Title: Brick by Brick (1/1)
Author: Beautiful Cynic
email: beautiful_cynic@yahoo.com
Summary: Answer to a challenge posted to SHODDS, wherein Scully realizes
how she feels for Doggett in a moment of crisis.
Disclaimer:  1013 owns 'em.  Not me.


"But the Devil, he won't touch me...'cause brick by brick, I'm building my
own hell."
--Grant Langston, "Time of Day"


Everything hurts.  Every damn inch of me.  I don't really remember much. 
A bright flash, shouting...and the utter horror that he was in the
building when it went up.  

No one will tell me anything.  Of course, I don't think they can hear me
asking my questions, considering I'm still intubated.  I feel like someone
has stuffed a thick layer of cotton between my skin and the rest of me. 
Things are reaching my senses, but not registering right away.  I feel
like my reactions are on a 3-second delay.

Do they think I don't notice the looks they're giving me?  I feel like a
child, patronized by their sympathy.  I'm a doctor, an FBI agent.  I'm a
professional woman, not an invalid, and having to be dependant on them
like this kills me.  The only person I depend on in any measure is John. 
Agent Doggett, that is.

I've made that slip more and more lately.  Even out loud, to his face.  As
soon as I realized what I was doing, I made a conscious effort to return
to the more formal way of addressing him.  God, it came easy to call him
'John'.  It shouldn't be so easy.  But, there are a lot of things that
shouldn't be.

I shouldn't be falling in love with him.

I am, and I can admit it.  I am unable to talk myself out of the way I
feel for him.  Do I feel guilty?  No, not really.  It would be
counterproductive to feel guilty about how I feel for him.  You love who
you love, no point in trying to fight it.

If I could manage an ironic laugh, I would probably have tears streaming
down my face right now.  I'm a veteran of fighting love.  And look where
that got me?  Yes, I have William, but other than that, I'm a woman alone.
A single mother who has developed a polite, yet firm 'no comment' facade
to hide behind when someone is inappropriate enough to ask about Will's
father.

The floaty feeling is distracting.  I'm sure it's from either diazepam or
midazolam.  Sedating severely injured patients is the norm nowadays.  That
knowledge is no comfort.  Just exactly how badly was I hurt?  That train
of thought begs the question:  How is John?

Motion.  There is motion near the door, but I can't turn my head to see
who it is.  It's too much to hope that his handsome face will lean over
mine, blue eyes shining down as he teases me for yet again ending up in a
hospital bed.

It's my doctor and he's talking to me, informing me they want to extubate
me and telling me how to help them with that.  Like I don't know this
routine.  When he indicates, I exhale as hard as I can, trying not to
vocalize the pain this causes.  Immediately I try to speak, only to be met
with that patronizing smile.  "Just relax, Ms Scully.  Don't try and talk
just yet."

Nodding, I relax back into the pillow, just grateful for the new,
increased mobility of my neck.  I can actually look around.  As I
suspected, I'm in the ICU.  My room is part of a small group of rooms set
up in a wheel with the nurses' station as the hub.  I desperately wish I
could see into the other rooms, know that John is here, too.  Just the
idea that he's close gives me strength.

A nurse appears with a pitcher of ice chips.  After she moistens my lips
with some chapstick, she spoons a few chips into my mouth.  I savor every
molecule of that water, my throat responding to the cool, soothing liquid.
Testing my vocal ability with a quiet cough, the question nearly jumps
from my lips.  It's not as eloquent as I'd like, of course. Again, I blame
the meds.

"John...John Doggett?"  I croak.

She pats my hand.  "I'll be your nurse for your stay here.  At least in
the days."

That didn't answer my question at all. 

I watch her leave, waiting for my next opportunity to ask.  I need to see
him, need to tell him how I feel.  Don't want to screw up this time.  I
can do it.  I can tell John Doggett I'm falling in love for him, and I
will tell him.  If he doesnt' feel the same, that's fine, I can handle
that, too.  And if he does return my feelings, then all the better.

Outside my room, I see a familiar face, and it brings a smile.  A brief
smile, as my face is still sore from the tube and the tape that came with
it.

Briefer still, when I see the statement on Walter Skinner's face as he
walks in my room and lets the door fall shut behind him.

The walls are ready to go back up around my heart, if need be.  I'm
afraid.  Oh, so afraid of that look in his eyes.  I can hear it...mortar
being slapped on bricks, bricks being stacked up to protect a tender
heart.

He clears his throat, seemingly unable to look up at me.  Brick by brick,
I feel it.  God, I know what he's going to say, even as he tries to figure
out how to say it.

"Agent Scully, I regret that I have to inform you..."

The last brick slams into place and I'm safe again.  Safe in a hell of my
own making.  A hell where soulful blue eyes will always greet me when I
fall asleep, since I've been robbed of any chance of them greeting me when
I wake up.

I nod stoically, turning away from Skinner as he stares at the floor. 
"Thank you, sir."  No need for him to see any hint of the pain in my eyes.
Love doesn't matter, after all.  Not when it causes so much pain.  I'll
move forward now, just me and William.  I've taken my chances, and lost
both times.  I won't make that mistake a third time.

*end



=====
~Jen~
Lilah: "Don't go thinking about me when I'm gone..."
Wesley: "I wasn't thinking about you when you were here."
Angel: "Tomorrow"