Nebraska
by Emma Brightman
emmabrightman1013@yahoo.com

Disclaimer:  Not mine
Classification:  VA
Rating:  PG
Spoilers:  The Truth
Feedback:  Yes, please.  emmabrightman1013@yahoo.com
Summary:  A late night diner trip provides Doggett with some 
unexpected clarity.

Deepest thanks to JET for battling tetchy computers and 
office craziness in order to provide invaluable advice, and 
to Lilydale for being the most patient and encouraging 
sounding board imaginable.  I'm very grateful to you both, as 
always.

- - -

The bell tied to the handle jingled as Doggett pulled the 
front door of The Cornhusker open, letting in a blast of icy 
air.  Another mom and pop diner in another rural Midwestern 
town; they were all beginning to look the same to him now, 
eight months into the assignment that had him and Monica 
constantly on the road, following leads on suspected 
terrorist activity.  Farmers stockpiling chemicals, 
background checks on anyone who owned a crop duster -- 
unusual happenings of any kind, and the two of them were on a 
plane to check things out.

It was a far cry from what he'd been doing just a year ago, 
before the X-Files office had been shut down.  Budget cuts 
and the need to focus on domestic security instead of a bunch 
of alien mumbo jumbo, according to the higher-ups.  Funny, 
there was a time when Doggett would've agreed completely with 
that assessment, but that time wasn't now.  He was growing 
tired of traipsing around the country, following tips sent in 
by paranoid soybean farmers.  Not that the work wasn't 
important.  It just seemed somehow less significant and 
exciting than the work he'd done on the X-Files with Scully 
and, later, with Monica.  He could hardly believe the day had 
come when he'd rather investigate manbats and supersoldiers 
than solve tangible, mainstream cases.

The diner was nearly empty at this time of night.  A big man 
in a long-sleeved flannel shirt and worn Kruger Truck Line 
cap sat at a table near the front door, finishing a dinner of 
fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and coffee, undoubtedly 
preparing himself for another long haul.  The only other 
customers were a man and woman who sat at a dark booth near 
the back of the restaurant.  Their heads were close together 
as they leaned across the table to whisper to each other.  
Newlyweds, Doggett imagined, or a couple of farm-grown lovers 
out for a night on the town.

Doggett looked away from them and approached the counter, his 
eyes darting to the nearly empty pie case behind it.  Lemon 
meringue, Monica had instructed as she shooed him out of her 
motel room.  The waitress who had served him and Monica 
dinner a few hours before sat slumped on a stool with her 
elbows on the counter, looking sleepy and more than ready to 
call it a day.

"Back so soon?" she asked, perking up when she saw him.  She 
stood, smoothing the stained apron she wore over her wide, 
pink-uniformed hips.  "I bet you're ready for some more of 
that apple cobbler you had a while ago.  I could tell you 
liked it."

The waitress -- Martha, according to the nametag pinned to 
her cardigan -- patted the teased pile of frosted blonde hair 
on her head, then plucked a pencil and notepad from her apron 
pocket as if preparing to take down a complicated order.  Her 
eyes twinkled a little too much as she waited for his 
response.  He guessed it wasn't every day that a man from the 
big city entered the diner; the suit he'd been wearing 
earlier had been commented on at length when she'd waited on 
him and Monica.

"I did like the cobbler," he answered, giving her a polite 
smile.  "But I was actually hoping for a slice of lemon 
meringue pie.  It's for my partner."

Martha's face fell slightly, but she smiled.  "No more lemon 
meringue, I'm afraid.  Key lime instead?"

"That'll be fine, thanks.  I'll take it to go."

"There's a fresh pie in the fridge," she chirped.  "Back in a 
sec."

As Martha headed into the kitchen, Doggett turned around and 
leaned back on the counter, taking in the rustic 
surroundings.  A few decorative plates hung on the walls, the 
kind his mother used to order from ads in Reader's Digest.  
Elvis decked out in his Vegas regalia.  Princess Diana, 
complete with diamond tiara.  A cloyingly cozy village scene 
by Thomas Kinkade.  There were a few paintings of broken down 
barns and rickety windmills in the middle of fields of tall 
prairie grass, some of them with price tags attached -- the 
ventures of local artists, Doggett figured.

The Kruger truck driver tossed back the last of his coffee 
and stretched his arms overhead before pushing out of his 
chair and heading for the restroom.  Doggett chuckled, 
wondering how many times he'd have to pull his rig over that 
night so he could take a piss.  Quite a few if the empty 
coffee pot on the table was any indication.

The trucker had to pass the whispering couple on his way to 
the restroom, and as he lumbered by Doggett noticed that the 
man looked up almost suspiciously.  Doggett couldn't see the 
woman's face since her back was to him, but he noticed that 
she jumped at the truck driver's heavy footsteps.  The man 
reached across the table for the woman's hand, kissed it 
tenderly, and continued holding it after he placed it back on 
the table.

Doggett squinted at the man.  Thanks to a burned out strip of 
fluorescent lighting the back corner of the diner was dim, 
but still, something about him seemed strangely familiar.  
Something about his gesture toward the woman and the way he 
sat, slumped but somehow graceful, rang a bell.  When the 
trucker exited the restroom, walking past the couple and out 
the front door, the man took it as his cue to use the 
facilities himself.  He squeezed the woman's hand before 
sliding out from behind the table.

It was then, watching the man unfold himself from his seat 
and stretch to his full height, that Doggett could finally 
see clearly enough to realize who he was looking at.  He felt 
his stomach drop to his feet and his jaw follow suit.  Of all 
the diners in all the towns in all the world...

Doggett shook himself and swallowed hard.  If that was 
Mulder, then the woman had to be Scully.

"Here's your pie, hon.  You need anything else?"

Martha's voice broke in on his reverie, and this time it was 
his turn to jump.  He turned around to see the waitress 
proffering a see-through plastic container containing a 
generous slice of key lime pie, a few napkins, and two 
plastic forks.

"There's enough for two, so you be sure to steal a few bites 
from your girlfriend, okay?" Martha said.

Doggett nodded distractedly.  "Thanks a lot," he said, 
fishing his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans and 
handing her a five.  "Keep the change."

Without giving Martha another glance, Doggett headed toward 
the booth where Scully now sat alone.  He could see one of 
her pale hands resting on the table where Mulder had left it, 
slowly turning a half-empty glass of milk around and around.  
As he approached she tucked a strand of dark hair behind her 
ear in a gesture he remembered well, and at last he could see 
her distinctive profile.

"Come here often?" Doggett asked when he reached her side.  
It was so good to see her alive and well that he couldn't 
help smiling.

Scully flinched once again and looked up at him.  Her mouth 
fell open and she gave a little gasp of surprise.

"Agent Doggett?" she almost hissed.  Sitting up taller in her 
seat, she twisted her body around to look behind her, 
scanning the diner as if expecting a horde of FBI agents, 
policemen, or supersoldiers to swarm in and drag her away.  
"What's wrong?  What are you doing here?"

Doggett felt his smile fade.  Of course she would be 
apprehensive at seeing him.  He slid into the seat Mulder had 
occupied, placing Monica's pie on the table.  Scully crossed 
her arms in front of her and leaned forward, apparently eager 
to keep their conversation quiet even though Martha was now 
the only stranger around.

"It's okay, nothing's wrong.  Monica and I are here on a 
case, staying at the motel across the road."  He smiled 
again.  "She sent me out for pie."

A little of the tension drained from Scully's face, and she 
shook her head disbelievingly.  "It's so strange to see you 
again.  And here of all places."

"I know," he said.  "Monica's going to be sorry she didn't 
come back here with me."

Scully sighed.  "How is she?  How are you?  Still with the 
Bureau, obviously."

"Yeah, they couldn't find a way to boot us completely so they 
stuck us with the crappiest detail they could find.  Out here 
in the boondocks checking out farmers who've bought unusually 
large quantities of fertilizer."

"Big piles of manure," she said, smiling in a way that 
managed to seem both wry and wistful.

Doggett laughed.  "Yeah," he said.  "Exactly."

"So, no more X-Files?"

"No more X-Files.  They were officially shut down around the 
time you and Mulder...died."

"Right," Scully said.  "I guess that's no surprise."

Doggett felt himself redden with frustration and 
embarrassment.  When Scully had left the X-Files to have 
William, he'd promised himself he'd keep them open somehow, 
for her sake, even if he didn't understand half the cases 
they pursued.  

"I did fight to keep them open," he said.  "Monica did too, 
and Skinner.  But it was no use, not with all the changes in 
Bureau priorities right now.  The DOJ had the perfect excuse 
to shut us down and they took it."

"It doesn't really matter now, anyway," she said, shrugging.  
"I'm not so sure there's much any of us can do to stop..."

She trailed off, shaking her head sharply as if trying to rid 
herself of an unpleasant thought.  There was something she 
wasn't telling him, clearly, something she knew that 
disturbed her.  Doggett wondered what she and Mulder had 
discovered during their months on the run.  One thing he knew 
for certain was that Fox Mulder wouldn't give up the search 
for his beloved Truth.  On the lam or not, Doggett was sure 
that he and Scully had been busy digging into things that 
could get them killed.

"You said Skinner," she finally continued, breaking into his 
thoughts.  "He's okay?  And Monica?"

"Monica's great," he said, smiling at the memory of her as 
he'd left her a few minutes ago, sitting in the middle of her 
bed wearing a pair of ratty sweats, surrounded by files.  
"She helps keep me going out here on this shit detail when I 
want to quit."

"And Skinner?" Scully prodded.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking, but knew that 
Scully wouldn't give up until he told her the truth.  
"Skinner was encouraged to resign from the FBI before he was 
forced out.  I don't think he could've handled staying much 
longer anyway, as disgusted as he was by the things he knew.  
I don't see him much these days."

Doggett saw the sadness in Scully's eyes and decided not to 
tell her that the last place he saw Skinner was a smoky bar 
in Arlington, where his former boss was drowning his problems 
in a bottle of Jack Daniels.  Some truths were better left 
unsaid.

Doggett heard the bathroom door open with a squeak and then 
Mulder's familiar voice as he approached the table.  "Ready 
for another slice of cake, birthday gir--"

Mulder stopped dead in his tracks when he saw that Scully 
wasn't alone, reaching behind his back for a weapon he no 
longer carried.  His jaw clenched, the muscle there twitching 
with tension.

"What's going on?" he said tightly.  "What the hell is he 
doing here?"

"Nice to see you again too, Mulder," Doggett muttered.  

"It's okay," Scully said quickly.  She reached out for 
Mulder's hand and he took it, sliding into the seat beside 
her but still eyeing Doggett warily.  "Agent Doggett's out 
here on a case.  It's just a weird coincidence."

"If coincidences are just coincidences, why do they always 
feel so contrived?" he mumbled.  Scully chuffed an unexpected 
laugh at that, and Mulder seemed to relax.

"Sorry," he said, reaching across the table to shake 
Doggett's hand.  "It was a little nerve-wracking to find you 
sitting there, but it's good to see you again."  

"You too," Doggett replied.  "I was just filling Scully in on 
what's going on in D.C., but the real question is how the two 
of you are doing.  We've all wondered.  And worried."

Mulder and Scully glanced at each other, some silent 
communication passing between them the way it always had 
before.  Monica would say that they were psychically linked, 
that they could read each other's thoughts, or some shit like 
that.  At last Scully answered him.

"We're fine," she said, not a surprising answer coming from 
her.  "It's not always easy, but we're fine."

Mulder's gaze was intent upon Scully as she spoke, and 
Doggett saw him reach beneath the table to squeeze her knee.

"That's good," Doggett said, though he wasn't quite sure he 
believed her.  "If there's anything you need.  Money--"

Mulder pulled his eyes away from Scully long enough to look 
at Doggett and give him a small, grateful smile.  "We're 
really okay, but thanks for the offer."

Doggett nodded.  He watched the two of them, trying to make 
his own judgments about their well-being from their 
appearances.  Clearly he wasn't going to get a straight 
answer from either of them; they were as tight-lipped and 
clannish as usual.

Other than a close-cropped salt and pepper beard, Mulder 
looked much the same as he had the last time Doggett saw him.  
A few more wrinkles, perhaps, but his eyes still had that 
smartass gleam Doggett had hated so much when he'd first met 
the man.

Scully was the one who really looked different.  Her long 
hair was dyed a nondescript brown and hung in wavy tendrils 
around her face, wilder than the severe, straight style she'd 
worn when he worked with her.  She also looked like she'd 
gained a few pounds -- her face was a little fuller, but she 
was still beautiful.  Her eyes contained the deep pools of 
sadness he'd always known, but there was something else 
there, too, something almost like peace and hope, especially 
when Mulder was speaking to her, as he was now.

"We should probably get going soon," he said.  She nodded in 
response and gave Doggett a sad smile.

Mulder stood up from the table, grabbing the two coats that 
were slung over the back of their seat.  "I'll go pay the 
bill," he said to Scully, then turned toward Doggett, once 
again extending his hand.  "Take care of yourself."

"You too," Doggett replied.  "And if you ever do need 
anything, even if it's just a place to stay..."

"I'll remember that," Mulder said quietly.  "Thank you.  And 
listen, you can't tell anyone that you saw us here today.  I 
mean, no one at all, not even--"

"Of course," Doggett interrupted impatiently.  It was 
understandable that Mulder would be paranoid, but it still 
rankled to think that the man believed he was some kind of 
idiot.

Mulder placed a mollifying hand on Doggett's shoulder, 
evidently sensing his irritation.  "Goodbye, Agent Doggett."  
He looked at Scully.  "I'll just pay the bill.  We can go 
whenever you're ready."

Scully nodded and watched him walk away.

"Well, I guess I'd better get going, too," Doggett said, 
taking the container of pie off the table.  "Monica'll wonder 
what happened to me."

"You'll tell her I said hello, won't you?" Scully asked.  "I 
know what Mulder said about not telling anyone, but Monica 
already knows we're both alive and hiding out and...I miss 
her.  I miss all of you."

Scully blushed and shook her head, almost as if she were 
embarrassed and chiding herself for feeling lonely for those 
she left behind.

"Of course I'll tell her.  She'll be glad to know you're all 
right.  You are all right, aren't you?"  He had to ask just 
once more, before she walked out of his life again, most 
likely forever this time.

"I'm fine, I truly am," she replied.  Her gaze wandered over 
to the counter, where Mulder was responding to Martha's 
flirtation in a way that had the middle-aged waitress 
giggling like a schoolgirl.  

"It's not the life I imagined for myself," Scully continued, 
looking back at Doggett and smiling.  "But it's where I need 
to be."

"I'm glad then," Doggett said.  He made a move to stand up, 
but Scully stopped him with a light hand on his forearm.

"There's just one more thing," she said, taking her hand 
back.  She plucked a scrunched up paper napkin off the table, 
smoothed it out, and began to fold it methodically.  "One 
favor I need to ask you." 

"Of course."

She looked up from her folding and sighed.  "I was hoping you 
could...I know it's a lot to ask, especially since you don't 
really even know her, but--"

"You mother's fine," Doggett said.

Scully's eyes welled up with tears and she looked down, 
folding the napkin again.

"That's who you were going to ask about, isn't it?" he asked 
gently.

"Yes.  I was hoping you could keep an eye out for her.  We 
weren't on the best terms when I left, because of...I just 
worry about her a lot."

Doggett covered Scully's hands with one of his, stilling 
them.  "She does think that you and Mulder are dead, I'm 
sorry.  That seemed like the safest thing for her, all things 
considered.  We assumed that's what you'd want."

Scully nodded, pulling one hand out from under his to swipe 
tears from her cheeks.

"I know that she's all right, though.  Your brothers are 
around a lot these days, and I check in now and then.  She 
has a soft spot for military men."

At that Scully made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a 
sob.

"Yes," she said, wiping her eyes with the napkin.  "That she 
does."

They sat in silence for a moment, then Scully took a deep 
breath and glanced over at Mulder.  He was beginning to shoot 
her imploring looks as Martha continued plying him with to-go 
boxes of pie and her special version of Nebraskan charm.

"I'd better go," she said.

"Me too," Doggett replied.

They both moved to slide out of their seats, Scully seeming 
to struggle to get out of the narrow space behind the table.  
Doggett rose quickly and reached for her arm to help her out.  
The moment she was standing beside him, he realized the 
reason she needed help, the reason for her fuller figure, the 
reason for the spark of happiness and hope he'd seen in her 
eyes before.

Scully smoothed her blue sweater over the small swell of her 
belly, lifting her eyes to his with a look that was a strange 
mixture of pride, embarrassment, and defiance.

"You're pregnant?" he blurted.  "Dana--"

"Five months," she said, nervously running her tongue over 
her lips.  "That's why Mulder was so concerned about making 
sure you didn't tell anyone you saw us.  We don't have just 
ourselves to think about now, and we don't know if it's going 
to be the same as it was with William."

Doggett felt a sharp flash of anger, thinking that the two of 
them were about to bring another helpless child into the 
endless, miserable crap that was their life.  He wanted to 
snap at her about birth control, about responsibility.

It reminded him of Barbara, who'd wanted to have another baby 
the year after Luke's murder, and of the bitter arguments 
they'd had as he swore to her that he'd never bring another 
child of his into a world where children could be in so much 
danger.  How could Mulder put Scully and another baby in the 
line of fire again?

His thoughts were interrupted when Scully spoke.  "Life is so 
unpredictable, John."  She took her hand from her belly and 
clasped his hand, squeezing gently.  "There are things we 
want so dearly that for whatever reason we can never have, 
while other things, things we never wished for, come to us 
like unexpected gifts.  I'm just living one day at a time, 
trying to be as happy as I can."

Looking into the depths of her blue eyes, Doggett felt 
himself soften toward her again, as he always did.  There was 
some part of him that would always care deeply for Scully, 
almost long for her, in spite of everything.  He knew that 
she was talking about her children -- the one she'd been 
forced to give away, and the one she was carrying now -- but 
he couldn't help wondering if she realized that she could 
just as easily have been speaking of his feelings about her 
and Monica.  Another gentle squeeze of his hand and he knew.  
Of course she realized.  Scully had always chosen her words 
so carefully.

"Goodbye," she whispered, reaching up to draw him into a hug.  
Doggett hugged her in return, savoring the softness of her 
arms around him, the firmness of her round stomach against 
his.

"Goodbye, Dana.  Happy Birthday."

"Thank you."  She gently pulled away.  "Seeing you was a 
wonderful present."

"Be safe, okay?" he said.  "All of you."

"You too.  Now go take Monica her pie," she said, giving him 
a small smile as she walked away.

Mulder whispered into Scully's ear when she reached him, 
gently tucking a loose strand of her unruly brown hair behind 
it and smiling when she nodded.  He helped her put on her 
coat before bending over to talk to her belly.  "Are you 
okay, too?" he asked.  Laughing, Scully told him to stop 
embarrassing her.  Mulder took her hand and they walked out 
of the diner together, the bell jingling in their wake.

Neither one looked back.

- - -

Monica lay on her stomach in bed, reading a file in 
preparation for the next day's visit to check out a crop 
dusting company.  The half-eaten slice of pie was beside her, 
and she occasionally took a bite, moaning with pleasure at 
how good it tasted.  Doggett sat in the room's only chair, 
watching her.

"I still can't believe Dana's pregnant again," she whispered, 
as if suspicious that her motel room might be bugged.  She 
was getting to be as paranoid as Mulder.

"Life's full of surprises," Doggett replied, standing up and 
walking over to the bed.  He took the file from Monica's hand 
and placed it, along with the pie, on the nightstand.

"I thought you wanted to go over the information for 
tomorrow," she said, looking over her shoulder to eye her 
dessert with longing.

Doggett shook his head and laid down next to her, gently 
rolling her over onto her back.  He propped himself up on one 
elbow, brushing the hair out of her face.  Her eyes were such 
a beautiful brown, sparkling up at him.

"What are you doing?" she asked, smiling bemusedly.

Doggett smiled in return.  "Just living one day at a time," 
he murmured as he kissed her.


end