Title: _Pencil Sketches_
Author: Karen (snarky_freak@hotmail.com)
Rating: G
Keywords: Mulder.  Doggett.  Doggettfic.
Doggett!  Doggett!  Doggett!
Summary: 'I guess I was just wondering if I
was the only one who felt that way...'
Spoilers: Patience, Empedocles.  Very minor.
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: Hmm...  That's about all I'll say.

---

Pencil Sketches

---

And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to
connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be form'd, till the ductile anchor
hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.

-Walt Whitman, from "A Noiseless Patiient Spider"

---

He pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten.

One.

Two.

Five.

Ten.

The damned pencil sharpener stopped whirring.

He ran a hand through his hair and attempted to read the next sentence.

*Thunk*

He counted backwards.

Ten.

Five.

Two.

One.

The damned pencil sharpener resumed its whirring.

He swiveled around in his chair and raised his eyebrows at the pencil 
sharpener's operator.  "The hell you doin'?"

"Would you care to hazard a guess, Agent Doggett?"  The other man's voice 
was tauntingly melodic, child-like and innocent.  "Or are you--"

"Why in the world are you doin' that, Agent Mulder?"  With his left hand, he 
motioned towards the ceiling and fixed Mulder with a half-exasperated, 
half-impatient glare.  "You got better things to do--"

"Than target practice, I know," Mulder's voice was infuriatingly calm and 
even, effectively concealing the pompous amusement sparkling in his hazel 
eyes.  "But unlike you, Agent Doggett, I'm not such a good shot.  I need all 
the practice I can get."  With that, Mulder leaned back in his chair and 
aimed at a spot on the ceiling.  He closed one eye, thus giving him the 
appearance of being in mid-wink, and lodged the pencil alongside its 
predecessors.  "And besides," he resumed speaking, as though it was a given 
that Doggett would still be listening to him, enraptured.  "We've got you 
pulling some of the weight around here, taking a load off for us with your 
impressive clearance rate--bless your heart."

Doggett looked up from the report he had been trying--for the *umpteenth* 
time--to read and shook his head.  "Forget it.  Forget I even said anything, 
Mulder."  He'd worked with Mulder enough times to know how irritatingly 
cynical and sarcastic he could be, and so he knew better than to take his 
last comment seriously.  The guy was a frickin' smart-ass, that's for sure.

"Will do.  You know, that's about the easiest thing I've been asked to do 
since I came back?"

He looked up again.  Mulder had propped his feet up on his cluttered desk 
and cradled the back of his head with his hands.  The younger man raised his 
eyebrows and widened his eyes at Doggett, a small smile brightening his 
face.

Doggett simply stared at him without blinking.

"Scully was right about you."

The blue-eyed agent leaned forward and smirked slightly.  "About me.  What 
the hell does that mean?"

"You can put up with my crap."

Doggett couldn't help but laugh a little.  "Agent Scully said that about 
me--in those words?"

Mulder bowed his head and nodded once.  "Yes."

"Why'd she say that?"

"You're not happy she said that?  You should be; it was meant to be a 
compliment."

Doggett looked away and shrugged with one shoulder.  "Nice compliment."

"I'd take whatever I can if I were you, Doggett.  Coming from Scully, that's 
a very--"

"That's just like sayin' I'm happy to be your doormat, Mulder."  As soon as 
he said it, he regretted it.  He was aware of what Agent Scully was trying 
to say by not saying it.  He should respect that; he should appreciate it.  
God knows that most of the time they'd worked together, he really had no 
idea what she thought of him.  And this was definitely a gigantic step, 
where his relationship with his partner--former partner--partner--was 
concerned.

"There are worse things you can be, Agent Doggett."  Doggett could see, from 
the corner of his eye, that Mulder had spread his arms wide open and was 
stretching as he yawned out his reply.  He seemed bored talking to him, the 
outsider, the third wheel.  That other guy.  Doggett nodded and returned to 
the folder in his hands.

"Doggett."

He gave up on the report.  He straightened the papers into a neat pile, 
closed the folder and pushed it to the side of his desk.  "Agent Mulder," he 
said before he crossed his arms over his chest and looked directly at his 
office companion.  "What."

"There's something that's been nagging at me since I came back."

"That would be...?"

Mulder jutted out his chin and pointed at something on Doggett's bulletin 
board.  "Shouldn't that be over here?"  He waited until the older man 
glanced at his board, then back at him before he jerked a thumb over his 
shoulder.

I Want to Believe.  The alien ship hovered above the forest.  The poster had 
always been grotesquely cartoonish.  The first time he entered this office, 
he had thought it was meant to make people laugh.  It wasn't.  He learned 
the hard way that it wasn't meant to be funny at all.

Doggett blinked, swallowed and cleared his throat.  "Look, Mulder, I know 
where you're goin' with this..."

"Yeah.  Point A to Point B."  Mulder once again indicated Doggett's board 
before he looked behind him at his own.  "That article--that newspaper 
clipping you have right there behind you...  Should be over here, shouldn't 
it, Agent Doggett?"

"Let me tell you somethin' here--"

"I'm not trying to do anything, Doggett.  It's just that Scully told me."

"_Now what_ did she say about me?"  Doggett was surprised by the weary sigh 
that escaped between his parted lips.

"That you took what you found in that paper and ran with it."

"I _ran_ with it, now, did I?"  He couldn't help but chuckle.  He had to.  
This was all damn infuriating to him, but it was amusing all the same.  "I 
wasn't the one who made those claims in the first place, Agent Mulder.  If 
anything, Agent Scully brought all that to the table, and I--"

"You believed it."

"I did what I had to.  Doesn't mean I believed it."

"How'd the case report go?"

"Excuse me?"

"It must've been a riot."

Doggett shook his head and looked away.  "A riot, yeah.  That's one way of 
puttin' it."

"I'm surprised you didn't beg for a transfer right away, they would've loved 
seeing you do that.  Might have earned you a spot up there with the gods on 
the fifth floor."

Cheap shot.  Mulder had to know that.  He clenched his jaw before he opened 
his mouth and spoke.  "I was assigned to look for you, Agent Mulder, not to 
entertain the people upstairs."  The conversation had suddenly turned a 
corner that Doggett was simply not interested in exploring.  He stood up 
abruptly and straightened his tie.  "I'm getting some coffee.  You want 
anything?"

Mulder shook his head.  "I've got everything I need," he replied as he 
reached into his desk drawer and lofted a half-empty bag of sunflower seeds 
onto his desk.  "You should try these some time.  Great with coffee."

"I'll bet," he muttered as he left the dimly lit room and walked to the 
elevator.

When he returned, carrying a large cup of black coffee in one hand and a 
bagel in the other, he found Mulder holding a picture frame in his hand, his 
eyes studying intently the photograph it displayed.  Doggett looked away 
quickly.  It was none of his business.  He sat down and faced his computer 
screen.

"How often do you remember?"

Doggett slowly looked over the computer monitor and arched an eyebrow.  
"Remember what?"

Mulder returned the frame to its rightful place, stood up and leaned against 
the front of his desk.  He looked down at the floor and crossed his arms 
over his chest before he shrugged and answered Doggett.  "Your son."

Doggett shifted uncomfortably in his seat and returned his gaze to the 
messages in his e-mail inbox.  He allowed several seconds of silence to pass 
between them before he sighed inaudibly.  "Why do you ask?"

"Just...  I think about Samantha all the time.  When I talk...  When I open 
my mouth...  No matter what it is I say, there's always this...  Impression 
I get that she's on my mind.  In that very moment," Mulder shrugged and 
looked up from the floor.  His hazel eyes focused on the coat hanger behind 
the door, as though he were talking to the hooks rather than to Doggett.  "I 
guess I was just wondering if I was the only one who felt that way..."

Doggett remained quiet.  He forced himself to read the subject titles of the 
messages on his computer screen.  He forced himself to spell out each of the 
e-mail addresses attached to the messages.  Whatever he had expected Mulder 
to say to him...

That hadn't been it.

The smart-ass was becoming more and more audacious, wasn't he?

Doggett closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.  That wasn't fair.  That 
wasn't even true.  He had a pretty good idea of what was going through 
Mulder's mind.  "Agent Mulder--"

"I know, Agent Doggett; I'll stay the hell out of it." Mulder interrupted 
him smoothly, confidently, before he turned his back on Doggett and returned 
to his seat.  After a few minutes, Doggett could hear the sound of paper 
shuffle.  Mulder had abandoned his pencils and was now studying a case file 
with genuine interest.

Doggett sighed inwardly.  Christ.  This guy's harder to work with in this 
office than Agent Scully.

And yet, there was something about Mulder that put him at ease, somehow.  
Comfortable.  Like he didn't have to watch everything he said.  Doggett 
hazarded another discreet glance in Mulder's direction.  His gaze wandered 
to the picture frame the other man had been looking at.

Samantha Mulder.  Fox Mulder's sister.  He'd read the file on her.  Out of 
all the other folders, hers was the one that looked like it had seen better 
days.  Mulder's scribbled notes could be found all over the place.  Doggett 
remembered picking up the same frame and studying it for a long time.  He 
remembered studying another picture, this time from his own pocket, and 
comparing them.  He remembered an absurd idea crossing his mind.

It could be the same guy.

He remembered looking at Samantha Mulder and seeing the man he was assigned 
to look for in her youthful features.  Brown hair.  Dark eyes.  A prominent 
nose.

He remembered looking at Luke and seeing himself in his son's youthful 
features.  Blond hair that will gradually turn sandy brown over the years.  
Piercing blue eyes.  Prominent ears.

It wasn't the same guy.

But it was the same feeling.

Doggett blinked and cleared his throat.  How long had he been sitting there, 
motionless as a statue?  He looked at his watch.  Almost six o'clock.  He 
should call it a day.  He cleared his throat and looked around his desk.

"Shippin' out?"

His head practically snapped up.  "No--not yet, Agent Mulder, I've..." he 
pointed to his computer screen.  "I've got to do this."

"Trooper 'til the end.  I shouldn't complain," Mulder remarked as he stood 
and began rearranging the clutter on his desk.  "You're the only agent in 
this building who--"

"Agent Mulder, about earlier..."

Mulder stopped what he was doing and cocked his head to the side.  "No, I 
understand.  It was your first case on the X-Files.  Cheap urban legend that 
it was, I can see why you'd want to keep a souvenir, Agent Doggett.  It's 
not often that the citizens of Gotham City can get up close and personal 
enough to tango with Bat-man."

Doggett nodded meekly and watched as Mulder grabbed his coat and proceeded 
to put it on.  "Will you be seeing Agent Scully tonight?"

"My dance card's pretty light; I'm sure I'll be paying a visit, why do you 
ask?" Mulder opened the door and looked over his shoulder at Doggett.

The other man shrugged non-committally.  "Just tell her I said hello... and 
thanks for thinking very highly of me; I 'ppreciate it."

"The doormat has spoken.  I will most definitely pass it on to her, Agent 
Doggett."  Mulder had only taken a step through the threshold when Doggett 
called back to him again.

"Mulder."

He raised his eyebrows at Doggett.

"You're not the only one."

Mulder held his colleague's gaze for a few seconds before the beginnings of 
a small smile formed on his face.  "The pencils are therapeutic, Agent 
Doggett.  They keep me sane; you should try it some time.  Goodnight."

"'Night."  Doggett watched as Mulder disappeared down the hallway.  After a 
moment, he heard the elevator doors open, then close.

He was alone.  With nothing but a few of Mulder's bare necessities.  
Sunflower seeds.  The "I Want to Believe" poster that wasn't meant to be 
funny.  Strange newspaper clippings about alien abductions... and half-man, 
half-bat people.  An alien-faced coffee mug.  A pencil sharpener.  Dozens of 
sharp pencils.  A severely perforated ceiling.  A framed picture.  A memory.

He switched off his computer and listened to the overwhelming silence 
permeating the cramped basement office.

That just can't be, Agent Scully.

Don't ask me to believe in that, Agent Scully.

You really _do_ think this is possible, don't you, Agent Mulder?

I can't believe this.  I won't believe this.

Why not, John?

Not this again, Monica.

Agent Scully, don't start with that again.

What do you want from me?

I want you to know that I did everything I could to find you.

Everything I say now...  Everything...

There's always an impression I get...

That you're always on my mind.

I don't believe in this crap.

Because this crap may have taken you from me.

And I can't let them take you away.

Not from me.

Not again.

He sighed and closed his eyes.  He remained still for several moments, until 
one of Mulder's pencils fell from the ceiling and landed straight into the 
alien-faced coffee mug.  It tapped the picture frame in its descent.

He didn't even feel his legs move as he rose from his seat and walked 
towards the poster that wasn't meant to be funny.  He stared at it.  At 
least it didn't say I _Need_ to Believe.  _Then_ he'd be in dire straits.

He stifled another sigh and looked at Mulder's desk.  The other man had left 
a pencil in the sharpener, as though pulling it out would be too much hard 
work for any person.  He returned his gaze to the other pencil, the one in 
the mug.  He picked it up and examined it at eye level.  It looked normal 
enough.  But the moment it darted into space and impaled itself into the 
ceiling, it became grossly abnormal.  It crossed the line.  Pencils 
shouldn't do that.  Pencils don't do that.  Pencils can't do that because 
they aren't meant to do that.

But it believed.

In the impossible.  In the unexplained.

Without thinking, he forcefully flicked his left wrist and launched the 
pencil upwards.  It looked like a space shuttle, just seconds after taking 
off from a launchpad.

*Thunk*

He closed his eyes and counted to ten.

One.

Two.

Five.

Ten.

He opened his eyes and found himself staring at the alien space ship, smack 
dab in the middle of the poster that wasn't meant to be funny.

I Want To Believe.

He pulled out the picture from his coat pocket.

"We're not the only ones, son."

He returned the picture to its rightful place, turned on his heels and put 
on his overcoat.  He cast one last look at the pencil--the one he had 
returned to _its_ rightful place--as he switched off the light and closed 
the door.

He wasn't worried; for now, that pencil wasn't going anywhere.

And neither was he.

END

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