if it were Mulder and
the X-Files that had cost him the Deputy Director spot.  He hated
politics.

But Kersh was a smart man, a dedicated man.  He was also a
flaming asshole, as far as Doggett could tell.  Or a man with an
agenda, if Skinner was right and he was being set up.  Oh, it was
tempting to believe Skinner's flattery, that the brass though he
might make Director, but that didn't jibe with being handed this
assignment.

The rust-colored vinyl upholstery was sticky and he stood and
peeled off his damp shirt.  He splashed some cold water on his
face at the sink, then pulled another beer out of the paper bag
he'd left atop the pressboard dresser.  It was so damned hot.  He
held the cold bottle against his brow for a minute, and then
finished off the longneck in thirsty gulps.

He reached for another bottle and settled back into the chair.
Even inside the hotel room Arizona was an oven.  He hated the
heat.  It had driven him from Georgia to the Marines to the NYPD
and then to the FBI...and back to the damned heat.  Always on the
hot seat, that's me, he mused.  He scratched his chest and looked
at his watch.  Time to go to the hospital and ask some questions
before Skinner and the boy were shipped back to Washington.  The
sooner he found Space Cadet Mulder the sooner he could move on.

***


"Good morning, Agent Scully," he said as he entered the basement
offices that were the X-Files.  He'd grown to detest this office,
hidden in the very bowels of the Bureau.  His career path was up,
not down.

"Agent Doggett," she replied smartly, barely looking up from the
files piled high on what was once Mulder's desk.

Doggett noticed that there was only one desk, and he pointedly
set his coffee down on it before examining the esoterica that
would form the basis of his new job.

Scully did her best stay focused on her work, but the silent man
violating Mulder's--her--turf was simply too much to bear.  She
took off her glasses and set them down in front of her, ready to
have at him.  But he was already in front of her with an easy
smile on his face.

"May I?" he said, reaching for the phone.

She pushed back from the desk and gestured to the phone, then
crossed to retrieve a file from.

"Yes, this is Agent Doggett...Yes, that's right.  I'd like you to
send a desk up to...no, make that down to the basement.  X-Files
offices.  Right, that's the room.  The paperwork should already
be there.  Yeah?  Thanks."

Scully risked a sidelong glance and saw Doggett rubbing his hands
together, satisfied at his ingenuity.  She slammed the file
drawer shut and returned to her place behind the desk.

"You're certainly moving fast, Doggett," she said with
undisguised disdain.  He shrugged and shoved a hand into his
pocket, and she heard keys jingle.

"John," he said easily.  "My name is John."

Scully raised an eyebrow at him and returned to the file, then
jerked up sharply moments later as a hand crashed down flat on
the desk in front of her.

"What's your problem, lady?" he said tightly.  "I didn't ask to
be assigned here but now that..."

Scully didn't give him time to explain.  "My problem?"  She stood
again.  "You're my problem, Agent Doggett.  Why are you here?  To
spy on me?  To see to it that Mulder's never recovered?"  Her
face was flushing and she began swallowing reflexively, forcing
down the bile that threatened to rise.

Doggett saw her discomfort, and said nothing when she ran from
the room.  Christ!  Damn women getting carried away for no
reason.  He leaned against the corner of the lone desk and sipped
his coffee, waiting.  When Scully re-entered, a bit paler but no
less self-assured, she made a beeline for her chair.  He
stretched his arm out to the file cabinet and stopped her.

"As I was saying, I didn't ask to be assigned here, but I assure
you I take it as seriously as I do any other job."

"Who sent you?"

"Kersh."

"Why?"  She was trying hard to catch him in a lie, to confirm her
suspicions.

"Damned if I know."

"What was in your report to Kersh?  About Arizona, and the boy,
and Mulder?"

Doggett withdrew his arm.  "Why ask me?  You could have found it
right here, if you cared to look."  He pulled an envelope labeled
"D. Scully" from under a pile of files in the in-box and held it
out to her.

She took it gingerly, embarrassed at having missed the boat so
thoroughly.  "Sorry, Doggett.  I'm a little jumpy lately."

"And I can understand why.  But I gotta tell you, I don't like
mysteries.  They smell bad.  And this Mulder thing stinks to high
heaven."

Scully paled once more as his imagery recalled memories of greasy
pork sandwiches and cigar smoke.

"Scully?  You okay?" He paused long enough to really look at her,
and he didn't like what he saw.  "You sick?"

"Yes," she murmured, rushing for the door once more.

As soon as she left he circled around and opened the desk drawer,
keeping on eye on the door.  Pens, pencils, the usual.  Except
for a side drawer full of Crackers, goddammit.  A whole drawer of
saltines.   He hadn't seen so many saltines since...

Scully pushed open the door at the exact moment he closed the
drawer.  She avoided his eyes as she passed him on the way to her
chair.  "Sorry," was all she said.

He looked at her with fresh understanding.  She loved Mulder; he
already knew that.  But the sickness, the paleness, the drawer
full of saltines...

"When were you going to tell me that you're pregnant?" he said
softly, running his hand through his hair.  If he hadn't been
sure before, her stunned look was all the confirmation he
needed.  "How am I gonna make this work?  Huh?  How can I do my
job when I'm not sure you're going to be able to do yours?
Christ," he said, shaking his head.  "Now I know I'm on someone's
shit list.  I gotta get out of here."

Scully didn't have time to vent her rage at him before he walked
out the door.

***


Doggett tried Domanico one more time.  He left a message that he
was coming and told him where he'd be at 8 PM, and let it go at
that.  Too much was happening, too fast, and he needed a clear
perspective.  If Domanico didn't make the meeting he swore he'd
go after him with a warrant.


***


"Is he in?" Scully asked Skinner's secretary.

"Let me check."

Preoccupied, Scully chewed at a cuticle as the secretary murmured
her inquiries.

"Go on in, Agent Scully," the secretary smiled.

Scully nodded and pushed in, careful to close the door behind
her.  She'd interrupted Skinner, and he took his glasses off and
lightly rubbed his nearly healed eyes.

"Scully," he said finally.

"How are you?" she inquired, sorry to have forgotten how
dangerously close Skinner had come to meeting his maker.

"Been better," he said, replacing the wire rims and looking up
into her worried face.  "What's the matter?"

"He knows."

"What?"

"Doggett knows I'm pregnant."

"He didn't learn it from this office," Skinner assured her
brusquely.

"I didn't come here to accuse you," she said, suddenly tired.
"He guessed, I suppose.  I was sick this morning."

"That's a pretty farfetched guess."

"Maybe.  But he was furious.  Took off like a shot."

"Where to?"

"He didn't say a word."  She bit her lip.  "Sir, I don't know how
long I have before it will become public knowledge. And it scares
me.  I have so much to do, to find Mulder, to keep up with the
case load..."

Skinner regarded her with mixed emotions.  He wanted to be the
one she turned to for help, but not this way.  He wanted her to
need him, but not like this.  "Don't worry, Scully," he said,
once more all business.  "I'll take care of Doggett."

Scully smiled, and reached across the cherry wood desk to squeeze
his hand.  "Thank you," she said, and left.

He wanted to howl at the injustice of it all.  And he damned
Mulder, for his selfishness, for his pigheadedness, but most of
all for having what he couldn't: Scully's heart.

***


John Doggett sat in Houlihan's bar on Sixth Avenue, across from
the kosher pizzeria that Domanico's former partner used to love.
Lantz, that was that his name.  Must be retired by now.

He called over the elderly waiter to bring another pint and
fished in his wallet for a twenty to lay on the table.  A shadow
passed and he looked up to see a dark Italian sliding into the
booth opposite him.

"Doggett!  Damn, you're a sight for sore eyes!"

Doggett brightened with real pleasure and gripped Domanico's
outstretched hand, even as he thought about Skinner's burned
eyes.

"Sam, it's been too long.  I'm sorry."  For a moment the two men
just sat there, drinking in each other's nearly forgotten
features.  Domanico hadn't changed, not in Doggett's eyes.  The
lines in his face were deeper, but he still had that thick black
hair and compact physique.  He called over the waiter.

"Same," Domanico said, and the man retired with their order.  "So
what brings you up to New York, Fido?"

Doggett leaned back and rolled his eyes as Domanico laughed.
"That gonna haunt me until the day I die?" he asked.

"If I have anything to say about it," Domanico said, hoisting his
beer.  "Here's to us," he said, "and the ones who didn't make
it."

They clinked glasses and drank deeply.  It was Doggett who broke
the silence.

"Sam, I'm in a fix."

"No shit," Domanico said.  "How come every time one of you feds
comes up here I end up either pissed or shot or a getting a
medal?"

"Luck of the draw, amigo," Doggett said.

"Why do you want to know about Skinner?"

It was time to fess up.  "Guy named Mulder's missing.  I've been
assigned to head the team to find him.  His partner--my new
partner, actually--is ready to blow, and Skinner knows more about
the whole mess than he's willing to tell."

"So why don't you ask him?"

"He thinks I'm a patsy for someone else.  That I'm being set up
to fail."

"Why?"

"Beats me."  Doggett downed the last of the lager and toyed with
the glass.  "But I need to talk to someone I can trust, and your
name came up in the files concerning Skinner's leave of absence."

"John, if it were anyone but you," he sighed and rolled his
shoulders, then leaned back against the pine bench.

Doggett saw the detective's badge on his belt, and the dull,
blued steel butt of his service revolver against his ribs.  There
was no bullshit in the department.  You were who you were, badge
and gun in full display.  Screw with the bull and you got the
horns, end of story, and for a moment he longer for those days.

"So?" he asked.  "Did I fly up here for nothing?"

"Ah, jeez, I don't know where to begin.  It was the wildest ride
of my life, I'll tell you that.  And with the possible exception
of Mike Lantz, Skinner was the finest partner I ever hope to
have."

"Lemme have it.  All of it," Doggett said, calling for another
beer for them both.

"One condition.  It stays right here."

"Sure, Sam," Doggett agreed quickly.

Domanico reached over and grasped his wrist.  "I mean it, John.
Right here.  It goes any farther and you'll have me to deal with
on top of whatever shit is coming down."

"I meant it, Sam.  Now give it to me."

Sam launched into the story.  How Skinner came to join the force,
their unlikely partnership, the busts, the Pharmacom scam, Tom
Wister's freakish circuitry, everything.  And Scully, and how
they'd come to like and trust each other.  And Mulder.  Somehow,
always Mulder.

It was near 2 AM when Domanico finished.  "You got a room?" he
asked Doggett, who shook his head.  "Come on out to Brooklyn,
you'll crash with me tonight.  You can catch the 6 AM shuttle out
from LaGuardia."

"Thanks, Sam.  I owe you."  Doggett settled the bill and they
took Sam's car out to Long Island.  Sam Domanico's rock solid
certainties made him feel better than he had in weeks.  All he
had to do now was figure out how to deal with Scully and
Skinner.  He had five hours, maybe six, in which to do so.


------------------

To be continued.

Title: Dead Reckoning 2/?
Author: Trajan Dunn


He had just enough time to stop at his apartment or a quick
shower before tearing back down to the street to get to the
Hoover before 9AM.

"Take it easy, Mr. Doggett," the super's aging wife yelled after
him.  "You wanna kill youself?"

"Not today, Olga," he shouted through the open car window.  "You
watch those stairs, now."  He liked the idea that someone,
somewhere, was thinking of his safety.

He didn't wait for the old woman to cross herself, as she
invariably did in the Eastern style, right to left.  He drove
off, mind already on the problem at hand.  Problems, rather; they
seemed to be cropping up faster than he could solve them.

***

He ignored the stairs down to the basement and took the elevator
straight up to Assistant Director Skinner's office.

"Can I see him?" he asked Skinner's secretary.

She peered at the calendar on her desk.  "Not until 11," she
said, half expecting him to make a scene and barge, Mulder-like,
straight into the Assistant Director's budget meeting.

Instead, Doggett took a seat and folded his coat next to him.
"I'll wait, thank you," he said quietly, and the young woman
returned to her computer.  "Ah," he caught her attention, "if you
could just let him know I'm here, though, I'd be much obliged."
He gave her the good ol' boy smile and she reluctantly picked up
the phone.

Doggett was glad for the time to think.  Domanico's bizarre story
was almost too fantastic to credit.  He knew Sam, and he never
lied about the job.  But he'd painted a picture of Skinner that
was hard to accept, based on what little he'd seen.

The man Domanico described was part Ulysses and part Hercules,
who labored against terrible odds with stolid determination and a
singular disregard for his own safety.  Doggett wanted to meet
that man.  The Skinner he'd seen was damn near pussy-whipped by
Kersh, unsure, and most certainly not in control.  If Mulder's
disappearance was the cause, he wanted confirmation. He didn't
want to end up the same way.

The minutes ticked by and Doggett lost track of them, and he was
surprised when the door finally swung open and the suits filed
out.

"You still here?" Skinner said, glancing at him as he dropped a
folder of instructions on his assistant's desk.  "Come on in."

Doggett remembered his coat and followed the big man in.  That
Skinner had some measure of power was evident from the size and
appointments of the room itself.  The AD leaned against the edge
of the desk and motioned Doggett to sit.  He almost said "No,
take the other chair" as Doggett fell into Mulder's usual spot.
He made a show of polishing the lenses of his eyeglasses to cover
his near-gaffe.

"What brings you to spend the morning outside my door, Mr.
Doggett?" he said evenly, pocketing his handkerchief and
replacing his glasses over his sore eyes.

"Questions," Doggett answered, "and a deep desire not to end up
like Mulder."  Or you, he added silently.

"I don't know what I can tell you.  You've read the reports."

"If you'll pardon my French, to hell with the reports."  Doggett
stood up too, now, aware that he was on shaky ground.  "I'm not
blind. Even I can see something's going on here.  Scully's
dancing around it.  And so are you."

"I'd be careful with your accusations," Skinner said quietly.

"I spent yesterday night with Sam Domanico."  Doggett sat on the
far sofa to watch the effects of his bold statement.

Skinner's eyes narrowed.  That was a time out of mind, away from
the Bureau that had all but bound and strangled him.

"Who gave you the authorization to investigate me?" he began
dangerously.

"Sam's a friend. And old one, from my days on the force.  Just
two guys and a few beers.  You know what it's like."

Skinner didn't believe him for a moment.  "And did you get what
you wanted?" he asked pointedly.

"Yes. I found out that there's only one person Sam admires more
than Mike Lantz."

Christ, Skinner thought.  He knows Lantz, too?

"You." Doggett let the shoe drop without pity.  "So what I want
to know is, what turned you from the King of New York to a man
afraid of his damn shadow?"

Skinner could contain himself no longer.  He crossed to Dogget
and hauled him up by the lapels. "I don't owe you any answers,
Doggett," he snarled. "Not now, not ever."

"What the hell is going on?" Doggett wasn't about to back down,
not now.

Skinner thrust the man in his hands away from him, disgusted with
himself for losing control.  "You ever see anything so fantastic
it shook your world, your very beliefs, to the core?"

"You mean, like a miracle?" It was plain to him that Skinner was
speaking under extreme duress.

"That's right.  Like a miracle."

Doggett thought long and hard.  "Yeah," he said slowly. "I think
I have."

"Then you know how it can change you.  Look, Doggett, I know who
you are.  I WAS you.  I worked straight and played straight.  I
built a career and I had a shot at the DD spot."

"What happened?"  Doggett asked softly.  "What did you see?"

"You want to hear me say it?  All right, then.  A spaceship."
Skinner paced furiously.  "I saw a goddamned spaceship, and it
took Mulder away."

Doggett stood speechless, knowing that the AD was tormented by
his admission.  It was the antithesis of everything Sam had told
him.

"What did you see in Arizona, Mr. Doggett?  Were you paying
attention?"  Skinner made no attempt to soften the sarcasm, and
Doggett figured maybe he deserved it.

"I'm not sure what I saw," he said. "But I'm willing to keep an
open mind..."

Skinner's bitter laugh interrupted him.  "Yeah, I was you.
Wouldn't trust my own eyes, or Mulder's or Scully's, until it was
too late."  He looked closely at Doggett.  "What did Domanico
tell you about Scully?"

"Not much, just that she saved his life on the street and he'd do
anything for her." Doggett didn't mention the rest; there was no
point in dredging up the past.

"I can't be part of it, Doggett.  Not in the day-to-day, down and
dirty way you'll have to be involved.  Scully, too, but she's
used to it, and strongly motivated.  But I'll help you in any way
I can."

Doggett held out his hand and Skinner grasped it, and he
understood the depth of Skinner's trust.  He swore then and there
not to betray it.

"Thank you, Sir," he said simply, and turned to go.

"Trust your own eyes, Doggett," Skinner called after him.  "And
trust Scully.  She's a good agent."

Doggett nodded and closed the door behind him, and Skinner sat
behind his desk and stared into space.  No, he wouldn't do it.
Wouldn't get lost in the memories of Scully, of their time in New
York.  Sometimes he thought that was the only time in his life
he'd ever been truly alive.  What a waste.

***


Doggett pushed open the door to the basement to find the desk
he'd ordered jammed face to face with Scully's.  Fine, he
thought, he was used to New York subways. A little crowding never
hurt anyone.

He hung up his coat on the old-fashioned wooden tree by the door
and settled in with the stack of files teetering on Scully's
chair.  His plan was to read every damn one.  He wanted to find
out what made these people tick, and it seemed the most
straightforward way.  The records never lie, even if they did.
He was relieved that she was not present.

The files were sensational, every one.  Abductions.  Spontaneous
combustion.  Men with toxic green fluid for blood...he frowned
and put that one aside.  Shape shifters.  Alien artifacts.  And
death.  Always death.  Like a moth to the flame, these cases drew
Mulder until he himself fell victim.  Now Scully was picking up
his lead, ready to follow him into oblivion.

"Doggett."

He snapped his head up at the sound of her voice as a ream of
computer printout thudded heavily atop the files already
cluttering her desk.  "I was down in records, sorting information
on Gibson Praise.  I want to interview his parents again, in New
Mexico.  I..."

"You're not going," he said with sudden conviction.

"Excuse me?" Who the hell did he think he was?

"You heard me.  I'm not letting you near poisonous monsters,
cliffs, or hundred-degree heat, or..."

The volcanic rage she'd put on hold the previous day threatened
to break free.  "Get this straight, mister," she said through
gritted teeth, "there's not a thing wrong with me.  I'll continue
to do my job as I see fit."

"Over my dead body."

"If that's what it takes, Doggett." She leaned down to get in his
face as she read him the riot act.  "Pregnancy is not a disease.
It's not a disability.  I don't need your pity, and I don't need
your coddling."

"You're right.  It's not a disease." He looked into her dark blue
eyes and through her to the blank wall of his own dead future.
"It's a miracle beyond compare."

Scully was confused.

"Skinner asked me a little while ago if I'd ever witnessed a
miracle," he continued.  "A life changing even.  I told him I
had."  Oh Miriam, you left too soon with our unborn son!  "And I
can't let you risk that miracle."

She was sobered, but unrepentant.  "I have work to do."

"We each have expertise the other lacks." She glared at him, and
he rephrased.  "You excel at research and analysis.  I'm a good
field man.  There's no reason we can't divide and conquer to get
the work done more efficiently.  From each according to his
abilities," he said.

"And to each according to his needs?" she finished.  "Don't treat
me like a cripple."

"Never," he said solemnly. "And don't you treat me like a callous
fool.  Or an idiot.  I don't make the same mistakes twice."

She got a glimpse into John Doggett at that moment.  He wasn't
out to destroy her, or the investigation into Mulder's
disappearance.  He was intent on preserving her and her child.
She wasn't sure why, but she was content to go along with it, for
the moment.

"A truce, then," she said.  He held his hand out in agreement and
his warm, dry grip was unexpectedly reassuring. He pulled away
abruptly and sat back down behind his new desk and opened the
file he'd put aside.

"Now tell me about these bounty hunters," he said.  "I need to
know how to recognize them."


--------------------

To be continued.