Title: _Fateful_ Author: Karen (snarky_freak@hotmail.com) Rating: PG-13 Keywords: Reyes. Doggett. Doggettfic/Reyesfic. Doggett! Doggett! Doggett! Reyes! Reyes! Reyes! Summary: 'A missing child is horrific enough. The concept of your missing child suffering at the hands of everything I represent is unthinkable.' Spoilers: Empedocles Disclaimer: Again, they are not mine. So, again, quit lookin' at me like that, `kay? Archive: All are more than welcome, just please notify me... Author's Note: Part 1 of the "Three Days" Series, Part 2 being "5 Minutes, 45 Seconds"; Pre-X-Files; Can be a prequel to my story, "And the Other"; actually, this can be a prequel to most of my D/R stories. Can also stand alone, like the rest. ;0) --- In this world there are only two tragedies. One is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it. -Oscar Wilde, "Lady Windermere's Fan" --- Fateful --- fate'ful: adj. prophetic, fraught with destiny. -from Webster's Dictionary --- He's staring at me. Again. He's getting extremely annoying. Granted... I'm very flattered, but he's getting annoying all the same. He should be more professional, more discreet than that. I try to stare back at him, but the image on the illuminated board distracts me. Cute kid. Nice eyes. A sweet smile. A lost soul. A feeling. An energy. I clear my throat and jot down some notes on the steno pad in my hands. Move quickly. Time is of the essence. I've heard this millions of times before. Everyone here has heard it before. Now shouldn't be any different. Strange; it feels different. I can't tell why. Maybe it was the kid. This particular kid. The people around me seem too concerned for his well-being. The worry on their faces is quite alarming... It's almost as if they know this little boy. It's almost as if they knew him before his abduction. The fluorescent lights flicker to life, and I am briefly blinded by the sharpness of the glare. I close my eyes and rub my temples. God, this has got to stop. I need a vacation. One more missing kid case, one more Satanic cult eager to start a revolution for all of mankind, and I will most definitely scream. "Excuse me." I open my eyes slowly. Hello. He's sexier up close. The memory of him staring at me from across the squad room has vanished, only to be replaced by this... Hello, indeed. "Hi." I cringe inwardly at my inappropriately cheerful greeting and smile sheepishly. "I'm here with the FBI. I didn't get the chance to introduce myself yet, not even to your Lieutenant. I was actually about to do that when you came up to me. See, the flight from Seattle was just crazy. I just wrapped up a case there, and the plane had mechanical problems and all that. I just walked in here and sat down on the first chair I could find. Your Lieutenant had already started and so--" "Agent Reyes, right?" "Reyes--with an 's'. Yes, I'm she, I--" "Can we talk?" I arch an eyebrow at him. My, he's audacious, isn't he? He hasn't even introduced himself to me. I don't even know who he is, what he's doing here, in this particular case, and now... "Can we talk right now?" His insistence deflates my slightly titillated demeanour. I think I need another coffee. I can't stand this job sometimes. I can't stand all these questions, these demands... That vacation to Cancun is sounding better and better... "Sure. What's on your mind, um--" "John." I nod at him and indicate a deserted corner down the hall. "Is this a good enough place to, uh," I look him over. A gun holster rests on his right hip. Must be a cop, then. I grin and hazard a guess. "...talk, Detective John?" His blue eyes are gorgeous, I'll give him that much... Must be easy interrogating suspects, getting them to confess, with eyes like that... He shakes his head and almost smiles at me. Almost. He doesn't smile, actually. The corners of his mouth just twitch upwards. My eyes widen in anticipation as I wait for him to reply. He's really cute. Especially when he hesitates. "Actually, it's Doggett." I tilt my head to the side and jut out my chin. So he wants to talk about the case. Fine. All cuteness aside, then... "Okay. What about Luke? Do you have any questions?" "No--" "So what's this about?" "I'm his father." I swallow hard. So hard, that my throat hurts. "You're his father." He looks away and sighs heavily. "Yeah." "Mr. Doggett, I--" He raises a hand between us to silence me. Oddly enough for good, ol' voluble me, it works. "John Doggett. You were right. I'm a Detective here." "Here. Meaning, here?" I can almost sense the stupidity of my question, but I just had to be sure... He nods. "I'm workin' this case with you, Agent Reyes." "No, you're not. You and I both know... This won't help the case any... Where's your Lieutenant? I'd like to clarify a few things with him right now--where is he?" There must be some kind of misunderstanding here. There has got to be some kind of mistake... I turn to leave, but he reaches out and grasps my arm tightly, painfully. I look down at his hand. His fingers don't look like they'll be releasing me anytime soon. "Let go of me, Detective--what do you think you're doing, working this case when--" "Hey, hey--will you listen to me?" "Let go of me right now." I keep my voice to a low hiss in order to avoid attracting the attention of the squad room secretaries nearby. "Will you listen?" "Will you let go?" He retracts his hand and drags it through his sandy brown hair. "Look, Agent Reyes, I'm sorry. I just--" "Your Lieutenant's decision to allow you to work this case--your son's abduction--is extremely--" "I know that." "Are you _sure_ you know that?" He fixes me with a stare that surpasses words. Something pulls at me inside, and I take a deep breath. "I'll say it again, Detective Doggett. You and I both know how imprudent it is to--" "I'm told you're a specialist; an expert of some sort." "Detective Doggett--" "So what is it you specialize in, Agent? Child abduction? Kidnappings, what?" The need I have to convince him to pull out of the case is replaced by a feeling of dull shock, confusion, and sympathy... It's hard for him, I know, having the chance to do something, and not being allowed to... "I, uh, I specialize in Ritualistic Crimes." "Specialize in Ritualistic Crimes." His calm expression contorts into a small frown as he repeats what I tell him. "Crimes having to do with Satanic cults, mostly, and--" "Is that what the Bureau thinks is goin' on here?" "Well, yes and no--" He places his hands on his hips and shakes his head once. "That's not what's goin' on here, Agent Reyes." "I... happen to disagree." "Based on what--" "Your son's abduction is quite characteristic of certain Satanic--" "He's missing. He was taken. Someone took him and now we gotta find him. There's nothin' Satanic goin' on here, Agent Reyes." "Well, I certainly hope that I'm wrong... For Luke's sake, as well as for--" "Don't talk about my son that way. We'll find him. It's all just a matter of time. For all we know, he coulda just gotten lost somewhere, or he got it in his head to take off all by himself--" His voice cracks slightly, and he forces a scowl onto his face in order to hide his fear. "You don't know anything. You don't know Luke at all. You don't even know what's goin' on here." He doesn't know. He doesn't know that I can feel his fear. His colleagues'. His son's. "He's still alive, Detective." My whispered reassurance is like a stake through his heart. His scowl disappears, and all I am left with are his eyes. Once gorgeous, now hateful and almost murderous. Almost, but not quite murderous. "He's my son. I _know_ he's still alive, Agent Reyes. You don't have to tell _me_ that." "That's not what I meant. It's because I've worked several cases like this before... With time, you develop a sense of--" "What? You get vibes from the abductees? The victims?" His sarcastic tone is not lost on me, but I choose to ignore it. "As a matter of fact, yes, I do." "I didn't know a psychic ability was a job requirement for the FBI, Agent Reyes." I bite my tongue. It's no use arguing with him. The victim's father. The victim's family. The mere fact that he's managed to convince everyone that he can work his own son's case... "We're looking for a man, that's all. No evil cults, no Satan worshippers. A man, that's all. Bob Harvey. He's had a long history of--" "I _know_ about Bob Harvey," I cut him off bluntly. "_You_ know that I know all about Bob Harvey, Detective. You've been staring at me ever since I walked into this squad room. You know I paid attention to what was being said. You know I took notes. You know I spilt some coffee on the chair before I sat down. You know--" "They didn't say who they were sending. If I'd known that it would be--" "Me? Then what? You'd send me back? I know what I'm looking for here, Detective. Maybe you should let me--" "Listen to me. I'll say it again. There's nothin' Satanic or cultish or whatever goin' on here, Agent Reyes. Nothin'. My son is missing. What I--what _we_-- need from the FBI are qualified men and women who can help us find a missing child." I nod and widen my eyes as best I could in order to emphasize my point. "Yes. I agree. But what you're choosing to ignore is the fact that this missing child--this missing child who happens to be your son--disappeared under suspicious circumstances. Circumstances which lead the Bureau to believe there's something more here than a simple abduction case." "There's no such thing as a simple abduction case." "You know what I mean. You know what I'm talking about." "There's nothin' here for you to do." "Well, I hate to tell you this, Detective Doggett, but I beg to differ." "So what is it you're after, huh?" "Excuse me?" He clenches his jaw and looks down at the floor before answering me in a low voice. "What do you hope to get out of this case?" "What?" "How many times have we had crimes here in New York, crimes having to do with all that Satanic shit you're pullin' on me? How many times have you been called up here to help us? Tell me that. Why this case, Agent Reyes? Why not the others?" "I can only investigate what I'm assigned--" "Fuck that." "I really don't care if you believe me or not, Detective. I'm just trying to do my job here. It's extremely unfortunate that you're unwilling to cooperate with me, and I--" "Who said anything about bein' unwilling to cooperate? I'm just not sure if you're the right person to be helping us." "--don't think you're helping your son at all. He needs all the help he can get. All the help you can get for him. To get him home, safe." My remark was spoken out of frustration, I know. But I must admit that there's an element of truth in it. We both know that much. I blink back what feels like tears welling up in my eyes. I convince myself that it's nothing, that the tears are there because I'm not used to the distinct atmosphere of New York City. It has nothing to do with this case. Nothing to do with Luke Doggett. Nothing to do with my frustration. Nothing to do with the little boy's father. Nothing to do with Detective Doggett's fear, his sense of utter helplessness. I know that despite his angry words, he feels nothing but fear. A missing child is horrific enough. The concept of your missing child suffering at the hands of everything I represent is unthinkable. Unthinkable, maybe. But it happens all the time. I've seen it. I've felt it. And now he and his son have to see and feel it, too. He is obviously stung by my words. He can't even look me in the eye. His gaze is directed towards my shoes. "Detective Doggett..." "You wanna help me." "Yes. I want to help you." "We gotta find him. My son. Help me find him." "That's what I'm trying to do." His head snaps up and he pins me with an accusing glare. "No, it's not what you're trying to do. Not with this Mumbo-jumbo you're not. We don't have time for this kinda b.s. I need to find my son; you're fucking with people's lives here, saying all that bull. What right do you have? I need to find my son. Alive. I need to find him. Not some proof of this crap you claim to be an expert on. So if you're gonna help me..." He looked away and started to turn on his heels. "_Help_ me." I open my mouth to say something, but a uniform steps into the corridor and speaks up in a rather excited tone of voice. "Detective Doggett? We've found him." My heart skips a beat, but then sinks at the sudden realization. It's not Luke they've found. "You've found him? Where is he? I need to see him." Doggett pushes past the uniform and practically breaks into a jog down the corridor. "Is he hurt? How bad is he--" "Detective Doggett--" I call after him. The sound of my quickening footsteps echo in the hallway. No, they don't echo--they pound _at_ the hallway, at the floor. My footsteps sound like they're trying to get out of something that's trapped them. Luke. He's still alive. He's trying to get out. I close my eyes and try to catch my breath. Hang on, Luke. Hang on, we'll find you. "Detective--" Luke's father has chosen to ignore me altogether. He's convinced that what he's said to me is true; that Luke had simply wandered off, and-- He stops short when he sees. Another uniform crosses his path and jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "Bob Harvey, Detective Doggett. Hasn't said a damn thing since we picked him up from that hole he calls an apartment." Doggett nods and lingers to the right of the doorway until the uniforms retreat. As soon as they turn a corner and disappear, he half-leans against the wall, and then collapses completely to the floor, on his knees. "Tell me where he is. God, please tell me where he is..." He mumbles almost inaudibly, with his head in his hands. Suddenly, he clears his throat, rises to his feet and walks into the interrogation room. It's like nothing happened. Like water off a duck's back... I approach the door. He slams it shut as soon as he sees me. He knows I saw him falter. He knows I saw his fear. 'Help me.' I close my eyes. I open them. I watch him. You're looking in all the wrong places. That's the only thing on my mind right now. Hang on, Luke. Hang on, we'll find you... CONTINUED IN PART 2 (entitled, "5 Minutes, 45 Seconds"--already posted at XFMU) Send comments to: snarky_freak@hotmail.com