Title:  Resurrection of Men
Author:  SusanH (seven_gen@hotmail.com)
Spoilers:  Post Dead/Alive
Summary:  Doggett tries to drink his troubles away, but finds answers in an 
old friend.
Rating: PG
Keywords:  Doggett!
Pairings:  Doggett/Other
Archive: You mean apart from my computer?  If you want it, let me know.  I 
like to brag.
Disclaimer: Don't own them, just playing.  1013 can have them back whenever 
they like.  Might get some work done.
Feedback:  Never written XF fic before, played plenty of games in my head 
before.  Please tell me if I should keep them locked away, never to be seen.
Note:  This is backward, there's a character in here I've already created, 
I'm just a little stuck and haven't finished writing it yet.  This one kind 
of wrote itself and I had to put it down before I forgot.
Thanks: agent myers, for finally beta-ing for me.  It took a while but we 
got there.
-----

The two men sat at the same table, miles away from each other.  Both had 
drunk more than their level share of alcohol, but neither really cared.  The 
older man rose his beer glass in the air, and somewhat reluctantly the other 
man mirrored the gesture.

'You know something John?  I don't think we're drinking for the same 
reasons.'  Walter Skinner returned his beer to the table, and peered at the 
forlorn man opposite him.

'Yeah?'  The disinterest in John Doggett's voice was evident.

'Yeah.  I'm drinking because a good man was resurrected today.  You're 
drinking because...' Skinner let his sentence drift away, not because he 
didn't know the answer, but because he thought he did.  He felt that the 
younger man was contemplating the future he had given away.

Doggett sighed, and examined the bottom of his beer.  He was determined to 
not let the beginning of Skinner's sentence finish itself in his head.  His 
superior was right; he was drinking because of Mulder's new life.  He was 
drinking because, because...  Dammit, he was drinking because there was 
nothing better to do.  No home to go to, no career to nurture, nowhere else 
to be.  How pathetic...

He blew a raspberry into his glass, and closed his eyes as he drained it 
empty.  He put the glass down, a little harder than intended, and then made 
eye contact with his drinking partner.  It was then that he realized what 
Skinner must have seen, a drunken agent blowing a raspberry at him in 
response to his suggestion.  That couldn't be good.

Skinner felt sorry for the man sitting with him, but he didn't know how to 
talk to him.  They clashed, they approached things differently, and they 
were too different to be close.  But Skinner could feel Doggett's turmoil, 
and knew that he needed to talk to someone.  Just not him.

'Well, on that note, I'm going home.'  Skinner stood, collected his coat 
from the neighboring chair and threw some bills on the table.  Doggett 
looked up, his eyes tired, but a slight panic on his face.

'Sir, I...'

'Oh please John.  Forget it.  See you tomorrow.'  Skinner took one last look 
at Doggett, then pulled his coat on and wandered to the door.  Once outside 
the cool air woke him up a little, and as he wandered to his car he thought 
about the agent he'd left inside.  He checked the time, and discovering it 
was still early, he pulled his phone out and made a call.

-----

The bartender wandered through the tables, collecting empty beer bottles and 
taking orders for another round.  The man in the corner raised his hand as 
he walked past, that was the sign they'd developed for a fresh order of 
drinks.  He stopped, and contemplated his options.  The man was drunk, not 
just a little drunk, but a lot drunk.  By law, that meant they shouldn't 
serve him.  However, he had money, he had a gun, and being FBI, he pretty 
much was the law.

'Get him his drink.  And grab me a scotch rocks while you're at it.'  The 
woman dropped a fifty-dollar bill on the tray he was holding, and gave him a 
big smile as she walked over to the table.  The bartender decided that his 
choice had been made, and wandered over to the bar to collect the drinks.

She walked up to the table, and could see the lack of resolve John was 
feeling by the way his shoulders were slumped. It wasn't just the effect of 
the beers he'd been drinking, there was more to the disillusionment he was 
feeling.  She put her hand on the chair next to him, and dragged it back, 
deliberately making nose to stir him from his near-slumbered state.

Doggett took a deep breath, and looked up.  He prepared himself to defend 
his right to drink himself asleep, and to demand that the bartender bring 
him the round he requested.  Instead, he could see were green eyes, eyes 
that reminded him of better days, and worse ones.

'Molly?'  The word rolled of his tongue with ease, as it had a thousand 
times before.  Inside him Doggett could feel his stomach muscles clenching, 
trying to digest the scene his mind found itself in.

'For real?'

Molly Dannusch smiled, and as she sat at the table she allowed the emotion 
to turn itself into a laugh.  She reached across the table and placed a 
gloved hand on his, patting it gently before laying it to rest there.  His 
face dropped to her hand on his, then he dragged his eyes up to meet hers.  
His face looked old, and even though he'd barely changed over the last ten 
years, in the dark tavern and loaded with beer, he looked ten years older 
than he was.

'Hiya John.  Drinking alone?'  As if on cue, the bartender brought their 
round to the table, and she sipped her scotch.

'Not anymore.'  Doggett drank down part of his beer, then looked across and 
warmed her heart with a smile.

They sat in silence; her hand still resting on his, their eyes searching 
each other's faces for the answers.  The silence was comfortable, but it 
unsettled Doggett, he didn't want to feel that everything was okay.

'What are you doing here?'  His tone had changed, and Molly detected it 
straight away.  His eyes darkened slightly, and suddenly irritated he pulled 
his hands out from hers.  Then suddenly he changed again, his eyes fixated 
on her gloved hand, and when they rose up to meet her face, they were filled 
with blue compassion.  Molly felt the emotional change, and felt a hurried 
need to stop him from saying the words she didn't want to hear.

'Here as in this tavern, or here as in DC?'  She forced into her voice a 
sense of lighthearted tease, and before Doggett could answer, she continued.

'Skinner called me, told me you'd need company.  He's right.  As for DC, I'm 
working here at the moment.  FBI got sick of paying me to sit at home and do 
nothing, so I've been doing some translation stuff for a Spanish raid.  
Nothing exciting.'

Out of words, she stopped, but Doggett's face hadn't changed.

'I haven't seen you since they flew you out.  I was going to call, but...'

'But something got in the way.  Something always does here John.'  She 
looked at the table before raising her face to meet his glance.

'I'm fine John.  Not to worry.'  She pulled her hands back to her chest, 
folded them defensively, hiding the gloves.  Doggett's gaze followed them, 
and he mumbled, mainly to himself.

'Fine.  You're always fine.  Just like her.'

'By her, you mean Agent Scully?'  Molly waited, but was greeted only with 
Doggett's silence.

'You can't take this away from her John.  She's got him back.  You, you 
should know what that means.'

Doggett's head snapped up, and anger filled his eyes.

'What do you mean by that?'

'You know what it's like to lose a partner, think the worst, and then find 
the best.  You lost me, but you never gave up and it paid off.'  Molly could 
tell that although a sober John Doggett would agree with her, the drunken 
version wanted to wallow for longer.  Angered by his self-pity, she rose the 
fight to a new level.

'You could understand this John, you just choose not to.'

'I missed a promotion today.'

'That's not why you're here wallowing in pity.  You can get around that.  
You have before.'

Doggett met her glance, and the former partners stared at each other, both 
fuming with anger.

'You don't understand Molly.  You can't possibly understand what happened 
today.'

'Try me.'

Silence fell between them, but it was a heavy weight on both sets of 
shoulders.

'Talk it out.  You'll never grasp it if you don't.'

'He was dead.  Buried for three long months.  You don't come back from that. 
  Impossible.'  Doggett crouched down in his chair, hunching his shoulders 
as though warming himself against a chill.  Molly recognized the retreat, 
and struggled to pull him out of it before she lost any ground she had 
gained.

'Is that the only thing you've ever seen that you can't explain?'  She 
reached both hands across, and placed them on his folded arms.  His eyes 
followed her actions, and he dropped his chin to rest on her hands.  Slowly 
he shook his head, and when he brought his face up, he looked scared, like a 
young boy waiting to be scolded by an angry father.

'John, we've all seen things we can't explain.  Things that no-one can 
explain.  You haven't grasped that yet, that this job you have, this is that 
job.  Trying to offer explanation when there is none.  Before, that was 
easy.  Someone died, thousands of possible reasons, something would fit.  
But here, no reasons, no possibilities, it's something you cannot imagine.  
Something you don't want to imagine.'  She leant forward, and could feel his 
body heat from his face on her cheek.

'I'm the wrong person for this job.'  His face wallowed in defeat, and 
Molly's heart choked at the sight.

'No John, you're perfect for this job.  You might not make friends, you will 
make enemies, but you are perfect for this job.  You are exactly the type of 
person that those people out there will need.  You'll search under stones, 
and hear what they say, and you'll find the answer that they need.'

Molly stopped speaking, but lifted her hands from Doggett's arms.  He sat 
taller in his chair, and she placed a gloved hand on his cheek.  Gently she 
brought his forehead to her lips, and both agents shut their eyes as they 
made contact.  She rested their foreheads together, and opened her eyes to 
see his blues shining back at her.

'Look at what you did John.  You found Mulder.  Somehow, he's alive, and 
there's no real explanation for that.  But look at Scully.  She has him 
back.  That's more important to her than anything else, and you helped that 
happen.  You may not understand all the steps in the middle, but you'll find 
an answer.'

'But now there's the two of them.  What's my...?'

'Mulder believes it all.  Scully tries to justify it.  You'll use the old 
fashioned approach.  They'll help you.  Skinner will guide you.'

'And you?'  Doggett's eyes had cleared, his friend's words making more sense 
than anything he'd heard for a long time.  He looked at her face, so worn 
with pressure, but still so beautiful.  After these last few moments Doggett 
wondered how he'd survived the last few years without her.  And he didn't 
think he could last the next few without her.  He didn't want to.

'Will you help me?'

Molly's face softened, and she realized she'd just won an important battle.

'Well, we'll see.  Bureau's got to find something to do with me.  Maybe A.D. 
Skinner could pull a few strings?'

Doggett smiled at the thought of Molly asking Skinner for a favor, and she 
chuckled.

'That's better Dogboy.'