Disclaimer: They belong to Chris Carter, 1013, Fox, and the
disgustingly talented actors who portray them, not me

Thanks: To my dear friend and beta, Robin, whose votes of
confidence always mean the world to me. And to the
wonderful Circe Invidiosa for giving my fic a home at
http://tlynn.invidiosa.com

Author's notes: at end

* * *

He pushed the door to a close and made his way over to the
building, a sad little wooden hovel surrounded by nothing
but pitch-black desert. A sign on the roof that simply read
'Joe's', lit by a single light bulb affixed to the top
edge, was the only marker provided for its existence from
the nearby road. He'd almost driven past, but once he
parked and got out of the car, the soft beat of music from
within signaled that he had indeed found the right
location.

The air was humid inside and thick with cigarette smoke
despite the low number of patrons and he stopped for a
moment to let his eyes adjust. High tables with no chairs
were scattered around the perimeter of the room, some
bending slightly under the weight of a heavily leaning
body, others vacant save for clusters of empty glasses and
bottles. The familiar crack of a pool game in progress
floated from an adjoining, sparsely lit space to the right
and a young girl with a distinctively southern drawl took
the single spotlight on a small stage at the far end,
fingers plucking at a guitar while she sang a tune he
didn't recognize.

He sallied up to the bar and ordered a drink, tightening
his grip on the brown paper sack he held in his left hand
as he carefully scanned the room. A handful of couples
moved together on the small dance floor, arms entwined and
hips swinging in drunken rhythm, framed by the littering of
tables and the Stetsons who occupied them. He nodded a
thank you to the bartender for his beer, dropping a $5
bill, and took a long swig, eyes ever watchful over the
long body of the bottle.

Then, suddenly, he saw them.

They were tucked into a back corner, several feet away from
anyone else, ensconced in the darkness. He was standing
behind her with his right arm wrapped around her shoulders,
pressing her into his chest. The bottle she held in her
hand was precariously close to falling to the floor, the
muscles in her fingers visibly relaxed as his left hand
came to rest low on her belly, thumb idly rubbing at the
small patch of flesh peeking out from under her shirt. Her
head fell back against him, eyes closed and lips slightly
parted and he ducked down, whispering something into her
ear as his body rocked them in a dance entirely separate
from the tempo of the music, lost, as ever, in their own
space and time.

He felt as though he'd be intruding if he approached them
now, so he waited, sipping his beer, until the song ended
and he saw them slow to a halt.

"Thank you," the singer announced. "I'll be back in five
minutes."

The lights remained low as the girl jumped off the stage
and headed for the bar for her break, a dull roar of
applause and then chatter filling the room before the
jukebox sputtered to life.

They didn't seem to notice him as he neared, her head now
turned up as words only they could hear were exchanged. It
was when she leaned forward to place her drink on a nearby
table that her attention shifted and she saw him standing
before them, her elbow giving a slight nudge to her
partner's stomach in gentle alert.

The man he once knew as Fox Mulder extended his hand and he
took it in a firm shake. Once released, he moved to greet
her and the woman he once knew as Dana Scully took his hand
in both of hers and squeezed lightly, allowing a thin smile
to appear on her face for a second.

"Let's go," Mulder said.

John Doggett nodded his agreement and followed them out of
the bar. They walked around to the back of the building,
stopping at an old beat up Chevy truck parked several feel
from any other vehicle. Mulder opened the passenger door
for her before circling around and sliding in behind the
wheel, the engine roaring to life as he turned the key in
the ignition. With no back seat to accommodate him, Scully
slid over to make room for their new passenger. Doggett
squeezed in next to her and closed the door behind him,
leaning down to settle the bag he carried onto the
floorboard at his feet. As he bent back up, a worn piece of
black cloth was dropped into his lap.

"What the hell's this for?" he asked.

"Just put it on," Mulder said.

Doggett sighed audibly and complied, but not before the
movement of Mulder's hand settling onto the expanse of
Scully's thigh caught his eye. He jumped slightly at the
sudden feel of her hand behind his head, checking for the
security of his blindfold.

"Were you followed, John?" she asked.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

A seemingly satisfied silence filled the small cabin of the
truck and kept him comfortable for the remainder of the
ride. Twenty, perhaps thirty, minutes later, the vehicle
slowed to a stop and he felt Scully's hand again, this time
untying the cloth and restoring his sight.

"C'mon," she urged, sliding out after Mulder, grasping his
extended hand as her feet hit the ground. "Let's go
inside."

Doggett retook possession of the bag at his feet and
followed them again, this time across a dirt driveway
leading to a small house he would have surely thought to be
abandoned. More darkness surrounded them in the night, but
he could make out the faint outline of a few other
buildings scattered nearby, some with light burning in the
windows, others as silent as the one he now approached.
Mulder unlocked the front door and ushered her inside
first, then waved for Doggett to follow suit. Once inside
himself, he closed the door and locked it again, tucking
his keys in his pocket. Soft light bathed the room as
Scully switched on a lamp.

It was a studio space, one large room with an impossibly
tiny kitchen to the left and a comparable bathroom to the
right. A bed, unmade, provided the only furniture. The
lamp, sans shade, sat on the floor in a corner, shining low
to highlight the disorder surrounding it. Two suitcases
laid side-by-side against one wall, the contents a messy
pile in one, clothes neatly folded or hanging over the open
flap in the other. Papers and maps were strewn about the
entire room, no order apparent, but likely present and a
trash can overflowed with discarded documents and empty
take-out containers.

"We haven't been here long," she offered as an explanation
at his expression. "We haven't quite settled in. Do you
want a drink?"

He nodded at her, but it was Mulder who moved to the
kitchen, emerging with a two cans of beer. Scully shook her
head as one was offered to her. He reached back and set it
down in the kitchen and tossed the remaining one to John.
He opened it to little overflow and took a long drink.

"Thanks," he said, lifting his hand slightly.

Now, in the light, he could see them better, make out their
features more clearly. As she leaned over to smooth the
covers on the bed, he couldn't help but notice how thin
she'd gotten, how the plain clothes she wore were baggy,
but not sloppy, on her small frame and he felt a stab of
guilt wondering if part of it was due to her injury and the
subsequent healing. Her hair, blonde the last time he'd
seen her, had taken on a gingery tint he was more familiar
with, but was longer still and hung in a loose ponytail
that flowed down to the middle of her back. Her eyes were
still the blue he remembered, but with the dark circles
beneath them and the pale skin even further down, the color
seemed slightly dulled.

Looking at Mulder, he saw the same circles, the same
thinning physique. His cheeks hollowed more than Doggett
had remembered, but were covered by a thick stubble that
indicated more than a few days' worth of growth. His hair
was longer, too, but not unkempt, and his skin had taken a
deeper tan. His eyes held a familiar resolve, but were
noticeably tired, and rarely wandered from her movements.
He seemed to relax when she finally sat and invited Doggett
to do the same.

"No one knows where you are?" Mulder asked.

"They think I'm visiting my cousin," John said. "As we
planned."

"Do you have everything?"

Doggett lifted his bag and turned it over, letting its
contents slide carefully out onto the bed between him and
Scully. All three sets of eyes carefully regarded the pile.

"Is it gonna work this time?" Mulder asked forcefully,
unable to hide a slightly bitter edge.

Doggett lifted his head to look at the other man, regarding
him carefully, then shifted his eyes to Scully. The memory
of that night two and a half years before, of that car
crashing into them, of her body being thrown onto the
asphalt jarred through him and he couldn't help but flinch.
He'd never seen the scar running down the length of her
abdomen, but he knew it was there, knew how close she'd
come to losing her life. Mulder had blamed Doggett, had
relied on him to ensure the safety of the operation on
grounds they couldn't have secured themselves. John blamed
himself as well. Unaware of how they'd been found out, but
unable to surrender, a new plan was to be carried out,
under even further secrecy. Trust, though guarded, was
regained and now he alone was the catalyst for the next
attempt, the other few involved ignorant, for now, to the
upcoming time and place.

"Yeah," he answered, looking Mulder directly in the eye.
"It is."

Mulder nodded once.

"It's all here," he began, sifting through the articles
he'd brought. "More passports, IDs, social security cards,
and the like. The usual stuff. Target list, info on our
rendezvous point, security and personnel, who, of our
group, will be at what post."

He took a deep breath.

"Two .40 caliber weapons, untraceable. And twenty bullets,
each with enough infused ore to stop anything coming at
you."

The possibilities hung in the air.

"The last batch of data we sent proved helpful then," she
said, not quite a question, not quite a statement.

"I don't know where you found it, but yeah," Doggett said.
"It was what we needed."

She turned her head to Mulder, eyes locking with his. They
lingered, unmoving, communicating without words. The
silence stretched, their gaze unwavering, each passing
moment proving to be nothing short of unnerving to Doggett
as he paid witness to their wordless conversation.

He cleared his throat and the connection was broken.

She stood again, gathering the papers and weaponry,
settling it all back into its bag. Doggett took her cue and
moved to his feet as well, gulping down the last of his
beer. She handed the bag to Mulder and he tucked it under
his arm, pulling his keys out of his pocket.

"Let's go," he said.

They filed out and into the truck again, each taking their
previous seats, Doggett again handed the blindfold. They
rode in silence, only the soft sound of Scully's breathing
as she slept against Mulder's shoulder could be heard in
tandem with the road noise.

She woke as they approached Doggett's parked rental,
sitting amongst a few lingering cars outside the still-open
bar, and stopped with the engine running. Doggett opened
the door and retreated from the seat, standing for a moment
before closing the door. She had sat up straight again, but
stayed still, hadn't moved over to fill the space he'd just
left. They were a unit, a formidable one at that, no doubt
about it.

"We'll see you soon?"

"Soon," Mulder said.

"Soon," she echoed.

"Kickin' ass and takin' names?" Doggett ventured with a
small smile, one which she returned.

"Of course," Mulder said.

Her grin widened.

"Good," John almost laughed. "It'll be just like the good
ol' days."

He shut the door to the truck and stepped back, watching as
they pulled out and back onto the road. He waited until
their taillights disappeared before getting into his own
car and driving off.

The time, finally, was at hand.

* * *
end

Notes: It was my little brother who, at the time of the
finale, first presented to me the idea of putting the
magnetite in the bullets to stop the Super Soldiers. "It
seems so obvious," the kid said. I've since seen the idea
brought up again and again over the last 4 years in XF
discussions and have always wanted to flesh out something
of a story that included that possibility, even if the
details of it are a little vague. <g>

And whether you realize it or not, it was a big step for me
to include Doggett in a fic. I'm still no fan of him (or
Reyes!), but I *am* a fan of sticking to canon no matter how
much it may have deviated from what I would have liked to
see on the screen. Writing him into a fic is part of my
therapy in all this. ;)