chapter 6.


They always said that the sense of hearing came back first. 
They were wrong. It was the sense of smell.
Antiseptic, polish and  puke. Unique fragrances of an inner-city 
emergency room.
Doggett knew it well. It was enough to make him want to crawl back 
inside his 
head and sleep. He hated hospitals. Hated them with a vengeance.

He sighed in his sleep.  This  time, however, there was another scent 
in there. 
Hiding amongst the horrors of the ER.
Something fresh and woody. Familiar.
Doggett took a deep breath. He knew that smell.
Skinner.
Hearing rushed back in with the realisation. Beeps, crashing of 
carts, buzz of machines 
and telephones. Welcome back Mr. Doggett. 
Congratulations. It's a bitch of a headache and balls of fire.
He groaned. No way. He wasn't coming back for this shit.

"John?"
There was a light touch on the back of one hand. 
Okay, he'd come back for him.
Doggett grunted, pushing the grey fog away in his head. 
"How're you feeling?"
Like two pounds of shit in a one pound bag, thank you for askin'. But 
he just grunted.
"We were worried about you."
We?  Doggett forced his eyes open to look.
Skinner sat next to his bed.  He grinned sheepishly. "Okay. I was 
worried about you."

That was more like it. Doggett dredged a smile up. God his head ached!
"Mild concussion, the doctor said. You should be fine."
Snorting, Doggett lifted his hand to rub his eyes. Mild his ass. Felt 
like a herd of 
elephants had use his head for a running-track. 
And Goddammit,  he was still thirsty.
	
"Drink?" he croaked.
"Sure." Skinner got up and poured a cupful of water. He sat on the 
edge of the bed 
and slid his hand behind Doggett's head, easing him up.  
Eyes sliding shut at the touch, Doggett sighed. That hand felt 
wonderfully cool on the 
back of his heated neck.  He took a sip at the beaker, letting the 
blessed liquid slither 
down his throat.  God, that felt good. 
Too soon, Skinner pulled the cup away. 
 	
"Enough." Skinner squeezed his neck affectionately. "Don't want you 
throwing 
it all back  up, do we? You can have some more in a while."
Raising his eyelids, Doggett gazed at Skinner. He wasn't wearing his 
glasses.  
That surprised Doggett - he knew the other man had fuzzy vision, and 
was loathe to 
go without them. 

"Where..." He cleared his scratchy throat. "Glasses?"
A thumb tickled behind his ear. 
"On the cabinet." He watched the big shoulders shrug. "Eyes were 
tired."
"Should get to bed earlier," he told him.
Skinner grinned, the lack of eyewear making him look like a kid, 
despite the lack of hair. 
"I try. But every time I do, I get myself molested."

Doggett laughed, the raspy giggle clearing his head. Then hot on the 
heels of that 
little exchange, a nasty  thought occurred.  Were he and Skinner 
alone, or was there 
a morbidly interested audience listening to this?
Shit, he hoped not.

He cranked his neck around to scan the room, popping vertebrae, 
making Skinner 
wince. 
"God! That's horrible," he said, lowering Doggett's head with a 
disgusted look 
on his face. "I could feel that."
A chuckle bubbled out with relief, seeing the empty room. "Sorry."  
It turned Skinner inside out whenever he did his joint-cracking 
routine.  
"Where is everybody?"
"I made Mulder take Scully home, via the canteen. She looked like she 
was dead 
on her feet."
"And Sal?"
Skinner smiled and wiped Doggett's mouth with the backs of his 
fingers. "She's 
out in the parking-lot."
"What she doin' there?"
Skinner shrugged. "Phoning your parents, I think."
"What!" Doggett's shoulders came up off the bed. Jeez, he wasn't five 
years old!

Skinner frowned, pushing him back down. "What's the matter?"
"I'm not a kid!"  Shit, his hands came up to hold on to his head. He 
really mustn't 
raise his voice like that.
"No-one said you were." Skinner rolled his eyes.  "She's just telling 
them she'll 
be late getting back. I think your father was supposed to be taking 
her back to her 
apartment from the airport, or something."
"Oh."  He let his body flop back.
"Mr. Over-Sensitive."

Grunting, Doggett rubbed his temple, eyes closed.  "Yeah, well, you 
wanna try having 
parents like mine," he grumbled.  "Flyin' into a panic over every 
scrape and bruise - 
Jeez, my mother could fuss for the state.  `Ain't no picnic, I can 
tell you. She'd be 
movin' in with me, if I told her half the stuff that goes down." He 
gave a snort of 
derision. "I'm a grown man, for Chrisskes!"
And then he remembered. He opened his eyes.
Shit. 

"Sorry, man," he muttered, appalled at his thoughtlessness.
Skinner shrugged. "S'okay."
Suppose folks that fussed was better than folks ripped up in a car-
wreck. 
He felt like a shit for forgetting. He lay studying the ceiling for a 
moment, wondering 
if he'd just hurt the other man.

"So." Skinner cleared his throat. "Looks like you're on bed-rest `til 
tomorrow."
Doggett turned to look at the sudden change of subject. Yep. He had.
Reaching out his hand, he felt around on the bedclothes, and finding 
what he was 
searching for, threaded his fingers round a big hand.

Skinner looked down. "What's this?"
Doggett gave him a squeeze. "I'm sorry, Walt."
"I told you, it's okay."
"No it's not."
"Forget it." Skinner shook his head. "I'm over it now."
That was a lie. He'd seen the florist's mandate, the photographs 
scattered on the 
study desk.  Was he over it? 
Do chickens have lips? 
Doggett wondered if he should say anything else.
The moment passed as the door banged open, their hands leaping 
guiltily apart.

"Dammit! You'd think I'd cut off your arms and legs with a chain-saw 
myself, the 
way that woman fusses!"  Sal threw herself down into Skinner's 
chair.  
"She was booking the plane tickets to DC in her head, while I talked."
"She's not?" Doggett felt a twinge of panic.
"No, Mama's boy - she's not." Sal laughed, pointing. "You owe me for 
that.  
She was all ready to sit at your bedside and give you tepid sponge-
baths."
Doggett winced. She would, too.

"Hey, Walt," Sal put her feet up on the edge of the bed. "Go ahead 
and hold his 
hand again, if you want. Don't mind me."
Doggett exchanged a look with the other man.
The fact his sister had seen him with his sleeping lover draped over 
him was one thing, 
her sitting there while they held hands like prom dates was entirely 
another. 
Arms folded belligerently across his chest.

"Chicken-shit."
"Just mindin' my business," Doggett snapped. "Don't know who's 
lookin' at who."
"Hey! No-one here but us chickens," Sal laughed.
"Bwark-bwark," Skinner added, winking.
They both seemed to be missing the point, big time. 
The thought of Scully and her lanky familiar walking in on them was 
making  his ears 
curl, even if the other two didn't seem to be getting the picture..
Sal laughed, stretching in the chair.
 
"You know, Johnny, I thought that Muldah guy was gonna shit a brick 
when you 
kissed Walt's hand."
Doggett groaned, unfolding himself. "Noooo. Tell me I didn't." He 
lifted a hand and 
pinched his nose. "Oh God. I thought I dreamed that."
Sal chuckled. "Fraid you did, Big Dog. And then some."  She picked 
some fluff 
off her blouse. "They didn't know, did they?"
Skinner and Doggett exchanged a glance. "No. They most definately do 
not know," 
Skinner said firmly.
"News flash, guys: they do now."

Doggett looked over to her. "I was concussed."
Sal's eyebrow shot up. "You gotta be kiddin' me!" She 
tutted. "Neither of them are 
that stupid."
Doggett glared.  "Meaning?"
Sal shrugged. "Heard them talking. Arguing, actually..." She cocked 
her head on 
one side. "Are they, you know... Doin' one another? `Cause they argue 
enough to be."
"Sarah!" Doggett pulled a face. God, she had a mind like a sewer.

Skinner shifted a little in his seat. "I've never asked. And I don't 
think I want 
to know."
"Who's the baby's father then?"
Both men looked at one another. "Mulder's." Skinner said, finally.
"So he is doin' her?"
Doggett clicked his free fingers, impatiently. "Can we forget about 
Scully's baby 
for one freakin' minute?  Go back to what you said before."
"About?"
Doggett rolled his eyes.  "About them arguing."
"Oh yeah. Well... the two of them were having this huge scene in the 
corridor, about 
whether or not you and Walter were doin' the nasty."
Shit. 
Doggett looked down and shut his eyes.
Shit-shit-shit.




chapter 7

The beeps and clicks of the hospital chased around the room for a few 
minutes, 
while the three people in the room sat and thought about what Sal had 
said.
And dollars to donuts what Sal had on her mind wasn't anywhere near 
what Skinner 
and he had on theirs. Not by the look on her face.
Doggett dragged his eyes from the smirk on his sister's face over to 
where Skinner 
was sitting, rigid on the edge of his bed.
The other man was nursing a distinctly constipated expression.

"Shit," Doggett whispered.
Skinner nodded. 
"Oh, come on, guys!" Sal pulled her legs off the bed and sat up. "Put 
things into 
perspective." She held up her fingers. "They can say what the hell 
they like, but hey!  
One: There's no proof...  Two: Who cares?... And three: So what?"  
She shrugged. 
"For Chrissake, you're both so far over the age of consent its almost 
a joke."
Both men glared.

"Get real, gentlemen. They can argue all they like and Muldah can 
paint all the lurid 
pictures he wants, but I get the impression that Dana wants Polaroids 
before she'll 
believe it." 
She gave a sudden bark of laughter. "Y'know what?  If you want, I'd 
be willin' to..."
"No!" Doggett unfolded his arms, wondering if he could reach over far 
enough to clip 
her round the ear for even thinking that. 
Pervert.
She gave him a huge wink, and a grin to match.

"It may  not be so bad," Skinner said at last, breaking up the 
staring match. "Scully will 
bring him round."
Doggett peered at the man on the edge of bed. Who was he tryin' to 
kid?
Besides, the very idea of Skinner bein' that way inclined was enough 
to bring the rogue 
agent out in hives of excitement.
"Walter... The only person Fox Muldah wants to bring him round, is 
you."
Skinner looked at him. "What do you mean?"
Smiling grimly, Doggett poked at his sore eye for a moment, wondering 
how to break 
this to the big guy. 

"Well. He's kinda got..." 
A crush?
The hots? 
How best to put it?
"He's got this thing."
"Thing?"  Skinner was utterly blank.
Doggett sighed. His eye hurt. His head hurt, and he didn't even want 
to think about his 
nuts. He decided he wasn't in any mood to pussy-foot about around the 
issue.

"He has a thing about you, Walt. A great big, fantasy-shaped thing. 
Get the idea?"
Doggett watched Skinner's mouth fall open to the sound of his 
sister's mirth.
"Oh, shit! This is just perfect! An FBI love-triangle!"
Shake of a bald head. "No." 
"Fraid so, big guy. Major hots."
Skinner looked horrified. "Mulder?"
Doggett nodded. 
Skinner's face contorted. "God..."
Sal rocked back in her chair. "You don't look impressed, Walt."
He glanced at her. "Never crossed my mind about him."
"Well you've crossed his, plenty."
Skinner didn't look pleased with this revelation.  "He told you 
this?" he asked, looking 
even more constipated.
Doggett shook his head. "Didn't have to. It's written all over him. 
Every glance at you, 
every comment. Surprised you never noticed." He grinned, unable to 
resist yanking a 
little.  "Some investigator you are."
"Fuck you." 
"Don' think it's me he wants to fuck."
Skinner winced. "You're absolutely sure?"
Doggett nodded.
Sal pointed. "Takes one to know one," she said.
"One what?"  If she called him a faggot, he was gonna get out of this 
bed and kick her 
ass, aching balls and little sister not withstanding.
She winked. "Skinner-lover."

The two men looked at her. She stared back. Nothing was said for the 
longest time. 
"What?!" she cried at last, throwing her hands up.
A slow grin spread over Skinner's face. "I like that," he said, 
nodding. He turned to 
Doggett. "Got a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
"You're nuts, you know that?" Doggett told him, shaking his head.
"Probably."
"Definately."
Skinner leaned over. "Must be nuts, to hang out with you, you 
skinny..."
Doggett sighed. "Yeah, yeah... skinny-assed sack of shit. I know."

"You two have a real funny way of showing affection, y'know that?"
Skinner shrugged.  "That's guys, for you."
Sal snorted. "`Nuff to make a girl turn queer."
Doggett pulled a face. Didn't need that in his head.  "So what are we 
gonna do?" he 
asked Skinner, unconsciously deferring to the older man.
"Do?"
"About Muldah."
Skinner shrugged again. "Nothing."
"Nothin'?"
"Like she said - he has no proof." He shook his head and corrected 
himself. "They 
have no proof. And anyway..."
"But..."
"I just...." Skinner got up from the bed and walked over to his 
glasses. He unfolded 
them and sighed. "I don't... I mean, it's just too wild."  He shoved 
the spectacles on 
his nose.  
"I'm sorry, but I think you're wrong. Mulder may be strange, but I 
don't think for a s
econd that he harbours any romantic feelings towards me. It's just 
too `out there'." 
A pair of large arms folded over a large chest. "We do nothing. 
Ignore the issue. Act 
like nothing is going on. I think that'll be enough."

Doggett stared at the other man. He couldn't be serious?  Did he 
think for one s
econd that Fox Mulder would be able to refrain from digging around 
until he either 
got at the truth or made someone bleed?  Jesus! He was a huge and 
outstanding pain 
in the butt, but he was also the most tenacious son-of-a-bitch 
Doggett had ever come 
across.  There was no way Mulder would let this one go.

"You're nuts," he told Skinner. 
"Pardon me?"
"Muldah. He won't quit `til he knows for sure."
"Why?"
Doggett rolled his eyes, despite it making his headache 
worse. "Hello? Did I not just 
make myself clear?" He sighed wondering how someone so sexy could be 
so obtuse 
about his own sex appeal.
 
"The mere  fact that there's the slightest possibility of  him being 
able to entertain the 
thought of you in a sexual relationship with another man, will be 
enough to send him 
running for the hand-cream and the Kleenex."
"Ewww!" Sal wrinkled up her nose.
"John..." Skinner pulled a similar face.
"Hey!  I'm just sayin'"
"Well I don't think I need to hear it put quite so... Graphically, 
thank you."

Doggett grunted. Say it like it is, that was his motto. Up front and 
honest. 
Always had been, always would be.
Deep inside his head, a nasty little thought stabbed him. Honest in 
all things, 
except all things concerning his relationship with Skinner.
He shifted slightly under the scratchy hospital covers. 
Shit. 
That admission made him squirm. He'd always prided himself on being 
as honest 
a man as he could. With himself and others. 
He stared at Walt standing at the end of his bed.
Could he really imagine spending the rest of his life hiding his 
relationship with 
this man? Concealing the fact that he loved him, simply to make 
things tidy. 
More convenient?
He frowned. That didn't sound very appealing. Deception wasn't a John 
Doggett kind 
of thing, by nature. But then again, until that summer, he hadn't 
thought Walter Skinner 
was a very John Doggett thing, either.
What was the FBI policy on same-gender relationships?  Could there 
really be any cause 
for concern in this enlightened day and age?
He imagined Kersh's face at the news.
Yeah, right.  
Cause for concern would be the DD haemorrhaging all over his office 
carpet.
A grim smile ghosted across Doggett's lips. Almost be worth mincing 
hand in hand 
into that bastard's office to see that.

Skinner squinted at him. "What's so funny?"
Doggett shook his head. "Nothing. Just thinkin'"
"About?"
"Kersh."
Skinner grimaced. "Kersh?  Kleenex? I think you need a CT scan, John. 
That blow to 
the head must have dislodged something."
Sal blew a raspberry. "Nothin' in there to dislodge."

Against his better manners, Doggett held up a middle finger. He 
figured he was entitled, 
what with bein' helpless in bed, an' all.
"Charming."  Sal sat up and grabbed the digit. "This the thanks I get 
for holding off the 
Decent of Mama?"
"Yep."
"Well, I might just get on the phone and tell her a few home-truths 
about her 
baby boy."
"You wouldn't?"
Sal grinned. "You think?"
"Sal... I have a gun."
She waggled the finger back and forth.  "I have a cel phone."
"You wouldn't?" It was becoming more of a whine.
"Are you sure?  Might be worth it to see the Golden Boy fall."
Doggett scowled at her.  "I'll have you arrested."
"Yeah, charged with what? Closet-opening?"

Ouch. That was below the belt. 
"Low-blow, Sal."
"Learned from the best, Johnny."
"Meaning?"
"You were the King of Tease, remember?"
He shook his head.  "No."
"That's `cause you're old and senile."
"Young enough to kick your ass."
"Too old, too slow, baby."
"I'll sic Walt on you."
Sal's face lit up. "Ooh! It's a deal."
Pulling his finger free, Doggett sighed. "I didn't mean it like that."
 
Perching a butt cheek on the edge of the bed, Sal laughed and poked 
him in the ribs.
"Relax, Big Dog. I wouldn't do that. Even to you." 
He grunted,  regarding her sceptically. He wasn't so sure. The whole 
thing must be 
amazingly tempting for her.
"I'm gonna leave it to you to break the happy news to the wide 
world." 
She leaned over and mussed his hair. "But promise me one thing?"
"What?"
"You'll let me help you pick out your wedding gown?"

Grabbing his wrists as he tried to slap at her, Sal pulled his arms 
out to the sides, 
rendering him helpless.  Head bent, she snuffled at Doggett's neck, 
making him yell, 
tickling unmercifully.
"Stop!" he gasped laughing, heaving her away.
"Baby!" she told him, wiping her mouth dry.
"Sadist." He smiled, running his hand over his wet neck.
Pushing her away stole the last of his strength, and a wide yawn 
crept up behind 
his good manners, making his jaw creak
"You should get some rest," Skinner told him, moving round the side 
of the bed.
"I'm..."
"Fine." The other two spoke together. "Yes, we know." 
Doggett sighed.  He was outnumbered, and he knew it. He waved a hand.

"Go. Take her away." He looked at Skinner. "My house keys are in my 
jacket..."  
shit. Back at the Bureau.
Skinner nodded. "In your office. Don't worry.." He glanced at Sal. "I 
have a spare."
"Fancy that," she said, smiling.
"You can pick up your stuff from John's place, I'll be happy to take 
you to the airport..."
"There's no need, Walt, I can get a taxi."
Skinner shook his head. "I wouldn't hear of it. Be my pleasure."
"What a lovely thoughtful brother-in-law," Sal teased, winking at 
Skinner, who just 
smiled back, not rising to her bait.

"You behave yourself, Miss," Doggett growled, not liking the idea of 
Sal in Skinner's 
car all the way to the airport, one little bit.
"That an order, Agent Doggett?" she asked.
"You bet."
Smiling, she bent and kissed the uninjured side of his face. "Okay 
then. I'll be a good 
girl."
He doubted that. But on the other hand, he did trust 
Skinner.   "Yeah."
 
He kissed her back, brushing her face with his fingers, wondering 
when he would see 
her again.Two years was too long, he decided.
"Safe journey."
She nodded, holding the hand. "Sure. I'll call to let Walt know when 
I get in."
Doggett smiled, liking her automatic assumption that Skinner would be 
seeing him
tomorrow.

"You come back and see me real soon, y'hear?" he told her.
Laughing, Sal did that annoying ruffle-thing with his hair, but he 
let it go. 
She could be as annoying as hell, but in the context of her 
acceptance of his new 
`life-choice', he'd let her mess his hair up if she wanted.
 
"Sure, Big Dog. It's been a blast." She moved away, glancing over at 
Skinner, and 
grinned. "But maybe you and Walt could come visit me.  Get away from 
the big city - 
relax in the good `ol country."
Doggett winced. He could just imagine his sister introducing him and 
Walt to her 
friends, and he didn't want to imagine introducing Walt to his 
parents.

"Maybe," he told her, doubtfully.
"We'd love to," Skinner interrupted, nodding, a pleased look on his 
face.  
Doggett glanced over. He and Mr. Skinner were going to have to have a 
little chat 
about communication skills, real soon.

"Good."  She took her jacket from the chair. "You take care, Johnny. 
No more 
dancin' with Agent Muldah, now. Y'hear?"
"Funny."
Moving silently, Skinner's hand was suddenly on his shoulder.
"Don't worry, Sal. I'll take good care of him."
Doggett looked up at the other man, a smile playing on his lips.He 
was pleasantly 
surprised to find he didn't feel any embarrassment as Skinner bent to 
briefly kiss his lips.  
Suppose that after yesterday's demonstration in the kitchen, this was 
nothing.
Skinner straightened, allowing his hand to brush over Doggett's 
cheek, just for a second.
  
"I'll be by tomorrow. Bring you some fresh clothes."
"Thanks."  Doggett yawned again, making Skinner smile. 
"Get some rest, you hear?"
"Yes, boss."
From the doorway, Sal waved. "Bye Johnny. Love you."
Doggett raised a hand. "Back atcha, Babe."  
And then they were gone, leaving Doggett with the remains of a 
headache, a smile on his 
face and very messy hair.




chapter 8


Lying on his side, the edge of the medicated pillow tickling his 
nose, Doggett tried to 
put his finger on what it was that had woken him.
There didn't seem to be any more noise coming from outside the room 
than usual, nor 
was it morning. The very brief test-slit opening of his eyelids 
confirmed that the room 
was still dark - so what could it be?

Not moving, he ran a quick check on his body. Head: a dull throb that 
two aspirin had 
tried to chase away before he retired, and nuts: tender but tolerable.
So it wasn't pain that had wafted into his head to wake him.
And yet...  The short hairs on the back of his neck were rarely 
wrong, and right now, 
they were standing to parade-ground attention, screaming at him that 
something most 
definitely, was not right.
There was someone else in the room. 

He'd bet his bruised left nut on it. Someone was sitting silently in 
the chair by the wall, 
not moving in the darkness.
Doggett felt horribly vulnerable lying there being watched, his back 
exposed in one of 
those godawful hospital gowns, with absolutely no idea where his 
weapon was, but damn 
sure it wasn't anyplace within easy reach.
Shit!  
Who was it?  He feigned sleep, trying to keep his breathing steady 
and rhythmic, 
resisting the urge to jump up and scream.

Sal and Skinner had left hours ago. Scully had been dragged home by 
Mulder even 
earlier.
So who was in the room with him?  
With his back to the room, he couldn't say for sure where the person 
was sitting, but the 
hairs on his neck insisted that wherever the mystery visitor was 
sitting, they were staring at 
his back. His naked, exposed back.  All the way down to his ass.

Never much dignity in the arena of medicine, so why the hell patients 
weren't allowed 
underwear, he would never figure out, but with his usual response to 
the over-heated 
rooms in hospitals, and a good dose of shitty karma,  he knew he had 
shoved the covers 
down.
It took all of his self-restraint not to claw the coverlet up to his 
chin.

Goddamn!  Lying with his ass hanging out was no way to deal with an 
intruder. 
Doggett pulled in a deep breath.  Dammit to hell!
He flared his nostrils. There it was.  The merest hint of something 
familiar.
Not Skinner. He knew that scent, even in his sleep. The smell of that 
man wouldn't have 
disturbed his sleep.
This was someone else. 
 
He ran the hint of cologne through his memory, trying to isolate the 
source.  
Where did he recognise that smell from?  He panicked slightly as the 
thought of 
Giles Banner slithered unwelcome into his mind and instantly 
ridiculed himself for the 
very idea.  
No. not him. He was locked away someplace very unfriendly. It wasn't 
Banner.

Breathing in the warm dry hospital air, the pieces of the scented 
puzzle clicked into place 
in his head. He gritted his teeth, determined not to betray his 
embarrassment by pulling 
the sheet up over his rear-end.
Without moving or even lifting his head, Doggett spoke quietly.

"What can I do for you, Agent Muldah?"
There was a shuffle and a little sigh from across the room.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."
Doggett grunted. "Yeah?"
"Really."  There was the sound of someone shuffling about. "I was 
just..."
"Just what?"  

Doggett pulled his head out of the pillow and craned around to frown 
at the other man. 
It was probably too dark for the scowl to have much effect, but it 
made him feel better.
Mulder was busy unpretzling his legs from the red chair in the 
corner. How the hell could 
anyone sit like that?

"I just..." Mulder stood and stepped forward, then hesitated.
It was too dark for the other man to see the blush that was colouring 
his face, that was 
one small mercy, Doggett thought. 
Turning over on to his back and pulling the sheet up 
to his waist, he fussed with the material, folding it over and 
smoothing it out.
He looked up to see Mulder lurking at the foot of his bed. God! 
What the fuck was he staring at? Doggett clicked his fingers 
impatiently. 
"C'mon, c'mon. spit it out man."  
Jesus! Sometimes he wondered what he'd done to deserve Mulder.

"Um... I was just, you know..."
Doggett rolled his eyes. "No, Agent Muldah, I don't know. All I know 
is you're 
standing in my hospital room at..."  He looked around for a clock, 
but couldn't see one. 
"God knows whatever time it is.."
"It's twenty past five," Mulder offered helpfully.
"Jesus wept!"  He reached to pinch his eyes. He must have been a very 
bad individual 
in a past life. 
"Are you trying to kill me, Muldah? I almost had a heart-attack, 
waking with someone 
in my room."
"Sorry."
"Yeah, so you said." He glared. "You're sitting in the dark, Muldah."
"That's because it's twenty past..."
"I know what the freakin' time is! That's the goddamn point!"  Giving 
in, Doggett 
put his hands over his bruised face and groaned.

He heard Mulder creeping towards the bed. "Are you okay, Doggett?  
Want me 
to call a nurse? A doctor?"
"NO!"  It felt good to yell. "Don't want a fuckin' nurse. I don't 
want a fuckin' 
doctor! I just want to know why you're sitting staring at me while I 
sleep!"

Mulder stood and blinked at him, apparently struck dumb by the 
outburst.
Pulling in a deep calming breath, Doggett unclenched his fists and 
deliberately smoothed his hands on the sheet. Shouting was all well 
and good, but it had 
woken up his headache.
"So." He shut his eyes for a  long moment. "I'm gonna ask again." 
Opening up, he saw Mulder hadn't moved. "What are you doin'  here?"
	
"Nothing."
"Muldah..."
"No. I mean I wasn't going to do anything..." Holding his hands out 
peaceably, 
Mulder stepped closer.
"Glad to hear it," Doggett muttered, pulling at the top of his sheet.
"I dropped Scully at home, we ate pizza..."
"How nice."  Dry, just this side of sarcastic.
"Then I just... you know. Fell asleep."  Mulder wriggled at little, 
as if embarrassed 
at the admission. "Anyway - when I woke up, it was too late to phone 
anyone to 
ask how you were. So I just came down."
"In the middle of the night."
Mulder shrugged. "I don't sleep very well."
"Me either."
"Sorry." He pulled a face. "I didn't plan on waking you."
Doggett grunted again. "Just thought you'd sit and stare at my bare 
ass, instead."
"Works for me."  The grin on his face raised the hackles on Doggett's 
neck.
"That's what you might call `kinky', Agent Muldah," he growled.
Mulder scratched his head and sat, uninvited on the edge of the 
bed. "Well, when 
you put it like that..."
"How else d'you wanna put it?"
Mulder shrugged. "Concern."
"What?"  Doggett shook his throbbing head, incredulous.
"I was worried. Felt guilty, I suppose."
Snorting was the only response Doggett was in the mood to give to 
that revelation.
"So I thought I'd come see how you were."
"I was asleep, thank you very much for askin'."
"Yeah, sorry about that."

Doggett sighed. It was too early for this shit. He rubbed at his eyes 
again, trying 
not to pull the sore skin over his cheekbone. Someone make him go 
away.
"I'm fine, Agent Muldah. A little battered and bruised, but fine."
"Uh-huh."
"I could use some more sleep, though." Major hint, Mulder. Go away.
Mulder nodded. "Probably," he agreed, not moving.

God! Thick-skinned or just outstandingly obtuse? Doggett stared. 
"So..." He waved a hand. 
Mulder just smiled. Unbelievable.
"I'm goin' to close my eyes now, Muldah. I like for you not to be 
there when 
I open them again."
"Okay." 

Doggett sighed and shut his eyes. He must have been a fuckin' serial-
killer in a past life, never mind just `bad'. 
No movement from the end of the bed.
Doggett lay, with his eyes shut, trying not to feel Mulder's gaze 
burning through 
his eyelids.
He counted to one hundred very slowly, figuring that the other man 
was gonna 
get the hint any second.

"You're still there, aren't you, Muldah?"
"Uh-huh."
"Why is that?"
"I'm making sure you fall alseep okay."
"I think I can manage that, now I'm a big boy."  
The snort that followed that comment was enough to make his face 
screw up.
"You know what I mean."
"I sure do."
"Muldah..."  The low growl in the back of his throat.
"Don't panic, I only got to see your ass."

Mortification washed over Doggett, raising the temperature under the 
thin cover. 
"It was really too dark to see that, properly, either."
"Jesus, Muldah! Gimme a break!"
"Okay."

The chuff of Mulder's amusement drifted away. Doggett tried counting 
again. 
He got to thirty seven, before unease interrupted.
"Okay, Mulder. You can leave me, now. I'm not going to have a 
seizure. Or fall out of 
bed. I'm just going to go to sleep, okay?"
"Okay."

Eyes flicking back and forth under their lids, Doggett ground his 
teeth together. 
He could see how Skinner had got into that bad habit, dealing with 
Fox Mulder.
"You're still there, aren't you, Muldah?"
"Uh-huh."
"And that would be because?"
"I'm not making any noise," Mulder offered, defensive.

Doggett's eyes snapped open. "That's not really the issue, is it?"
"No?" He seemed genuinely surprised.
"No."  Doggett waited for the penny to drop. Then waited some more. 
Gradually he 
realised that Mulder didn't have a slot for a penny to drop into.
He groaned, shaking his head carefully. "I can't do this."
"What?"
"Sleep, with you starin' at me."
"How come?" Again, genuine surprise. This man must be wired up on a 
whole different system to the rest of the world, Doggett thought.
He sighed again. "Makes me very uncomfortable."
"Oh."

Jesus! How was it that Mulder got to look wounded?  With that pouty 
face of his... 
Dammit! He was the one lying vulnerable helpless, naked under a very 
thin sheet. 
That thought unfurled bare-assed and embarrassed, in Doggett's belly.
"You think you could..." Doggett waved his hand at the door. Mulder 
just stared 
at him.
"You want me to get something?"
"I want you to get out."That pouty face again.  Doggett hardened his 
heart. 
It wasn't difficult. 
"Now," he ordered.
"Oh." Mulder sighed. "And I thought we were turning over a new leaf 
in our relationship."

Doggett stared. Relationship? New leaf? What was he on?
"What the hell are you talkin' about?"		
Mulder waved a hand. "You and me. Getting along."
Doggett shook his head, wondering if this was just one of those 
freaky  dreams. 
He'd be standing  in front of the Lincoln Memorial any second now, 
wearing his mother's Sunday best.
"We are gettin' along, Muldah. But I'd get along with you a whole lot 
better if 
you'd leave me alone to get some sleep. Okay?" 
"Oh."

Biting back the urge to scream at the other man to get the fuck out 
of his airspace, 
Doggett made do with another Mulder-induced sigh. 
"Look, Muldah. I appreciate you bein' concerned about me and all..." 
He looked up, trying arrange his face in a `sincere' expression.
"I get it."
"No, I don't think..."
"This is because I made all those jokes about you and Skinner, isn't 
it?"

The world blurred into a dirty grey colour again, taking Doggett's 
stomach and 
balling it up into his throat.
"What d'you mean?" he whispered.
Mulder rolled his eyes. "You know. The Banner thing. The undercover." 
He blew  air out between his lips. "I thought we'd got past that."

Okay. 
It was safe. 
Relief unfolded Doggett's stomach, patting it gently back into 
place.  
"Oh," he said. Then he shook his head. "No. It's nothin' to do with 
that. I just 
can't sleep with someone watching me, is all."
Mulder didn't look convinced.
"Honest." 
"Yeah?"
"Sure." Doggett nodded.  He held out a hand. "Thanks for the concern, 
Fox."
The use of his given name narrowed Milder's eyes, but he made no 
comment, just 
took Doggett's hand. 

"You're sure I can't get you anything?"
"Uh-uh. I'm good."
"You want me to pick you up some clean underwear?"
"Nah. Walt's doin' that for me..."

Oh shit, shit, shit.
The throb in his cheek flared into an out and out stab, and his hand 
contracted in 
Mulder's just a fraction.
He'd called him Walt.
Glancing up, Doggett wondered  if he'd noticed the slip. 
Mulder sat perched on the bed, his free hand folded neatly  in his 
lap. 
There was no expressin on his face, but somehow, that didn't reassure 
Doggett 
one bit.  
Joined at the hand, Doggett's racing imagination fancied that all the 
images in his 
head were tearing along his arm to bleed from his fingers into 
Mulder's, and then racing gleefully into his head.
Shit. 
He pulled his hand back, panicking.

"I... um..."  The gift of language was on lay-away at the moment.
He stared right back at into Mulder's hazel eyes, wondering if this 
was the moment 
when the shit was going to hit the fan. It seemed too small a slip 
for this to be it. 
Somehow he'd always imagined that it'd take more than one word.

"Okay."  Mulder shrugged and stood up.
That was it? Doggett stared, his mouth falling open.
"I'll tell Scully you'll be out tomorrow. She was worried, too." 
"Uh-huh."  Words still on a shelf in the despatch-room, Doggett 
couldn't think of 
anything sensible to say. 
Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Mulder turned away. 

Doggett watched as he reached the door, pulling a hand out from his 
pocket to 
heave it open.
There should be things he had to say to the other man. Had to be.
Mulder glanced over his shoulder.
"Glad you're okay. You should take the day off tomorrow. Take it 
easy."
Doggett nodded, dumbly. 
"After a head injury, you're supposed to rest."

Nodding again, Doggett put his will-power down as a payment on 
whispered 
speech.
"Sure. I think I will. Thanks Muldah."
Mulder stepped out into the corridor, then as if recalling something, 
turned back 
into the room. There was enough light from the corridor for Doggett 
to see the 
wicked grin on the other's face.

"One more thing, Agent Doggett..."
If he were any less shell-shocked, Doggett might have been uneasy at 
the sight. 
As it was, he just lay there, waiting as unsuspecting as a deaf 
wildebeest. 
"Uh-huh?"
Mulder winked and laughed. 	"Great ass."
The door hissed shut on Doggett's furious blush.




chapter 9.

There was a drawback to being a naturally tidy person, honed to near 
anal-neatness 
by the military.
It meant that an unexpected  day-off was filled with a huge chunk 
of `nothing to do'.
His place was clean, tidy and ordered. Trash emptied, dishes washed 
and yard swept.
He'd sorted his CD's into alphabetical order a month ago, and he was 
damned if he 
was going to be reduced to sitting on the floor, categorising them 
into genre.  
It was a close thing, but there were limits.
Doggett glanced over at the rack again. 
Shit.
 
No. He couldn't do it. Sighing, he pushed himself up off the sofa and 
stomped 
into the kitchen wearing the black mood that had been draped all over 
him since 
Skinner left for work this morning.
Nice enough being brought home by the other man, petted and pampered 
behind closed 
doors. Fussed over and kissed.
But duty called, and he'd had to go to into the office - a sick day 
to look after a 
subordinate would be nice, but not wise. He understood Skinner's 
reasons, but still, 
it grated.

He pulled open the fridge and fished around for a soda.
He couldn't go running. Doctor's orders.
He couldn't go biking. Doctor's orders.
He couldn't go into work. Skinner's orders.

Damn it, he was so fuckin' bored!  Daytime TV was an insult to anyone 
with two 
brain cells to rub together, and he'd finished his new Stephen King 
last Thursday.  
Shit!
Stomping back into the lounge, Doggett just stopped himself from 
throwing his body 
onto the sofa. Uh-uh. Not a great idea. It'd be a while before he'd 
feel like bouncing 
his balls on the furniture, thank you Agent Mulder.
Come to think of it - he'd not be putting his ass in the saddle of 
his beloved bike any 
time soon, either.
 
Great. He frowned, sipping his drink. God really fucked up with the 
design of the 
male body.
The ringing of the phone interrupted his misery. Smiling, he reached 
over. 
That'd be Skinner, checking up on him.
"Yeah?"
"How are you feeling, Agent Doggett?"
He grinned. Oh yeah. Settling back, he put his feet on the table.
"Oh, a little sore, but not so bad, thank you, sir."  They couldn't 
do phone sex on a 
Bureau line, but it was great to hear the other man's voice, all the 
same.

"Glad to hear it, Agent Doggett."
"Thank you for your concern, sir."  They had become masters of 
superficial 
conversation.
"I need you in perfect health, Agent."
"I understand, sir." Did he ever!  There had been promises made in 
the car on the 
way home, promises that involved his balls and a very gentle mouth. 
"Good. See that you get the proper rest."
"I will."  In bed between your thighs, sir. 
He knew Skinner would be filling in the blanks, just like he did.

"So you'll be in the office tomorrow?"
"Plan on it, sir. Sooner the better."
"I like to hear my Agents are keen."
"Yessir."  Grinning like a loon, Doggett chugged back a mouthful of 
soda.
"Goodbye, Agent Doggett."
"Bye, Assistant Director."
  
Hanging up, Doggett chuckled to imagine any wire-tappers getting hot 
over that 
conversation, but it'd warmed him up and alleviated his foul mood. It 
felt good that 
someone cared about him  enough to check he was okay.
Maybe he could slip a video in. That'd get rid of a coupla hours. He 
rolled off the 
sofa and knee-walked over to the bookshelf.
Walt had lent him the Lonesome Dove boxed set, and he'd not gotten 
around 
watching it yet. Yep. That'd take care of most of the afternoon.
The phone rang again.

"Yeah?" Surely not Walt again.
"Hi, baby."
Doggett put his hand to his eyes.
"Oh, hi, Mama."
"How you feelin' son? Sally told me everything."

Shit, he hoped not. He pulled a face.
"I'm fine, Ma."
"You always say that."
"That's `cause I am."  This was an argument he knew he wasn't gonna 
win, but he 
went for it anyway.
"Don't snip at me, John."
"I didn't, Ma." He squeezed the bridge of his nose. "I'm not."
There was a snort down the line.  
"Ma. Sal probably exaggerated. You know how she gets."
"She told me you had a fall."
Close. "Yeah. Kinda knocked my cheek a bit, but I'm okay."
"Concussion, she said."

He was gonna kick Sal's ass when he saw her again. "Nah. Not really. 
Just kept me 
in as a precaution, is all."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. I'm fine."  
"You wouldn't be lyin' to me, would you, son?"
"No, Ma."
"John Jay..."  There it was. That warning growl he'd deluded himself 
into thinking 
he'd invented.
He sighed.  "Ma... I told you..."
"Sal said you'd been hurt someplace else, too."

Oh, he was definitely gonna kill her.
"Oh."
"Yes. `Oh'."  There was a long silence neither of them wanting to be 
the first to speak.

 Doggett cracked. "It was nothin'," he lied.
"Getting kicked `down there' isn't nothin', Johnny. You should know 
that."
Doggett's skin crawled with embarrassment. He still hadn't gotten 
over that incident in 
the back yard.
"The doctor checked it out, Ma. I'm fine."  That phrase was getting a 
real work-out the 
last coupla days.
"And your... You know, are okay?"
He winced. "Yeah. Fine."  Bruised and a cool shade of purple, but 
essentially fine.
"That's good."  

There was a crazy moment when he imagined the woman was going to 
enquire about 
the chances of him siring another grandchild. The feeling passed when 
he heard her  
laugh. 
"Gotta take care of the cajones, Johnny."
Oh, God... Jesus! This was his mother! 
"Ma..."
"Oh, don't be such a ninny!  You think I don't know what they're 
called?"
Doggett's face twisted. 
"And you think that at my age I've not seen my fair share..."
"God... MA!"

This was too much.  He didn't need a discussion about testicles, his 
or not, with his 
mother.
"Well. It's important, John. They're important."
Cringe. 
"I guess." Please can we change the subject?  "Is Daddy keepin' well?"
"Oh, he's just fine. That new hip's just the job. He walked to all 
the way to
your uncle Benny's farm the other day."
"Yeah? That's a fair step."
"I'll say."

Silence fell. He wondered what was going through that mind. There was 
absolutely 
nothing going through his. 
"Sal reckons you've made some nice friends out there."
Great. Now there  was far too much going through it.
"Yeah. They're a good bunch of folks." 
God, he hated how she always made him revert to sounding like a hick.
"So she said."

Doggett swallowed, throat dry despite the soda.
"Uh-huh." Keep it neutral. She did promise she wouldn't say anything.
"Took kind of a shine to one fella, I reckon."
"Y'think?" Sal and me both, he thought.
"Had a light in her eye when she talked about him. Is he a nice 
fella?"

Shit. Nicer than you could ever imagine, Ma.   The insane urge to 
tell her all about 
Walter Skinner raged through his head. He swallowed, biting down on 
that train of 
thought.
"They're all nice enough, I reckon

He wanted to tell her... God he wanted to be honest with her.  
Wanted to tell her he'd found a wonderful person that he loved, and 
loved 
him in return. 
Wasn't that what every mother wanted for their kids? Maybe so, sanity 
told him, 
but she probably didn't want to hear it over the phone, half a 
country away. 
He should steer the subject somewhere safer, before he lost control.

"Maybe I should call her - tease her a `lil bit..."
"Don't you dare, John Jay. You leave her be. `Bout time she settled 
down."
He smiled to himself. Now she would go off a way on how Sal should be 
havin' 
babies and stuff. He chugged a swig of pop. That was a lot safer 
topic of 
conversation than him coming out of any damned closet.

"You courtin' anyone, Johnny?"
The soda ran up the back of his throat into his nose. Coughing, 
bleary-eyed with 
Dr.Pepper-burn, he wiped his dripping face on his arm. Shit.
"Well? Are you? It's been plenty long enough now."
"Ma... I don't think..."
"Oh, shoot, Johnny! You're a good enough lookin' man."
God! She was relentless.
"I work long hours, Ma."  He ran his hand over the wet patch on his 
jeans. 
They'd need soaking to get this stuff out.
"You need to move on, John. Get over her."
God! Had he ever gotten over her.
"So are you datin'?"

Oh, yeah, Mom. He's about 6'2", has an ass you could bounce pennies 
off and gives 
terrific head. 
He winced. This was definitely not the time. Her heart wouldn't stand 
it.
"I gotta go, Ma. There's someone at the door."  
A lie. But he'd live with that. Better than giving his mother a 
coronary, 
long-distance.
"I didn't hear the bell."
Busted. Psychic old bat.
"It's broken. I can hear `em knockin'."  This was ridiculous. He was 
too fuckin' old 
to be telling fibs to his mother.
"Well, okay then."  
Was that reproach in her voice? Or was it just his guilty conscience 
he could hear?
"Look after yourself, son. I worry about you, so far away."
Reproach.
"I know. I will."
"I love you." 
 Definitely guilty conscience.
"You take care, Ma. I love you too. And give my love to Daddy, 
y'hear?"  
He was getting off lightly, with a little help from Mr. Fib.
"I will. Now you will come see us soon, won't you?"
Maybe not so lightly.
"I'll try. It's tough, with work, y'know."
Gentle sigh.  "I understand."
Shit. Stab straight through his guts. God, she was good.
"Gotta go. Love ya."
"Bye, Johnny. Big kiss."

He put the phone in the cradle by touch alone, his eyes shut against 
the accusingly 
silent doorway. Damn. You'd think that being 40-odd, divorced, law-
enforcement 
officer would be enough to qualify him being regarded as a grown-up.  
Never mind moving halfway across a continent and burying a child. But 
no. 
Apparently his mother still regarded him as five years old and 
incapable of running 
his own life. 
Well, I'm running it just, fine, thank you, Ma. I love and am loved, 
he thought. 
But I just can't find the courage to tell you about it. 
He was a coward. Plain and simple. 
Rather face a screaming horde of terrorists than tell his parents 
he'd turned queer. 
Wasn't that a kick in the balls?

He wiped up the last of the choked-out soda out of his lap. 
Sighing, he pulled himself up, looking down at the wet patch. Damn.  
He'd slip the video in right after he changed out of these ruined 
pants, then he'd 
settle down for a long session in front of the idiot box.  Maybe a 
good dose of 
looking at cow's asses would improve his mood. 
See if he couldn't lose himself in cowshit and saddles.