Title: Relief
Author: Lilly (Lillystar2001@hotmail.com) Feedback is appreciated even if it is
only to tell me the story sucks!
Rating: PG-13 for the part where Luke is found
Keywords: Doggett, Reyes, Luke’s death
Summary: Post Providence Fic. William’s kidnapping stirs up memories of Luke and
reminds Doggett of his pain.
Spoilers: Empedocles, Providence, Provenance, John Doe
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, I’d give them their own show. Don’t sue me.
I’m poor and you would never see a dime.
Archive: You actually read my work? Cool! Anywhere is fine just send me a note
letting me know where. I would like to visit the site!
Author's Note: This is my first fic (well that I have actually committed to type
and not left swirling about in my head) and it ended up being nothing like I
originally intended it to be. I got tired of never seeing an entire episode
dedicated to explaining Luke’s disappearance and so I decided to solve that
little problem myself. I tried to stay within the loose framework that CC and
co. provided in the aforementioned episodes. Hope you enjoy! I certainly enjoyed
writing it.

Holy Cross Memorial Hospital
2:15 AM

He had been waiting in that hospital lobby for only a few minutes but those few
minutes seemed like hours. Getting hit by that car while protecting Will was bad
enough. But staying strapped to a hospital bed while his partner saved the day
and brought the boy back to his mother was worse. His guilt over not being able
to help Agent Scully had racked through his body like a viral infection. His
body was worn out. He was exhausted. He was too tired to listen as the nurse
went over his conditions of release. “Get plenty of rest. Have someone staying
with you who can monitor your condition…” It was a good thing Monica was there
to take it all in.

<Good thing Monica was there period> < She hasn’t slept for days and she still
looks like a million dollars>

John drifted from his thoughts and back into the conversation when he heard
Monica say,
“ Okay thank-you. We will call if we have any thing come up.”

<Finally> <Time to go home>

“Hey.” Monica’s voice was soft and low, almost like a purring kitten. “Ready to
go home?”

John nodded and gratefully accepted the arm his partner offered him in support.
John laughed a little to himself as he realized the ease at which they were
connected, arm in arm. It was comfortable. Monica was a comfort to him.

<Oh brother>

Hell, he had been hit by a car, for Christ sake. He could accept a little help
in this situation.
<Help. You need all the help you can get these days>

They rode in silence for the first few minutes when finally Monica spoke up. He
wasn’t surprised. She was always the one who spoke first when they were alone.
Sometimes he felt that she could feel his thoughts before he could even piece
them together.

“You have something on your mind.” She didn’t even phrase it as a question.

“I just don’t get it. Even for her sake, because she asked him to. How could he
leave when his kid is barely 48 hours old? How can a father leave his son?”

<I could never leave my son. Yeah, but you didn’t stop him from leaving you>

“Agent Mulder?”

“Yeah.”

“I would have thought he would be the furthest thing from your mind right now.”

“I was just thinking about how Scully’s dealing with all this. With everything
that she has been through over the past year and now this thing with her son
being kidnapped.” John paused and continued somewhat self-deprecatingly, “and
rescued, thanks to you.”

“John it wasn’t your fault.”

<It’s always my fault>

“As for Fox, you told me yourself why he had to go. Deputy Director Kersh told
you that if he had stayed, Dana and William’s lives would have been endangered.”

“And they aren’t now? The other night, Scully was driven into the middle of
nowhere and her car was blown up by a man, who by all accounts was stalking her.
Then, she was chased into a mine pit where he surely would have killed her if
given the chance. And William? Well, he was kidnapped and left to die in the
middle of the Canadian grassland and would have if you and Scully hadn’t gotten
there in time.”

“And?”

“And I don’t see Mulder’s absence doing anything to prevent that stuff.”

“So you are saying if he had been here, none of that would have happened? Mulder
would have prevented his son’s kidnapping?”

“Yeah. I’m saying maybe he should be here protecting his son. His job is to
protect his son, not going off, miles away from anything to wait until this all
blows over.”

<This isn’t about Mulder at all. You were 10 feet away from your son and you
couldn’t even protect your kid from a garden-variety pervert>

“John?”

“We’re home.”

Falls Church, VA 2:45 am

John Doggett sat alone on the edge of his bed. Monica was fast asleep in the
guest bedroom across the hall. She had left her door open and he could hear her
breathing. For a moment, he closed his eyes and remembered the feel of that soft
breath dancing across his neck as they slept side by side, that fall. He felt at
peace for just a second while he lived in that memory of their past. But then,
the grandfather clock hourly chimes beckoned him into the present and he was
reminded that the past was over. Monica was here only because he needed a
babysitter to keep him from getting hurt again. She was here to clean up the
mess, yet another failure by John Doggett had created.

He was barely aware that he was still sitting motionless on the edge of his big
empty king size bed. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the site of himself
in the mirror that hung on the opposite wall of his bed. God, he looked so sad,
sitting wearily on his bed wearing only his underwear and a t-shirt. How many
nights had he sat there to find that same picture staring back at him?

<1172 days ole’ Johnny boy. 1172 days since you broke your promise>

Tears began brimming in his eyes. Memories rushed through his mind as the tears
spilled to the floor. It was useless to try and stop either of them.

<Will you ever stop this?>

**********************
John sat quietly on the edge of the bed, trying diligently not to wake his wife
as he removed his clothes. He tried not to notice the boxes and boxes of packed
items, belonging to his wife, that littered the floor next to the bed. He was
tired and the last thing he needed was to get into another argument. John
stifled a sigh of annoyance as he noticed Luke was lying in bed next to his
mother. The boy had been having bad dreams lately.

<You thought of your son as an annoyance>

“What time is it?” Barbara Doggett asked lazily as she turned heavily on her
side to face him.

“Sorry. I was trying to be quiet. It’s late.”

“Yeah I figured. You missed therapy. We were supposed to talk about ways to
improve the communication in our marriage.”


“Yeah. I’m sorry. I got caught working on a case. Ya’ know I’ve been a
full-fledged agent for less than two years. It’s not like they give out tenure.
I can’t just leave a case on my desk when I feel like it. I guess I didn’t
communicate that so well when we talked about rescheduling last time.”

“If you don’t want to go John, just say it. It’s been over for a while and we
both know that. I just thought we owed it to ourselves and Luke to see if it
could be fixed.”

	Before he could reply, John noticed that Luke was beginning to stir. His 
son’s groggy blue eyes opened just as John began to stroke his face.

	“Hey buddy.”

	“Hey daddy. I had a bad dream. The man was coming at me again. He wanted to
take me away to live on the moon.”

	“No one’s going to take you away buddy. I promise.”

	“You’ll protect me and keep me safe forever?”

	“I will always protect you. I promise.”

<Liar>

John took the boy’s hand and helped him slide into his lap. Luke was almost
seven but he still loved to get his hugs. He cradled the boy in his lap as he
spoke. “Say, I don’t have to work tomorrow. And your mom’s going to stay with
Aunt Sarah for the weekend. How’s about me and you having a day, just us. We can
do anything you want to.”

	“Yeah daddy. That’d be alright.” Luke’s eyes fell shut as he said alright 
and it was clear he was falling asleep. Barbara had fallen asleep too and John was
left in silence as he took in the angelic face of his son. He had never known he
could love someone so much. He had loved him even before he was born. He loved
him more as each day passed. John held his son, caressed his soft skin, took in
the smell of bubble bath leftover from the boy’s evening bath, and felt the
steady beating of his child’s heart. It was comforting, and lulled the father to
sleep in time with the son. They slept just like that, on that last night. The
son cradled in his father’s arms, connected, protected and loved. Downstairs the
grandfather clock struck three.
************************
  “John?” Monica had been awakened by the sound of John’s pleading voice calling
her name from across the hall. Her concern for her friend was etched into her
face as she entered his room. “John? You called my name. Are you hurt?”

<The hurt never goes away>

	He turned away from her to keep her from seeing the tears. With a heavy
hand he brushed them away with a harshness that surprised even him. His eyes stung 
as the back of his coarse hands rubbed the rims.

“I’m fine. I just can’t sleep.”

“Okay. You want some tea?”

“Yeah. I’ll be down in a minute.”

He threw on some sweats and went downstairs to find Monica had made herself at
home in the kitchen. She had been his houseguest enough times to know where
everything was by now. Hell, she was the one who helped him make this place a
little more of a home and less of an old divorcee’s empty space. She sat down
two mugs, full of brimming hot tea with lemon. Monica was convinced that citrus
could cure any ill that befell a human being.

<Can’t cure all my ills>

“John?”

“Yeah.” The weariness in his voice could be plainly heard. It sounded as the
life was sucked out of him and all that was left was this raspy whisper of a
voice.

“I want to help you.” She took his cold rough hands in her own soft, warm ones
and began to slightly massage them as though she could restore him by this very
action. “Please. Let me.”

	John sat, unflinching, unmoving, and barely breathing or so it seemed. His 
eyes were fixed past Monica on the far kitchen wall, next to the back door. Monica
knew what he was looking out without even turning to see. On the coat rack, next
to the door hung Luke’s pitching glove and baseball cap.
********************************

“Daddy! Daddy! Wake up! Wake up! Mommy just left so it’s man to man time now!”

The little boy jumped up and down on John’s bed, excited as if this morning was
the equivalent of Christmas day. He was all decked out in his play clothes full
of holes and grass stains. His baseball cap was on his head and his glove was
now lying next to John, being tossed with every bounce that Luke created.

“Alright little man. Let me get dressed and out we’ll go. Let me see…you look
like a fellow ready to play in neighbor Katie’s Barbie dream house.”

“No dad!”

“In the neighborhood wading pool?”

“Daaaaaaaaaaad!”

“Oh no? Well what do you want to do today?”

“Baseball!”

“Baseball?! Of course! How could I forget that’s your favorite sport?” John
lovingly teased his son as was their routine. Gentle teasing makes a tough kid.
His son would never be bullied, not if he could help it. “Okay let’s go play
ball!”

They spent the morning playing ball in their backyard. It was a Saturday in
August and all the neighborhood kids were out in full force. He was sure their
laughter could be heard all the way to downtown DC. His house always commanded
more attention than most because it was something cool to most 8 year-olds that
a special agent for the FBI lived in their neck of the woods. John and his
family had only moved in three months prior so that novelty was still intact.
About 15 different kids had been by that morning just to slip in the phrase,
‘Hey Agent Doggett’ while inquiring whether Luke could join them in play. Each
time Luke would politely thank them for their offer but tell them it was a day
to be with his dad. John would shake his head slightly each time in wonder that
his kid had turned out so great.

< He was a great kid. Great enough to forgive his father, the failure? Has he
forgiven you?>

Even the new neighbor, Bob somebody or other, the man who always seemed to be
wearing a Mr. Rogers sweater, stopped by to say hello. He had only been living
there for about a week. Said he moved from somewhere up around Detroit. Barbara
had invited him to dinner saying the new kids on the block should stick
together, and had only laughed when John’s law enforcement experience prompted
him to ask why on earth she would invite someone over, into their home, that
they didn’t know from Charles Manson. Bob, personable and friendly as he was,
talked about the weather, how he liked the quietness of the area. the kids, and
how he liked baseball. So much in fact, he was going to an exhibition game that
night. He asked all kinds of questions about John and Luke. Did they like
baseball? Who was their favorite team? Had they ever been to a Mets game when
they lived in New York? Each time Luke would answer with great excitement,
before John could even form a response in his head.

< You sure don’t as hell have any psychic ability. You never saw it coming>

Just as John was going to make a polite excuse to rid himself of his friendly
neighbor, another kid, this one on a bicycle approached Luke with the offer of
riding to the elementary school and back. This was too much for Luke to resist.
After all, his dad had given him a brand new bike for his 7th birthday and he
was more proud of that one thing than of all his other possessions combined.

“Dad can I?” Luke’s eyes begged for the chance to show the other boy his prize.

<We never found the bike>

“Yeah kid. Just be back for supper okay? I’m making chili.” For a moment, John
thought about grabbing the boy and hugging him tight but decided against it. He
didn’t want to embarrass the boy in front of his friends. Just want Luke needed
in a new town and a new school, a nickname like ‘daddy’s boy.’

<You should have hugged him. You should have told him not to go. You. should.
have. hugged. him.>

John picked up his son’s now discarded hat and glove and took them inside and
hung them on the rack. He rubbed the back of his neck and felt the tightness
that had become a consequence of his job and all those late nights investigating
the evils of man. His eyes felt heavy. He was still tired after only getting
those three precious hours of sleep. The chili didn’t need to be started until 5
and that was a couple hours away. Yep, it made sense, he was going to take a
nap. John lay down on the couch and flipped the TV on. Big game fishing was on.
Yeah, he could fall asleep to that. His eyes closed and he was out before the
first commercial break.

<Why did you need to sleep at that particular moment. You are goddamned United
States Marine. You don’t need sleep. Sleep means you are vulnerable. You can’t
protect your team when you are sleeping. You can’t protect your son>

John awoke with a start. Shit. Luke would be starving. It was after 8 and dusk
was beginning to fall. The pink and orange glow of the setting sun cast an eerie
pall over the home that was dark except for that natural light. John flipped on
the light switch and went into the kitchen to start the chili. He thought Luke
was upstairs.

<You didn’t even look right away. You didn’t even try to save him>

John stirred the chili and set it to simmer on low. It was time to go and get
the boy washed up for dinner. Who knows what kind of mess the kids had gotten
into at the school. The playground was right next to a large wooded area that
had a steam running through it. They were only separated by a chain link fence,
and John’s own childhood had taught him that chain link was no match for
inquisitive boys on the hunt for nature’s treasures.

“Luke? You up there? Supper’s almost ready. You cleaned up for the table?”

<No answer should have tipped you, Mr. FBI man, off right way. He could have
been still saved. You didn’t even try to protect him.>

“Luke? Buddy? Come on down. Dinnertime.”

At first John thought the boy had just not come home. As unlike him as it was
not to follow rules, he was in a new place, making new friends. Maybe he got
lost on his way home. Hell, it was dark now and John wasn’t even sure if he
could find his way to the school without the daylight. His concern grew as he
drove the neighborhood streets calling out to his son, getting nothing but
strange looks from the people sitting on their porches enjoying the summer air.
His visit to his son’s biking companion had yielded similar results.

“No sir. I haven’t seen him since we were at the school. He left before me to
get home for supper.”

“What time was that?”

“I don’t know? About 5:30 I guess.”

The rest of the night was a blur. The police were called and quickly the FBI was
given jurisdiction. He didn’t even remember requesting Agent Monica Reyes, the
agent with the highest case clearance rate in the whole Washington office be put
on the case. He didn’t remember calling her, practically begging her to take the
assignment despite the fact her specialty was investigating claims of satanic or
otherwise ritualistic abuse. Funny how he called on her for help so much and
never even realized he did so. He didn’t remember canvassing the neighborhood,
knocking on doors asking if anyone had seen his son. He didn’t remember knocking
on Bob What’s-his-name’s door and getting no answer. He didn’t remember telling
Monica that Bob “Harvey, that was his name” said he was going to a ball game
that night.
He didn’t remember reviewing evidence, non-stop, for the next two weeks. He
didn’t remember not sleeping for those two weeks wondering what had happened to
his son. He still doesn’t remember. What he does remember is combing the
playground and surrounding area with Monica and the other agents for what must
have been the 100th time. He remembers seeing Monica, who was walking a few
yards in front of him stop and catch her breath. He remembers holding his own.

<The boy looked like ashes.>

His beautiful child lay face down in a pile of mud discarded like last week’s
trash. The boy’s clothes, the same clothes he was wearing the day he
disappeared, were on wrong side out. There was a visible semen stain on the left
pant leg. Dried blood was stuck to the side of his left temple and visible
strangulation marks were present on the skin of the neck. His soft white skin
was now the bluish green color that comes with death. Someone had attempted to
hide the body slightly by covering it with foliage. John wondered, did he feel
guilt for murdering the boy or was it just to buy himself some time before we
found him?

<Christ this is your kid lying here, not some anonymous case file. Why didn’t
you protect him>

In that moment, the reality that his son had been sodomized, strangled and
beaten to death hit John Doggett with the force of a thousand hurricanes. His
world was spinning and the ground beneath him felt so too. His heart began to
pound with such intensity that he though his heart was going to explode. He was
aware of Monica commanding the other agents to stay back as he raced to his son.
He was aware of the fact that he was destroying any physical evidence that might
be helpful in catching the bastard who did this, as he turned his son’s body
over to face him. He was aware of the damage he was doing the crime scene that
was the corpse of his child, and had been sitting in the warm sun for two weeks,
as he cradled his son in his arms. He was aware that all his cradling, rocking
and wailing was not going to bring his son back to life. He just couldn’t stop.
He couldn’t let go of his son.

<He would still be alive if you held on tighter. If you hadn’t let go in the
first place, your son would still be here>

He stayed like that for hours, holding his son, rocking back and forth and
mourning. As his son lay listless in his arms, a part of John Doggett died that
day as well. Monica stood guard over him with her glock 9 MM # 17 in hand, as if
to dare any agent to cross the imaginary line of grief and pain that a father
and his son drew that warm August day in the Virginia timber. Monica protected
and John cried.

****************

John suddenly became aware of his surroundings as if wakened from a dream. He
was no longer in that field but in his own kitchen. Monica was still sitting
beside him, holding his hands in her own. She had tears running down her face.
As the moonlight shone through the windows, it cast an iridescent silver upon
those tears. Even when crying, somehow Monica appeared mystical. It was then
that he noticed his own tears. He could feel the wet dampness they left on his
cheeks as they fell. John wondered if his face shined as bright with grief as
her face did and then reprimanded himself for having such a thought. His face
was tight and his eyes were burning. How long had they sat like this? How long
had they mourned?

<You will never stop mourning>

“Monica?” It was a question that even in asking, he didn’t know it’s purpose or
desired answer.

“John, It wasn’t your fault. Nothing could have changed what happened that day.
Nothing. Your son can’t forgive you because there is nothing to forgive.”

“You keep telling me that and maybe one day I’ll believe it. But right now, all
I can think is that if I hadn’t let him go, or if I did let him go but went with
him. If only I hadn’t fallen asleep, God, Monica. I told him I would protect him
and keep him safe always. I failed my son.”


	“John.” Monica said his name simply as that. She knew that her words 
would not do anything to change his mind or alleviate his guilt. She simply said 
his name and continued to warm him with her touch.

	“Mon, you told me once that you were sorry that I had to re-live my son’s
death, with you in the Mexican desert. I appreciated that but I need you to know
that I re-live that every damn day of my life. But the only days I don’t feel
like getting up and putting that gun right inside my mouth because of that pain
and guilt, are the days I am with you.”

	<You will never stop mourning. But maybe you can start living again>

	“You were there for me the day we found him. You were there for me when 
Barb moved out and I was left all alone in my grief and self-pity. Even after you
were re-assigned, you were still there for me as my telephone friend every night
even though the long-distance calls from New Orleans were breaking your bank.
You were there for me when I needed help with the x-files. You were here for me 
tonight, at the hospital. You are here for me now.”

	<She is your comfort>

	Monica smiled through her silvery tears. She reached up and wiped a tear 
away from John’s chiseled face. As she did, a few of his worry lines faded as he
smiled. He grabbed her hand in his and held it there. Monica rose from the
table, still holding his hand and led him into the living room. As they sat on
the couch, she carefully slid an old, overstuffed photo album from underneath
the coffee table.

	“Remember in Mexico, you told me that you would take the bad  as long as 
you could remember the good? I think it’s time to remember some of the good.”

	Monica gently opened the photograph book and placed it in John’s lap.
Every page was filled with a precious memory of Luke. There was Luke’s first 
birthday, when he shoved his little fist in his chocolate cupcake and then had 
such fun wiping the frosting all over John’s face. His first day of kindergarten, 
as he was showing his dad all of his school supplies. The day he finally taught
himself how to ride his bike without training wheels. Good memories of Luke’s
life spilled out on the pages that John’s eyes were now fixated on.

<Beautiful images of a son’s love for his father and the father’s love for his
son.>

John and Monica sat on the couch, hand in hand, looking through that book until
dawn. John still felt the absence of his son deep within his soul and the pain
of his death. That would never go away. But Monica had reminded him what a
comfort it was to feel the love and joy that came from Luke’s life. Every
picture showed a boy who was never wanting for love. A boy whose life was happy,
healthy and safe because his parents made sure it was so.

<Every picture is full of my love for my son. I made his life special>

Monica continued to look through the book, laughing softly at each image. They
had been through the book several times by now and John had told her every
accompanying story. Listening to Monica’s gentle laugh, feeling her hand in his,
John sighed a sigh that he thought felt like contentment. Would it last? He
wasn't sure but he would accept the feeling for the time being. With the memory
of his son and the life that he shared still fresh in his head, John closed his
eyes and slept.