TITLE:  Impossibilium
AUTHOR:  coolbyrne
CLASSIFICATION:  D/S, Doggett-angst, character death.. kind of
RATING:  PG, some obscenities used
SUMMARY:  Doggett discovers how events in "Tithonus" have 
changed Scully's life.
SPOILERS:  The aforementioned "Tithonus," as well as "Within," 
"Patience," "Road Runners," and "Alone"
DISTRIBUTION:  Hey, if you think it's that good, then by all 
means take it. But please take it in its entirety.
DISCLAIMER:  Are these things really necessary??
FEEDBACK:  [email protected]
Be gentle; my asbestos suit is in the cleaners.

Author's note: A short one- thanks to The Tragically Hip for the 
title. The song has nothing to do with the story, but I loved 
the title. And a thanks to my beta-readers (Yes, I succumbed to 
the power of a beta-reader!)- Janika and Meridy for making the 
story better, and Roz, for making my grammar better, eh?


	


He knew something was wrong even before his partner left 
the car. He couldn't put it into words; just that intangible 
"something", the electric energy that makes the hair on the back 
of your neck stand up in silent warning. Agent John Doggett 
liked to credit it to almost 15 years as a cop, though he 
suspected his partner might attribute it to something else. (Of 
course, he would have deflected her journey into left field with 
something along the lines of, "Can I exchange this 'gift' for x-
ray vision instead?")

The aforementioned partner, Agent Dana Scully, reached for 
the door handle. His voice stopped her.

"Scully," he said, his baritone a quiet rumble in the 
confines of the small car. She turned to the sound and looked 
into his flinty blue eyes. A raised eyebrow invited him to 
continue, but now he didn't know what to say. He suddenly felt 
foolish.

"You want that drink after all?" she queried, wondering 
what was going on behind those eyes.

He held her gaze, and found it had a soothing effect on 
him. Softly, he replied, "Yeah. I could use a Coke." Doggett 
slid his hips forward to grab some money out of his pocket.

Scully laughed. "I think I got this one covered." She opened the 
door and swung her legs out. Feet touching the ground, she stood 
up, turned around and tilted her head back into the car. Taking 
in his troubled face she asked, "You ok? You need some Tums, 
too?"

He grinned at this and said, "No, I'm ok. But thanks." She nodded 
and made a move to pull away when he added, "Be careful, Scully, 
ok?"

Her brows furrowed and she tried to give him a reassuring 
smile.  "I'm just going across the street, John. I'll be right 
back, I promise."

He swallowed and nodded his reply.

					*****

He was fiddling with the radio dial when he heard the first 
shot. The unmistakable noise of a 12-gauge shotgun. He was out 
of the car and across the street when he heard, "Federal -", the 
second identical shot, and the replying sound of a Smith and 
Wesson, standard FBI issue.

Shitshitshitshitshitshit.

He drew his gun and crouched against the short brick wall 
that joined the large window halfway up. His heart was a 
jackhammer in his chest and the adrenaline coursed through his 
bloodstream. Instead of tamping it down, Doggett let it travel 
its course, heightening his senses and putting every nerve on 
alert.

Ok, Dawg, here we go, he thought to himself. In a flash, he 
jerked his head up to look in the window, and just as quickly, 
returned to his position.

Now, what did you see?

He looked at the sidewalk as his memory pieced the picture 
back together. Counter on the left-hand side. No clerk. One 
assumed perp, on the floor, back against the chocolate bar shelf 
under the front of the counter, gun by his side. The 12-gauge.  
Coke cooler making up the wall on the right-hand side. Three, 
maybe four, low aisles running perpendicular to the counter. No 
sign of Scully. No sign of anyone else for that matter, perp or 
otherwise.

OK. Taking a deep breath, he yelled towards the entrance, 
"Federal agent!! I'm armed!!" 

He crouched his way into the store, the door propped open 
with a couple of milk crates to let the air in. That's probably 
why the perp didn't know Scully came in; no entrance bell. He 
stayed in this crouched position as he checked each aisle while 
still trying to keep an eye on the perp on the floor. It didn't 
look good for the gunman, but Doggett knew it was better to err 
on the side of over-cautiousness. All was quiet as he cleared 
each aisle, one by one. It was the last aisle where he found 
Scully, gazing up at the ceiling as a stain of red spread across 
her chest.

With every ounce of strength, he fought the impulse to run 
to her. He turned to the perp and kicked the gun away.  
Checking the pulse wasn't necessary, but Doggett did it anyway.  
Nothing. He slid around the corner of the counter, gun extended 
in a firm two-handed grip, ready for anything. What he found 
was the clerk, his face a mess from receiving a blast from the 
shotgun at short range. Again, pressing fingers to neck was 
just a cursory gesture, but he did it. Nothing.

In a second he realized how it must've played out. Scully 
had entered the store, unaware of the perp who probably didn't 
have the gun drawn yet. She made her way to the cooler, unknown 
to the perp, because the entrance bell didn't go off to alert 
him. He drew the gun on the clerk who must've spooked the 
gunman by reaching for the alarm or something. The perp shot.  
Scully turned, saw what happened, drew her gun and announced 
herself as a federal agent, but he had already spun around in 
surprise and fired. Somehow, she returned fire. Clerk.  
Scully. Perp.

But none of that mattered right now. Judging the place to 
be clear, Doggett raced towards Scully. He took out his cell 
phone and punched in the 911 number. After the fourth ring, an 
operator came on.

"911. What is your emergency?"

"My name's John Doggett. I'm an FBI agent," he proceeded 
to rattle off his badge number for verification. "I'm at the 
scene of a hold up on the corner of Corcoran St. and 13th St. 
NW. Two are dead, one's seriously wounded. She's FBI, too. I 
need an ambulance right away."

"The corner of Corcoran St. and 13th St. NW," the operator 
repeated. "Ok, sir, we'll get someone out there as soon as we 
can."

"How soon is that?" Doggett asked.

"Could be up to 45 minutes, sir," came the reply.

"Forty five minutes?  I've got an agent down who might not 
make it in 45 minutes! You gotta hospital 10 minutes from 
here!"

"Welcome to America's highest crime rate, sir." With that, 
the phone went dead.

Shitshitshitshitshitshit.

He put the offending phone on the floor and ran a hand 
through his spiky hair.

Ok. What's the next step, John? Stop the blood. Keep her 
warm to prevent shock.

He looked around the store and found what he needed.  
Grabbing an armful, he returned to Scully, and proceeded to rip 
open the packages of paper towel. He unraveled sheets and 
sheets of it and pressed it upon Scully's chest.

"Hey, it's me," he spoke to her, for the first time. "If I 
had known it was gonna be so much trouble to get a Coke.." He 
looked down and smiled at her.

Her mouth moved but she gave no reply.She moved her gaze 
from the ceiling to his face. His smile slipped.

"Don't try to talk," he told her. Her blood seeped through 
the paper towel. He rolled off another two arms' length of the 
stuff and pressed it to her. "The ambulance is on its way.  
You're gonna be fine." He took off his jacket and covered her 
with it. "I wonder if I should sit you up. What do you think?"

She gave a small shake of her head.

"Ok," he said.

He felt her reach for his hand and thought she meant to 
show him that he should continue pressing the wound in her 
chest, but instead she simply held it to her heart, the blood 
warm under his palm. The horrible sucking sound that had become 
her breathing now came in jerky uneven beats.

Doggett's own breathing increased exponentially. He looked 
down at her, his eyes blue and pleading. "Tell me what I should 
do. What should I do??"

She simply gave another small shake of her head. He saw her 
eyes flutter as she watched her life play out in fast-forward on 
the inside of her eyelids.

Then it was quiet.

Doggett's brows furrowed as his mind tried to determine 
what had just happened.

"No," his voice full of disbelief. "No. No!"

His free hand flew to her neck, checking for a reassuring 
throbbing. Checking for anything. His bloody fingers leaving a 
print. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

"No!" he repeated, as if saying it enough times would convince 
himself every thing was all right. Her small hand was lifeless 
in his own large, warm hand. Nothing was all right.

He peeled back his jacket and scoured his mind for his CPR 
knowledge.

Two fingers below the breastbone.

Heel of one hand placed here.

Heel of other hand on top.

Short thrusts, 14 times.

Tilt head.

Pinch nose.

Seal her mouth with your own.

Two breaths.

Ear to mouth, eyes to chest, check for breathing.

Repeat.

He didn't know how long he had continued this, repeating 
over and over. His arms ached from the controlled thrusts, his 
lungs burned from the attempts of his traitorous body to make 
him hyperventilate from the despair. He could feel her red 
fluid seep its way into his interlocked fingers as he pushed 
them against her breastbone. He was stained up to his wrists.  

Repeat.

Repeat.

He remembered the first time he saw her.

Repeat.

The splash of cold water on his face that almost made the corner 
of his mouth curl up, if he hadn't thought it would have 
garnered him yet another Scully lashing.

Repeat.

The first time they had been on a stake-out together. How her 
scent filled the car and lingered in the memory banks of his 
senses.

Repeat.

How she felt in his arms as he carried her off that bus. The 
second time in their brief partnership that he had held her in 
his arms.  Soft and vulnerable, yet still the strongest woman he 
had ever met.

Repeat.

How he felt when she walked out of their office, exiting on a 
maternity leave.

Repeat.

How he wondered if he'd ever see her again.

Repeat.

How he'd never get to tell her the punchline of that stupid joke 
he started in the car tonight.

Repeat.

How he wondered now if he ever would see her again.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.


Resting back on his heels, he could make out her soft composed 
face through the hot tears that were finally beginning to form.  
Large fingerprints marked her chin and nose where his hands had 
been.

Well, God, you're a real fuckin' funny guy, you know that? 
Doggett thought bitterly, as he ran his hands over his sweaty 
face and through his hair, oblivious to the ghastly trail of her 
blood his fingers were leaving wherever they went. Not knowing.  
Not caring.  

In the end, it wasn't aliens or bat-men or sewer monsters or 
cannibals or werewolves or whatever other weird shit was in 
the X-Files that ended up killing her. It was some punk in a 
convenience store hold-up. Something so every day. Mundane.  
Normal. Yeah, real fuckin' funny.

He looked down at her. "You're meant for so much more than 
this, Dana. You can't leave us now, darlin'." He smiled at 
her. "And I didn't mean anythin' by that 'darlin'' bit, so don't 
kick my ass over it."

There was no reply, and Doggett knew he would give up 
everything he had to have her kick his ass once more. He 
clenched his fists to his head and gave himself a stern order, 
"Get a grip, soldier!" His bottom lip trembled and triggered 
the tears that had been dammed behind his eyes. "Fuckin' pull 
yourself together. She needs you to pull.. yourself... 
together." But he was breaking, and breaking hard. Through the 
prismatic distortion of his tears, his world was crumbling 
around him and landing in meaningless puddles on the floor. He 
took her hands in his and clutched them to his chest as he 
leaned over and rested his forehead against hers. The hot tears 
cleaned streaks along his cheeks before dropping onto her own.

What if he hadn't asked her to get him that Coke? What if 
he hadn't talked to her so much in the car? What if he had 
talked to her more? What if HE'D gone into the store instead of 
her? What if..? What if..?

"You said you'd be right back. You promised." His sobs 
were muffled into her shoulder. With a mixture of grief and 
anger he repeated, "You PROMISED." Letting it all go now, his 
shoulders racked uncontrollably. There was no sound except for 
the hitch in his voice every time he tried to catch his breath.  
The treacherous sound of someone alive. Him.

And then it happened.

With his mouth at her neck, his ear was alongside her 
mouth. Close enough to hear her gasp. Jerking his head back 
with a start, he brought his eyes up to hers and watched them 
flutter open.

Despite everything he had been through in his life, the 
things he saw, experienced as a Marine, a cop, an agent, a man, 
he had never gone through this. Human instinct overriding 
discipline, he scrambled back wildly, his hands and legs 
propelling him as far away, and as quickly, as possible until 
his sweaty back met the cool door of the milk fridge. His eyes 
darted wildly about, like a cornered animal.

They finally fell on Scully.

"John..." she whispered.

Gathering together as many scraps of sanity as he could, 
Doggett crawled over to her. He looked down at her, not 
believing his own eyes. She was looking at him, breathing, 
reaching for his hand. What the fuck is goin' on here? he 
wondered to himself.

Her eyes traveled across his face and between attempts to 
breathe she asked, "Are you ok? You're bleeding."

He didn't know what she meant until he caught a blurry 
reflection of himself in the cooler door. The blood he had 
inadvertently wiped over his face and through his hair. His 
gaze returned to hers and he squeezed her hand. "I'm ok. It's 
not my blood." No, it's not my blood. It's YOUR blood. The 
blood of a woman who had stopped breathing 20 minutes ago; whose 
heart had stopped beating 20 minutes ago; who was DEAD 20 
minutes ago. But that was then, this is now. Now, you're 
alive.

He shook his head. "This is just crazy."

"What's crazy?" 

Doggett pulled up his jacket to her chin once more. "It's 
crazy how long this ambulance is takin', that's all," he quickly 
covered up.

As if on cue, the wail of the tardy siren reached their 
ears.

"Can you... can you..." Scully stammered.

He leaned closer to her mouth. "Can I what, darlin'?"

"Sit me up?" she finished.

"Sure, sure," he said. Sliding his right hand under her 
body, he brought her up to a sitting position. Then he moved 
behind her, his back against the cooler door, so she could lean 
back into him. He pulled the jacket up around her again and 
wrapped his arms around her tightly. His mouth was in her hair 
and he inhaled the scent of her shampoo, her smell. He didn't 
know what had just happened here. Had he misjudged her 
condition due to his own shock? Or maybe the CPR worked. Or 
maybe... It doesn't matter, John. It doesn't matter.

Scully's laboured voice spoke again. "You called me 
'darlin''."

He laughed into her hair. "Yep. You're not gonna kick my 
ass over it, are ya?"

Doggett could almost hear the smile in her voice. "No, I 
won't kick your ass."  

He returned her unseen smile and held her like that until 
the attendants found them.


EPILOGUE

3am, same day.

"Hey," she whispered quietly, trying to get his attention, 
but not wanting to startle him as he was slouched back 
contentedly in the chair by the bed. She repeated the word, a 
bit more firmly, "Hey."

He opened his eyes and waited for them to adjust to the 
darkness as well as his surroundings. He had almost forgotten 
where he was, how his tired body had finally superceded his 
heart- he had done nothing but stare at her for hours, fearing 
that if he looked away for a second, she'd be gone. Now turning 
his head, his gaze found hers. The beepbeepbeep of the heart 
monitor played the comforting song of life, HER life, and he 
smiled. "Hey."

"You know," she began, "I think I've found our next X-
File."

Doggett's eyebrows raised and he murmured, "Oh, is that 
so?" When she nodded, he added, "And what would that be?"

Scully gave a lopsided smile, the painkillers still working 
their magic. "I wanna know how you seem to be able to fall 
asleep like a baby in those damn hospital chairs."

He couldn't help but laugh. "Well," he offered, "I've had 
a lot of practice."

She looked away and apologized, "Yeah, I'm sorry about 
that."

Realizing how that sounded, he pulled up the chair closer to the 
bed and amended, "That's not what I meant. I'm just glad you're 
here.  You know that." Doggett's hand reached out from the 
semi-darkness and squeezed her arm. "I almost lost..." he 
faltered, "you got no idea how..." He tore himself away from 
her questioning gaze, her blue eyes seeking to understand the 
turmoil in his own. Blinking back the film of moisture that had 
suddenly formed over his eyes, he took a breath and tried again.  
"I read the files, Scully. I read the Fellig case. But I never 
thought.. I still don't know how.."

She slid her arm up and took his hand in hers. "I owe you an 
explanation. There's so much you should know."

He shook his head vehemently, "You owe me nothin'. Nothin' 
at all.  I'm just glad you're here, and that's all that 
matters."

Scully sought the comfort in his eyes, the fierce blue fires that 
blazed from the darkness. Warmed by his compassion and sincerity, 
she thought, "Careful, Dana, a girl could get used to those eyes. 
Well, those eyes and these drugs!" Her thoughts elicted a small 
laugh out of her.

His brows came down in playful confusion. "Now what was 
that laugh all about?"

"Oh, nothing," she said teasingly, "I was just remembering 
that joke you were telling me in the car. You never did get to 
finish it."

"I kept forgetting the set-up."

She nodded, "Uh huh. Do you remember it now?"

He looked at her and said, "I do." Pausing to memorize her 
features in the dim hue of the room, he finally gave her a 
patented Doggett smirk and added, "But I think I'll keep the 
punchline to myself. That way, I know you'll stick around."

Scully shook his head in protest and laughed. "Bribed with 
a joke. Is that what I'm worth these days?"

Before his inner voice could tell him otherwise, he bent 
forward and kissed her on the cheek. "No, you're worth much 
more than that." Pause. "Although, it IS a pretty damn good 
joke."

She gave a sleepy laugh in return and despite her efforts 
to stay awake, she drifted off. This time, he had no fear, no 
doubts, no trepidation.  With his hand still in hers, he leaned 
back into the chair and joined her in her sleep.