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Starkweather: Jose Chung’s "Twisted Games"
Authors: Scully3776 and Spookykat Category: Humor, Satire, Massive Desecration of Sacred Cows Rating: R for the bleeping language Summary: Jose Chung interviews John Doggett for his latest book about a popular television show’s Internet cult following. Doggett is less than thrilled. Disclaimer: Chris Carter is the only one allowed to make money off of such characters like Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, John Doggett, Monica Reyes, Walter Skinner, so on and so forth, blah blah blah. And Agent Starkweather, whether she likes it or not, was created by Scully3776. Timeframe: Post Season Nine "America!
"(Yo, I want everyone to listen to the lyrics of this song) "I never would’ve dreamed
"It’s like a fuckin’ army marchin’ in back of me
"Who woulda thought, standing in this mirror
"How could I predict my words
"Cuz Congress keeps telling me
"I’ve shoved shit all my life
(White America, Eminem) February 14, 2003 "Just buzz Kimberly if you need anything," Assistant Director Skinner told the two men sitting at his conference table. "Yes sir," one of the men drawled politely. "Thank you sir." Skinner nodded and closed the door behind him. The other man, a funny looking man with big glasses and what was left of his graying hair sticking out all over the place instantly began to gush the minute the Assistant Director shut the door. "Mr. Doggett, it IS a pleasure to meet you. Your name cropped up quite a bit in my research." "Uh-huh," Doggett grunted, crossing his arms. "I am so pleased that you were able to meet with me. I was told that the other agents that are associated with the X-Files are currently… erm, indisposed?" Novelist Jose Chung glossed over former FBI agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully’s fugitive states artfully. "No matter, I believe you are the agent that can shed a little light into the matter that I am writing about, eh?" he grinned at him. "Mr. Chung," Doggett said patiently. "To be honest… I have no idea what you’re talkin’ ‘bout. You said you wanted to interview me ‘bout a particular X-File for a book you want to write about. I wish you’d stop beatin’ around the bush." "Of course, of course. Now, Miss Scully may or may not have told you, but a few years ago, back in 1996, I had the extreme pleasure of discussing a possible alien encounter by two teenagers up in Washington State. Lovely lady, Miss Scully. Excellent taste in literature… anyway, I was trying to break into a new genre, create a genre, actually. Nonfiction, science fiction. To enlighten the masses is what I told my fans… but to be honest… to make money. Well," he sighed heavily. "I have discovered that the money making potential was not quite there as I thought. It was the first time I did not break through the top ten on New York Times’ Best Sellers List. No matter…" he waved his hands about and reached into his massive bag, taking out a pen and a pad of paper. "I have discovered that the interest in space has indeed waned. Or outer space, rather." Doggett stifled a sigh. Trying not to think of the case files multiplying on his desk, he arranged his face into a mask of polite interest while the writer prattled on. "Now, cyber space on the other hand…" Doggett’s eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?" "Cyberspace… the Internet. And the phenomenon created by it. People living duel lives. Enacting fantasies. Building online shrines to the subject of their ardor…" ::Oh no…:: Doggett inwardly groaned. "Creating safe havens to chat with fellow worshippers of their idols. Their rock stars. Their movie stars. Their… television shows??" Doggett visibly cringed now and tried to think up of a suddenly pressing engagement he had previously forgotten about. "Mr. Doggett, you are aware that there was a television show loosely based on the X-Files?" "Um… yeah… I heard ‘bout it," he mumbled. "And that the now defunct television show I’m talking about still has a healthy following?" "Uh-huh." Doggett looked more and more miserable as the conversation progressed. "An online following?" "Uh-huh," he tried not to squirm like a guilty little kid. "Hundreds and hundreds of websites, dedicated solely to the X-Files?" "Uh-huh…" "And that people, so enchanted by the, ahem, *characters* and the actors who play them, that they write their own stories about those characters?" "Uh-huh…" Now Doggett was squirming. He knew exactly where this conversation was going. "In fact, two girls, two girls who have never met in real life gained the attention of the FBI, because of their writings, didn’t they?" He nodded. "Somehow, these two girls got their mitts on real X-Files and were writin’ ‘bout them. And puttin’ those stories out on the Internet for anyone to read ‘em." Jose Chung’s eyes glowed with fevered excitement. "Mr. Doggett… that’s my next book." ::Monica, I could kill you for not warning me:: he fumed silently as Jose Chung reached down into his bag and pulled out a thick manila folder. Opening it, he consulted the first page on top of the pile of loose papers. He spoke as he skimmed his papers. "The Internet is the last haven of the freedom of speech. Have you seen the swill that is out there? Vulgar, vile… distasteful. Yet it is supposed to be protected by our Constitution. If they tried to publish anywhere else, they would have branded as… as smut peddlers. Perpetrators of violence. Even if their topic, ugly as it may be, could be shrouded with veils of truth, if it does not agree with the current political environment, it can be forced by public opinion to quietly go away. There are so many inflammatory comments on other websites out there. Thousands and thousands of websites. Vile and hateful websites. Supporting other forms of terrorism as well. Klu Klux Klan. Neo-Nazi. All these wicked sites… to say and do whatever they want because it’s freedom of expression. And what is being done about it? While we’re going after a pseudo-celebrity for one crude yet honest comment, the pornography rings and radical animal sites that instruct you on how to build pipe bombs so you can blow up a mink farm existing in relative peace." "Well…" "But the FBI does nothing-" "That’s not true!" "- until some files from a lowly regarded division are stolen and posted on the Internet. And they send you and your partner…" Jose Chung picked up the photograph and looked at it intently, "Agent Jerilyn Starkweather to investigate. Pretty girl," he said, admiring her pale skin, her brooding hazel eyes and blond hair bundled into a neat bun on top of her head. He slid the photograph towards Doggett. "A face like hers makes me wish I was young again." His eyes widened behind his crooked glasses. "That’s a great line. I must… I must…" he patted his all his pocket until he found a pen and one of those memo style notebooks. He spoke slowly as he jotted his flash of inspiration in his memo book in shorthand. "A… face…. Hers… wish… young again. Perfect!" he crowed, putting the pen down and flipping the notebook shut. Jose Chung beamed at Doggett then pushed the picture even closer to him, smiling. Doggett didn’t take the picture or even look at it. "Why do you wanna write ‘bout the Internet?" "Because," Jose Chung said patiently. "It’s my job. As a writer. Mr. Doggett, I wish I could have noble intentions with this book. That I was going to be a crusader for the continuance of Freedom of Expression that is constantly being downtrodden upon. Except on the Internet. The Internet, not deep space, good agent Doggett, is the final frontier. And, like the Wild West, there are no laws. And there is no sheriff in town. I wish I could tell you that I want to write about how the FBI tried to infiltrate the Internet. And I wish I could tell you that I want to write about how the FBI was defeated by the First Amendment." Here Jose Chung produced a shit-eating grin. "But ultimately, I want to write for the money." Doggett glared at him. "I can’t help you earn your paycheck. Sorry." Jose Chung lost his joviality. "Oh…" he said sadly. Doggett was almost feeling bad for being so mean until Jose Chung said. "I’m sorry… but when I spoke to the Deputy Director about this project, he said that you would be more than willing to help. That you were the best person to speak to… I didn’t mean…" Doggett felt his throat go dry. "Deputy Director?" "Oh yes, Alvin is a dear friend of mine. We go out to lunch frequently. And he introduced me to Assistant Director Skinner today. Nice man. A bit gruff. But truly a pleasure to speak to. He also sung your praises." ::Oh f*ck me:: Doggett groaned. He was stuck. "What do you wanna hear?" "Take me back to November 2, 2001, All Souls Day," Jose Chung poised his pencil on his pad. "After a meeting you had with the rest of the X-Files Division, Assistant Director Skinner held you and Agent Starkweather back for a private word." Doggett sighed out loud now. He wasn’t just stuck but really stuck now. "Well…" November 2, 2001 When Mulder closed the door, Skinner looked at both Doggett and Starkweather. "Agents, we have a problem." "What's the problem?" Doggett asked. "Budgeting," Skinner said, jaw clenching. "With what happened on September 11, with all the heat the FBI and CIA is getting for 'letting this happen'" he snorted angrily. "The Bureau is ciphering as much money into "Homeland Defense" as possible and cutting back on "frivolous" expenditure."" "And the 'X-Files' is, of course, considered frivolous," Doggett pinched the bridge of his nose. "Before I called all of you in here, I just got out of a conference call meeting with Deputy Director Kersh, the Director himself and the new head of the New York Field Office. The Director thinks that the X-Files need to cut back on staff." "WHAT?!?!" Doggett shouted. "The New York Field Office was so impressed by your work at Ground Zero, it has been suggested that you and Doggett be transferred to New York." "Oh no," Starkweather's shoulders slumped. "I haven't even been here a year yet!" "You said there's a new head in the New York Field Office. What's his name?" Doggett asked. "Brad Follmer," Skinner told him, but looking at Starkweather. "Agent Starkweather is familiar with him." Starkweather closed her eyes in pain. "Yes sir," she muttered. "He was my superior in Minneapolis." She looked like she was about to cry. "I hate New York," Doggett said bluntly. "I'll quit before I'll be transferred over there." "Before either of you say or do anything stupid," Skinner said, "listen to me for a minute. Agent Starkweather, before the terrorist attacks, the X-Files caseload increased a full 33% percent from last year. I requested to recruit a new agent. Before this nightmare with... whatever the hell that thing we have in maximum security... popped up, Agent Scully had just given me a rough draft of her end of the year report. The X-Files caseload went up another 5%. So, even with you and Doggett, that division is sadly understaffed. I am trying to work with the Director on a compromise. Agent Scully is going to remain working on her "mom hours" schedule and we're probably going to start TDY-ing her out to Quantico to teach soon. Then the bulk of Scully's salary will come from Quantico's budget and not ours and we still get to retain Scully. Mulder..." he sighed. "The Admiral was working covertly with Kersh to get him reinstated once his term as Deputy Mayor was up. Now that the Admiral is gone and the Director breathing down our necks about cost... I don't see that happening." "Why would **Kersh** want Mul-duh reinstated?" "Kersh **doesn't** but the Admiral had Kersh on a leash." "Not anymore," Starkweather said. "As for you two and Agent Reyes..." Skinner stood up, put his hand in his pocket. "I'm retiring in less than two years. It's not a secret that I've been grooming Doggett here for my job. I mentioned that to the Director and we're both in agreement that Doggett should remain here in DC, under my close personal supervision. As for you and Reyes..." Skinner sighed. "The New Orleans office wants Reyes back badly and Follmer expressly asked for you to come back." "Why?" Starkweather asked. "He hates me." "Political reasons. You're a hot item right now, Agent. Especially after the interview you and Doggett did for MNBC. You helped the Bureau look good in a time when we looked like we dropped the ball." "Sir... I've only been here since April. My husband and I had just gotten settled. I can not ask him to pick up and start all over again. And besides, Follmer and I DID NOT have a good working relationship. He was a heartbeat away from firing me." "Agent, listen to me," Skinner said. "I'm working on a way to keep everyone in DC. There's something funny going on and I need all of you... you and Doggett, Reyes, Mulder and Scully here. In the X-Files." "How?" Doggett asked. "By proving to the Director that the X-Files is not a frivolous department. By putting Scully and Reyes on the case concerning your look-alike," he said to Starkweather. "If I allowed you to work on it, Starkweather, it would look too much like you were using the Bureau's resources for personal reasons. Mulder did many great things, but made many mistakes along the way, such as advertising that he was trying to find his sister with Bureau money, Bureau equipment and Bureau time," he shook his head. "The one thing I wish Mulder would have done is buried his agenda a little deeper. It would have made my job easier." "Okay," Doggett said. "Scully and Reyes, with consultation from Mul - duh work the double case. Great. Fine. Wonderful. Where does that leave us?" Skinner picked up airplane tickets and a manila folder off of his desk and handed them to Doggett. "Athens, Georgia." "Why?" Doggett said. "Not that **I'M** complainin'" the Georgian native drawled, "I just don't get it." "Then you'll probably have to go to Des Moines, Iowa right after that." "Oh, God, not Iowa AGAIN!!!!" Starkweather griped. "I hate that state!!" "What's the situation?" Doggett said. "A possible security breach," Skinner handed Starkweather the file. She read the file. "Hackers???" she whined. "You're sending us on a mission about hackers?" "Hackers who have gotten into the X-Files and are fictionalizing case files and putting them on the website," Skinner told her. "Look, I know it's just a bone I'm tossing you, and yes, I already know that it's two girls who are Internet 'penpals' that are just screwing around and don't realize how much trouble they're causing... but it looks good on paper. It looks good to the Director. It makes you two look vital to the X-Files and it makes the X-Files look vital to the Bureau. That's the key. You leave for Athens tonight." "Tonight!!!" Both Doggett and Starkweather cried out. "Tonight," Skinner said flatly. "The sooner you start on this the better." Starkweather looked up at Doggett. He saw despair and exhaustion in her eyes. "Sir," Doggett said, speaking for both of them. "I hate to bring this up, but you made the offer for us to take some personal time off due to the September 11 tragedy." "Duly noted," Skinner said crisply. "I'll arrange for you both to have a two week leave when you return but it'll have to be at half-pay. I'm sorry. Money is extremely tight." "Understandable," Doggett grumbled, thanking God that his truck was paid for. Dented (he was still having trouble with his insurance company to pay for the damages from when Frohike 'borrowed' it) but paid for. Starkweather, meanwhile, said sarcastically, "Good thing I married a rich lawyer." "Speaking of Ben, I spoke to him this morning and let him know that we're sending you off on assignment." "Thank you." ::I'm sure he was thrilled:: she sighed. "Anything else?" Doggett asked. "One last thing," Skinner said. "Agent Starkweather?" "Yes sir?" "Lux Carlos. Does that name ring any bells?" "Yes sir... we were in the same flight when I was stationed in Phoenix... but I haven't seen him in years." "You two were in the Air Force together?" "Yes sir..." Starkweather's eyebrows rose. "Why?" "It will be explained later. Good luck on your assignment... and try not to scare the girls too badly," he said. Outside of Skinner's office... Dazed at the recent turn of events, Starkweather leaned against the wall of the hallway, slid halfway down and covered her face with her hands. Doggett, who was infuriated rather than stupefied, kicked the wall. "Bleep!" Back to present time "Well," Doggett said sheepishly. "Really I didn’t say ‘bleep,’ I said-" Jose Chung held up his hand. "I can about guess. The lovely Agent Reyes alluded that you had quite the colorful patois once riled." Doggett wrote a mental memo to himself to yell at Reyes for getting him into this situation. Back to present time "Well," Doggett said sheepishly. "Really I didn’t say ‘bleep,’ I said-" Jose Chung held up his hand. "I can about guess. The lovely Agent Reyes alluded that you had quite the colorful patois once riled." Doggett wrote a mental memo to himself to yell at Reyes for getting him into this situation. "Anyway, Agent Starkweather had some personal business to attend to," and here he glowered at the author daring him to ask, ready to saw him off at the knees if necessary. Jose Chung quailed under his icy gaze and swallowed the question as to what the personal business could be. The personal business concerned Starkweather's unauthorized visit to one of her four sisters in an asylum. And there was no way in hell was he going to broadcast the sad, short life of Eve Charlie to the world. At least not to this guy. Convince that Mr. Chung was good and intimidated, Doggett continued "Then we went back to pack and we met at the airport to fly to Atlanta. We spent the night in Atlanta and then drove to Athens the next morning to begin the investigation." Jose Chung's eyebrows rose. "'We' as in you and Agent Starkweather?" "Yes sir." "Wasn't she married at the time?" Doggett pressed his lips tight together. ::Got-dammit:: "We stayed in separate rooms," he said curtly. "You and Mrs. Starkweather were both field agents at the time, correct? Which meant you both had to travel extensively for your job?" "Yes sir." "How did Mr. Starkweather handle the idea of his wife traveling with you?" Jose Chung asked innocently. A muscle twitched in Doggett's cheek. "He didn't like it." November 2, 2001 "I don't like it." "Ben, I don't give bleep what you like!" Jerilyn Starkweather pulled her dark purple turtlenecked sweater over her head and tossed it vindictively towards the hamper in the corner of their bedroom. "This is my bleeping job. This is what I do." She stripped off her black slacks and threw them in the hamper as well. "I can't help it, Ben. I have to go. Or else take a chance of being bleeping transferred to New York and work for that bleep bleeper Follmer again. Or just bleeping lose my job." She picked up a pair of dark blue jeans off the floor, smelled them, then pulled them on over her slim hips. "You just bleeping got back from New York less than a week ago." Ben Starkweather's green eyes followed his wife as she stomped back and forth from closet to bed, putting clothes and shoes into a duffel bag. "Under the impression that you were going to get a break from the bleep that they put you through in New York. But today I get a call from A.D. Skinner telling me that they're sending you off to bleeping GEORGIA? What the bleep is in Georgia???" "A national security breach," she said primly as she zipped the duffel bag shut. She opened the drawers again to rummage for a clean sweater. The purple sweater she had still reeked from Waldenbrooks. The clingy smells of urine and Pine Sol. The perfume of the insane. "Bullbleep," Ben countered. "Alright, fine," Jerilyn retorted. "It's a bone Skinner is throwing to us. We're trying to pull the wool over the Senior Staff's eyes. To make them believe that the X-Files is vital to the Bureau." "Good God, WHY!?!?!?" Ben groaned. "That division has been a nightmare ever since you joined. Why don't you let the Senior Staff bury that damn X-Files so we can get on with our lives? This morning, THIS morning you were ready to call it quits. You said you wanted to transfer," he accused her. "You said that you never should have transferred to DC. That you were too arrogant to listen to me and we should have stayed in Minneapolis." "I changed my mind. Woman's prerogative. And besides, that was before I knew they were thinking about sending up to bleeping New York." Jerilyn eschewed sweaters for a comfortable looking performance fleece sweater from Old Navy. The texture and the color attracted her. Soft and red, bright red. She loved bright colors. And loved being as comfortable as possible when traveling. "It's nice how it's always about you," Ben retorted as Caesar, their ornery orange cat made his grand entrance, winding his way around Ben's legs, shedding all over his dress slacks. "I have to go," Jerilyn muttered, hefting the duffel bag off the bed and stalked out of the room. "I'm meeting Doggett at the airport." "Typical," Ben called after her. "You have time for him but not me." ::Don't fuel his fire:: she told herself as she went into the hall closet to get her coat. ::Don't make it worse. Just keep your mouth shut once in your life. "BLEEP YOU BEN!" ::So much for keeping my mouth shut:: she sighed to herself as she zipped her coat up. Just as she picked her briefcase up off the kitchen table, Ben walked in. "How long are you going to be gone?" "I don't know," she told him honestly. "We have to figure out your father's estate," he told her cruelly. "I know," Jerilyn closed her eyes, throat tightening, thinking about the Admiral. "I know... we will, I... please, honey, not now, please. I'm going to be late. My cab's here." "Fine. Go. Meet John bleep bleep bleeping Doggett and save the world." Ben said flatly, picking up the pack of Morleys that were on the kitchen table. Watching him open the pack of smokes up, putting a cigarette in his mouth, then rummaging around the kitchen for a match or lighter, Jerilyn struggled to find the right words if not to leave on a bad note, but to at least leave on a tolerable note. "I'll call you," she said lamely. When he grunted in response as he found a lighter in the silverware drawer, she added pathetically. "I love you Counselor." "Have a safe flight, Jerilyn," he said tonelessly, walking into the living room. "You bleep," she said through her teeth and stormed out the front door. Later With a can of Coke in one hand and the Washington Post in the other, Doggett glanced up at the clock on the wall. Silently he cursed to himself as he flipped through the newspaper. Running late. As usual. Granted their flight didn’t leave until eight-thirty-five, but with all the newly imposed security checks, he had advised her to come as early as possible. He had wanted to brain storm on the new case with her. Toss ideas around. Plan a strategy on the best way to hunt snipe. He pushed his irritation aside. She’d be there. Losing himself into the sports section, he noted that the Atlanta Falcons were scheduled to play against the New England Patriots this coming Sunday. Just as he wondered if this wild goose chase would cut him enough slack to catch part of the game or if he should call someone and ask them to tape it for him, an indignant voice rose over the crowd. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN I HAVE TO TAKE MY SHOES OFF!?!?!?!?!?!" He grinned to himself as he sipped his Coke. She was here. "I’M A FEDERAL AGENT!!!!!!!!!!" And in a stellar mood, as always. ::Great:: Doggett thought, eyes glued to the newspaper, ::So John how did you spend your night? Sat around like an idiot while my partner threw a temper tantrum.:: Meanwhile, as Starkweather argued the idiocy of taking her sneakers off, the bland faced National Guardsman droned, "Ma’am, its standard procedure." "But I checked my weapons, weapons I’m authorized to carry by the way and I provided my ID! What is the problem!?!?!?!?!?!" "You set off the metal detectors." "I TOLD you!" she wailed. "It’s my necklace. I forgot to take it off." "Ma’am, please," now he was begging. "FINE. But if I take off my shoes, I am NOT putting them back on." "Thank you for your cooperation, ma’am." "Shove it." Doggett hoped he wouldn’t have to bail her out of military jail for mouthing off. But the Guardsman must have just wanted to be rid of the truculent little agent. Ten minutes later, she made her way towards Doggett, true to her word, in socked feet, her carry on luggage in one hand, her tennis shoes in the other. "I’m not gonna feel sorry for you if you step on something sharp," Doggett said without even looking up. She flopped in the seat next to him. "You mean you wouldn’t kiss them to make them feel better?" "I don’t want my lips to fall off," he folded up the newspaper and turned to face her. "What took you so long?" "Had to spend quality time with the thing I married." "Sounds delightful," he said dryly. "Oh it was everything I hoped it would be and more," she said sarcastically. "Anyway, forget Ben. Is there time to look through the case file or should we wait until we’re on board?" "There’s actually a crap load of information to go through in the actual case file," Doggett told her. "But we can at least start talkin’ ‘bout it. Get a summary." "I’m all ears," Starkweather said solemnly. Then an evil twinkle appeared in her eyes. "Actually, you’d be the one that’s all ears, wouldn’t you?" "You’re such a bleep," he muttered. "Brilliant comeback." "They didn’t make me take off my shoes," he told her sweetly. "Not this time." "And you have a hole in your sock." "Where?" she said, examining her feet. When, to her mortification she did indeed find the hole, Doggett added "And they smell." "They do not!" she snapped, but then she had that creeping sense of paranoia. ::Oh God, what if they do??:: Totally self-conscious now, she shifted around in her seat until she was sitting Indian-style, socked and potentially smelly feet concealed. Turning to Doggett, she said "So. Fill me in." "First girl we're gonna see is a Carter Lucas..." "What, HER name is Carter?" "Yeah, that's what the file said." "Did her parents not like her?" Doggett shrugged. "Maybe it’s a family name." "What family? The Addams Family?" "Keep talking… Jerilyn." "Shut up John Jay." "ANYWAY," Doggett glowered at her. "Carter is a full time student at UGA, majorin’ in English. Doing okay. Lived in Georgia all her life. Background checks are so clean they squeak." "You mean she doesn’t even have any moving traffic violations?" "From what’s got on her so far, she’s a good little Southern girl." "Okay, so she’s boring. What about the other girl?" "Boring too. Jessica Haarsma… and I know I bleeped up her last name. Born and raised in Iowa. Got her BA from Rose Hill College in Sioux City, Iowa." "Rose Hill? The same hell hole college I stayed in when we were investigating those radio station murders?" "Yup." "Weird." "Damn weird," Doggett agreed. "Not much on her either. Her back ground check is a little more interesting." "Oh really?" "She’s got a few speeding tickets," he grinned mischievously at her. "Oh you got my hopes up." Doggett got back to business. "Graduated cum laude with a background in journalism. Now lives in Des Moines, Iowa. Works in insurance." "She has a journalism degree but works in insurance?" "Yup." "And both girls somehow got a hold of FBI case files and published them online?" "Not just FBI files." "I don’t follow." Doggett grinned at her. "You aren’t gonna believe this bleep when I tell you. There is a specific reason why Skinner gave us this case. More than just the political BS he gave us." Starkweather was nobody’s fool. "They’re hacking into the X-Files." "Yup." "Mulder would go ballistic if he knew." "I kinda doubt Scully would be real happy either." "But why? What’s the MO?" When Doggett just shrugged, Starkweather snorted "That’s bleeped up." "That’s our assignment." "Goody-joy." She sighed. "Maybe when we get to the hotel, we should hop online and see what the fuss is about." "Your cheap crappy hotel room or mine?" Doggett asked. "I say whoever’s room has the mini-bar." "I doubt," Doggett said, standing up when he heard their boarding call, "That the accommodations that the Bureau is providin’ us will have mini-bars in the rooms." He held out his hand to help Starkweather out of her seat. She placed her hand in his. "Then how about whoever’s room is closest to the ice machine?" She said hopefully. "We can fill the bath tub with ice and keep the beer in there." "I don’t know if this place has an ice machine, they’re still pretty pissed off about the fifteen-hundred dollar credit card debt you and Scully ran up last August. He helped her up. "It was only one thousand, four hundred, eighty-six dollars and twelve cents." "Only," Doggett rolled his eyes. "And put your shoes on." "No." "Pain in the ass," he mumbled as they stood in line to board their flight. I-85 "How far away is Athens from here?" Starkweather asked. "Two hours. Feel like drivin'?" "You don't want to live, do you," she said, the ghost of a grin curling her lips. "If we get a bed full of pubic hairs, I'm blamin' you." Doggett grumbled, pulling into a small one with a sign in front that said "Peachtree Motel: Vacancy. $25/night/person." Doggett handed the dark-skinned man behind the desk his FBI credit card. The hotel-clerk's dark eyes were mostly white when he handed them a hotel key. Starkweather huffed and held up two fingers. The clerk swallowed, "Not. Terrorist." He squeaked in a thick Indian accent. "TWO ROOMS!" Starkweather barked, brandishing her FBI badge. The man behind the counter meekly handed the key next to the one he handed Doggett. "It would be nice if we could go on a case without breaking ties to the UN," Doggett grumbled as they went to the car to get their luggage. "You were the one who wanted to leave today," she griped, "This couldn't wait till bleeping tomorrow. You had to climb the bleeping ladder that must be stuck up your ass." "I'm not the one throwin' away her marriage for her career." "You already played that game and lost by a landslide." Doggett turned to say something vicious, but then for once, thinking better of it, closed his mouth. In bitter silence, they made their way to their individual hotel rooms. Doggett shut his door with a slam, and the picture on the wall promptly fell off and landed on the bedpost. He heard an abrupt rapping on the door. "Come to apologize?" "For what? I came for the key," she said snottily. "You know if you weren't such a stubborn bitch, your marriage might actually last another year." "Thank you John Gray," she said through gritted teeth, turned on her heals and left. He slammed the door behind her, the glass in the picture frame broke this time when it landed again on the floor. Back to the present "Wait a minute," Jose Chung interrupted, looking at his notes. "I'm confused." Doggett wished his mama didn't raise him so well. Sometimes good manners were such a hindrance. "What's confusin' you, Mr. Chung?" "Because Miss Reyes had told me that you and Agent Starkweather were dear friends. Very close. A special relationship. Built on trust, understanding and acceptance. Something that you don't find everyday. Indeed, something rarely found these days." Doggett drummed his fingers on the table in impatience, "And this has anything to do with the case 'cause....?" "Characters add color to a story." "Ah." Now Doggett wished he smoked. "And what is confusing me, Mr. Doggett is this. Before, it sounded like you and Agent Starkweather were being perfectly friendly with each other as you were getting on the plane but then once in Atlanta, it sounds like you two were ready to rip the other's head off. I just don't understand what happened to make the mood go from good natured teasing between friends to such bitter fighting." "The answer is simple Mr. Chung," Doggett said evenly. "During the flight, Agent Starkweather and I got into a fight and it didn't really end until we got to Athens the next morning." Intrigued, Jose Chung leaned forward in his seat. "And what provoked such heated words, Mr. Doggett?" ::Oh boy:: Doggett groaned. "Not sure I really wanna open that can of worms, Mr. Chung. There is such a thing as confidentiality." "In this nation?" Jose Chung wrinkled his nose, making his giant glasses look even more crooked. "Forgive me, Mr. Doggett, but this nation thrives on secrets uncloaked. Why else do we have all those horrible reality television shows. Have you seen 'Joe Millionaire'?" "I don't watch TV," Doggett lied. "Well..." Jose Chung made a note. "Perhaps I can schedule a follow up interview with Miss Reyes. Maybe Mrs. Starkweather confided in her..." "Alright, alright..." Doggett interrupted. "But you're going to be sorry you asked for this after I get finished tellin' you..." Back to the past November 2, 2001 After the airport Before I-85 Delta Flight 121B After a forty-seven minute delay, the plane was finally airborne. "Maybe we should wait until later to go through the files," Starkweather suggested as she undid her seatbelt and reclined her seat. "I don't think I could process anymore information right now. I'm in a horrible mood." "Gee, hadn't noticed," Doggett drawled, also undoing his seatbelt. "Got-dammit, do midgets design airplane seats?" he muttered to himself as he tried to make his over-six-foot frame fit comfortably in the tight space provided. Starkweather didn't hear his whine, only the sarcastic remark preceding it. "Excuse me for not being a bleeping ray of sunshine right now. But I think I am perfectly justified in being a bleep at the moment. My next door neighbor was killed last night by what may or may not be my twin sister. Who I just formally met a few hours ago a la 'Silence of the Lambs' setting. My piece of bleep husband was so kind to remind me as I was walking out the door that I still have to settle my piece of bleep's father's estate. To top it all off Red Fred is going to make an appearance in the next few days-" "Overshare," Doggett grunted. She continued to ignore his ad-lib. "So my back hurts, my stomach hurts and I want chocolate. NOW." "I'll buy you a Snickers bar if you promise to be quiet the rest of the flight." "God, I hate you," she muttered, looking out the window. Exasperated he said "Doc, we're stuck together for an undetermined amount of time... again." "Which is thrilling Ben to death." "And I'm sorry you've got a lot of bleep goin' on right now. But don't take it out on me. That's going to bleep me off more'n anything else." "I am NOT taking it out on YOU," she snapped at him. "I'm JUST TIRED. Quit bugging me. I warned you, I'm in a horrible mood." Doggett reclined his seat and closed his eyes. "Maybe I shoulda taken Skinner's offer up to leave tomorrow morning 'stead of tonight," he murmured to himself. "WE COULD HAVE LEFT TOMORROW!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!" ::Maybe I shouldn't have said that:: Doggett thought. Aware of all the passengers' eyes on her, Starkweather lowered her voice. "You mean to tell me we had the option to leave TOMORROW? When I was under the impression that Skinner had a big bug up his butt to have us fly to Georgia tonight!?!? And we could have left tomorrow!?!?!" She ground her teeth without realizing it. "God, I just kill you right now!" "Why!?!" Doggett said, nonplussed. "What did I do?" "You didn't ask me if I wanted to leave tomorrow! You said Skinner offered to have us leave tomorrow instead of tonight! Since I didn't hear a damn word from Skinner, I'm assuming that he talked to just you and you answered for both of us. Without asking me. At all." "It was last minute," Doggett seethed. "Literally. I was in the taxi cab on the way to Reagan Airport when Skinner called me, askin' if it was more convenient for us to leave tomorrow. Why he waited so long, I don't know. But I figured you were on your way to the airport too, so I figured, since we're already out, why bother turnin' around?" Irritated at being stereotyped as the insensitive male, he added "Besides, as cheery as you're always makin' your homelife out to be, I thought you'd be ready to get the hell out of there." "Part of my problem with my homelife is that I'm always gone." "Well... Jesus. I can't do anything 'bout now except to say I'm sorry," Doggett felt like he was at the end of his rope. "Besides. It's the job. You know that. We're field agents. We're out in the field. This is what we do." "I know my bleeping job, Doggett. And I'm good at it. MY point is that you made a decision without asking me about it at all. Especially since you know how crappy things are with me and Ben and to be honest... he doesn't ask that much of me. He just wants to spend time with me." "God, why," Doggett couldn't help himself. "I'm going to pretend really really hard I didn't hear that," Starkweather said primly. "And anyway... I don't have a lot of time to give him. And that makes me feel like bleep, but there's not much I can do about it. So it burns me when I find out when it's too late that I could have spent one bleeping night at home with my husband and my cat instead of being stuck in this puddlejumper of a plane with YOU." "Thanks, you make me feel all warm inside," Doggett said caustically. "I don't mean it like THAT. I mean it like it's one more thing Ben is going to bleep about." "Why?" "Because you idiot. He's jealous." "Jealous? Of me?" "Yeah. Because you get to see me and he doesn't." He snorted. "That's stupid. Anyway, the way you're actin' now, he can see all he wants of you." "Kiss my bleep." "Hi!" The oh-so-cheerful flight attendant materialized. "Would you two like something to dri-" "NO!" Starkweather and Doggett yelled at her. "Okay, sorry," she said, pale as a ghost, pushing the beverage cart as fast as she could. When the flight attendant was safely away, Starkweather crossed her arms and stared at the ceiling, still fuming "God you have no clue how bleeped off I am right now." "Oh I think I have a pretty good idea," Doggett snapped back at her. "I mean, Jesus, I could have at least gotten laid maybe before leaving." "Okay, that's REALLY bleeping overshare," Doggett said, ears starting to turn pink. Starkweather turned her head again. "Oh. Please. Do NOT tell me you are one of those guys who freaks out whenever a woman expresses the fact that she has sexual desires and needs." "I am NOT freaked out. I just think it's inappropriate." "Why? Men talk about sex ALL the time." "I don't." "Well, that's because you're what, five hundred years old?" "I am NOT that old." "Sorry. Four hundred." "You know, Jerilyn-" ::Oh bleep,:: she thought. ::First name. He is bleeped.:: "You aren't as funny as you think you are." "I don't think I'm funny. I just think I'm right." "Well. You're neither. And your mouth is starting to bleeping bleep me off. I just told you if you're in a crappy mood, do NOT bleeping take it out on me. I'm sorry you're marriage is going to hell in a handbasket but 'stead of trying to make everyone around you feel miserable, how 'bout you do something 'bout it 'stead of whining 'bout it?" She snorted. "You of all people are giving me marital advise? That's like Mulder giving dating tips." "What's that s'ppose to mean?" "You're the one who told me your marriage crashed and burned." "Because - like you - I was too wrapped up in my own misery to let my wife in AND - like you - I was too ambitious to pay enough attention to my family life. Too busy tryin' to climb up the career ladder." Because his words hit home, Starkweather became cruel "What changed?" Doggett's lips folded tightly together as he stood up out of his seat. "Where are you going?" He glared at her. "To find you some bleeping Midol. And if I can't, an escape hatch and a parachute." He stomped down the aisle towards the restrooms. * Back to the present... Jose Chung licked his lips. "Okay... you're right. I'm sorry I asked." "Toldja," Doggett muttered. "I.... think we can omit that from the novel. It really doesn't add anything to the story at all." "Not really." "Just paints Mrs. Starkweather as a hormonal bitch." "Yup." "And you as an insensitive ass." "Now wait a minute!" Jose Chung ignored him. "So, Mr. Doggett, back at the Peachtree Hotel... you had just given Mrs. Starkweather her room key... did you two simmer down enough to go online to explore the mystery further or not?" Doggett sighed. November 3, 2001 Twenty-seven sites down... 19,973 to go... "Oh God..." Doggett said, moving his head side to side. "This is taking forever." He leaned in closer to the laptop's screen, squinting his eyes. Starkweather sat next to him at the decrepit table with a notepad in her lap and a double-Jack-and-Coke in her hand. Her shoes were off again along with the socks. She had pulled her long hair up into a sloppy bun, held in place by a pencil. Looking over the rims of her glasses, she told him "You're going to ruin your eyes if you keep doing that." "Doin' what?" "Getting that close to the computer screen." "I can see fine." "Whatever," Starkweather yawned. "Oh... bleep. This is taking forever." "I just said that, Doc." "I'm tired, lemme alone," she grumped. "Didn't Skinner give us a URL or anything that we can look up?" "All we got are the email addresses," Doggett said. "Novel idea, why don't we email these girls, tell them we're huge fans of their site but we lost the bookmark could you send us the URL?" "What if they don't email us back right away?" "I can't believe the Bureau can't find this site, a site that has access to the X-Files. Breaching national security." "That's the key word, Doc. X-Files. Nobody cares about the X-Files." "Except for these two girls. And 20,000 webmasters. And all those people who visit those sites." She put the notebook on the table and stood up to stretch her back and to crack her neck. When her neck made a painful sounding pop-pop-pop, Doggett cringed. "I wish you wouldn't do that." "You don't understand how good it feels though," she said, moving the empty pizza box off the bed to the floor, and then flopping onto the bed. "Or this..." she sighed. "Doc, if you wanna go to bed, I understand." "Maybe we should call the Gunmen, see if they can help us narrow the search," she said. "You wanna involve the guys?" Doggett turned around and grinned at her prostrate body on the bed. "Langly'll be on you like stink on bleep." "Lovely imagery, thank you Papa John." "Well, it's true." "I wonder if the Gunmen have a following like the X-Files?" Doggett frowned and then turned around. After a few minutes, Starkweather heard him say "Holy God." "Huh?" "Sixty-thousand sites devoted to the Lone Gunmen." Starkweather hooted. "The guys are more popular than Mulder and Scully. That is funnier than bleep." Then she sat up. "Hey. What if we narrow the search by putting in just Mulder's name? Or Scully?" "I'll try Mul-duh's first," Doggett said, entering it. Then he snorted. "Yeah, brilliant idea Starkweather." "How many sites?" "Fifty-thousand." "Oh. Well, so much for that idea." Doggett was frowning at something. "Wonder what'n the hell this is?" he said as he guided the mouse over to one of the hyperlinks. "What's what?" "This link. Says it's devoted strictly to 'Mulder-slash-fic.'" "Mulder-slash-fic? What the hell is that?" She got off the bed and walked over to him. Putting her hand on his shoulder, she leaned over him as they both waited for the site to load up. "Maybe 'fic' means 'fiction'," Doggett muttered when the site finished loading. "'Cause it looks like there's nothing but stories on this site." "Stories about what? About Mulder?" Starkweather asked. "Mulder is not that interesting." "Dunno. Let's download one and find out." Doggett clicked on the link entitled "Skin Me Mulder" and waited for it to download. Once the text file appeared, they began to silently read. They didn't even get through the first paragraph before Starkweather yelled out, recoiling. "GROSS!!!! DUDE! SICK!!!" She clapped her hands over her mouth as if to will herself not to vomit. Doggett could only stare at the computer screen the same way people stare at a car accident, knowing that it's wrong to look but they can't tear their eyes away either. "I will never look at Mul-duh and Skinner the same again," he said weakly. "YOU!?!?!?!?!? What about ME!!! That is my freaking BROTHER they are talking about getting it on with SKINNER!?!?!?!?! Oh my GOD! Oh Jesus. I'm scarred. I'm scarred for life. I need a shrink. I've seen a lot of horrible things in my life, but this... this is definitely the worst. Of everything. Mulder and Skinner...." she covered her face and said in a sing-song voice "Safe, warm place, I'm in a safe, warm place..." "I think you're bein' a little dramatic," Doggett said, closing the file. "I mean, it was nasty... but nothin' to get that upset about." Starkweather uncovered her face and looked over his shoulder, back at the computer screen. "Oh really?" she said archly. "Yeah." "If it's nothing, then click on that link that says "Doin It Dogg Style with the Fox N Da Hound." All the color drained from his face. "You're kiddin' me, right?" "It's the link right in-between "'Desperate Desires', a Mulder-Krycek-slash and 'King Me Red', a Scully-Reyes-slash." Doggett reddened and said, "I think we've spent too much time on this site," and he hastily closed the site out. "Nothing to get upset about," she mocked him. "Shut up," he said, still beat red. No way in hell was Starkweather going to let this go. "You know, I think you and Mulder would make a lovely couple, come to think of it." "I said shut up." "He has a thing for skeptics." "Starkweather, if you don't shut your mouth I am gonna ram my boot up your ass so deep you're gonna need to go to the ER to have them fish it out." She laughed. "Gotta catch me first, old man." She plopped back down in the chair next to him. "Move over," she told him, pushing her way in front of the keyboard. "Why?" Doggett asked. "La la la," she sang as she typed into the Google search field "SPECIAL AGENT JOHN DOGGETT." "Oh no," Doggett said, grabbing her wrists, pulling her away from the keyboard. "Don't you dare." "Let go of me!" she said, tussling with him. Doggett thought he had the upper hand, literally, as he continued to pull her wrists further away from the keyboard. And actually he had the upper hand until she leaned and licked his hand. "YUCK!" Doggett yelped, letting go of her. Once free Starkweather quickly clicked on the "Google Search" button, giggling like a bratty little girl. "Wonder what we'll find?" she said as the page loaded. Doggett stared at the hand Starkweather had licked in disbelief. "You've got to be dog-tired to be acting this goofy," he said as he wiped the wet back of his hand on her shirt. She stuck her tongue out at him and turned her attention back to the loading page. As soon as the page was up, her face fell. "Oh crap..." "What?" "Nothing," she lied, making a move to close the page. "Bullbleep," he said, seizing her wrist again. "And don't even think of licking me again." "You liked it," she grumbled, reaching over with her free hand to shut the page. Doggett suddenly stood up, crossed one of her arms over the other, picked her up and dragged her over to the bed. In an inelegant move, he tossed her onto the bed and then walked back over to the computer. Sitting up, Starkweather pushed her bangs out of her eyes. "I was trying to be nice!" she hollered at him. Doggett ignored her as he sat down. "Alright, so what'n the hell do we have here.... oh," he said, face falling. "Told you," Starkweather said, leaning against the headboard. "The first page was nothing but anti-Doggett sites." "Why???????" he whined petulantly. "What'd I do?" "Breathe?" Starkweather suggested, taking off her reading glasses and throwing them onto the nightstand. "Big help you are," Doggett muttered, clicking on one of the links. His face fell even more as he started to read out loud. "'Top 10 Reasons Why Agent Doget Killed the X-Files.' God, they didn't even spell my name right... or reasons," he complained as he exited that site and entered another. And another. And another. "I didn't know you were a sadio-machiost," Starkweather said blandly, lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "'S8 - how Doget ruined the X-Files'," he read aloud again, then snapped at the computer. "Two G's! Two T's! Dammit, if you're gonna insult me, at least spell my bleeping name right!!!" "I think you're taking this a LITTLE too personally," Starkweather told him. "They're attacking the character Agent Doggett from the television series. Not you, sweetie." Wounded, he said "Don't they know that the characters are based on real people?" "Aww, do we need a hug?" "Hey, it's not YOUR name plastered all over the Internet gettin' slandered." "Slander is he utterance of false charges or misrepresentations which defame and damage another's reputation. What you're suffering is libel. Defamation of a person by written or representational means.*" "Whatever," Doggett grumbled, going to another site. Then he cried out "They're making fun of my ears!?!?!?" "They aren't making fun of YOUR ears. They're probably making fun of the ears attached to the actor playing you. Who is playing you anyway?" "Um... lemme see," Doggett said, scrolling through the site. "Oh no... Oh God no..." "What?" "You know how people think I look like that guy who played the bad guy on Terminator 2?" he said in a completely deflated voice. "Yeah, Liquid Metal Guy... why?" Doggett read aloud from the site he was in, "'Actor Robert Patrick, best know for his role as T1000 in 'Terminator 2, Judgement Day...'" "Are you serious? You have got to be..." Starkweather curled up on the bed and tried to smother her laughter with pillows to no avail. "Thanks a lot," he groused, continuing to surf. "There's got to be people out there who like me," he whined. "Oh my Gawd," Starkweather sat up and rolled her eyes. "There is nothing worse than a man with a bruised ego." "Or a woman with a raging case of PMS," he fired back. "Bleep you." "Kiss my bleep." ******** Peachtree Motel Doggett's eyes widened. He was looking at a site called Terminated By Doggett. "Doc..." "Please...no more...this is just a little too weird," she groaned. "Think this is liable?" He pointed to a picture of the actor--naked as a jay bird--Robert Patrick doing something that looked pretty hard to accomplish. "Hooooooly bleep! I can talk to Ben about liabel concerning twins..." "NO! I don't want that picture plastered up all over CNN..." "Why not? Your date calendar would be full for weeks!" She smirked. "I think we'll need a month to do enough research on this crap...what the hell? They have awards for this?" A resounding snore was the answer he got from his bed. He looked over his shoulder. Starkweather was dead to the world, her reading glasses still folded in her hand and fuzzy slippers still on. Gingerly, reminding him of the end of their first case together, he slid her glasses out of her hand and placed them on the night table and pulled off her slippers with relative ease. "Night, Doc," he whispered and leaned over to give her a peck on her temple, then ever-so-carefully got the covers out from underneath her and tucked them under her chin. Even in her sleep she looked bleeping pissed, he thought. He tiptoed to the door adjoining their rooms, turned the handle, not wanting the click of the door being shut to wake her, and went to sleep in her room. 5:15AM "So, we're going to this chick Carter Lucas' house today, and we don't even know what her website is?" Starkweather said. Getting up at 5am was habit for her, but last night had been a long one, and her body ached for more sleep. "I think we know enough, and besides...I dunno about you, but I sure as bleep don't wanna take a trip back into THAT twilight zone again." The road to Athens seemed to take forever. Starkweather tried to sleep, but she never was able to get very comfortable in a car, so she cranked up the radio when she heard Green Day. "Turn that bleep off," Doggett grumbled. "Just proves you're an old f art," she said, singing along. I wanna be the minority I pledge 'cause I wanna be the minority stepped out of line one light 'cause I wanna be the minority one light 'cause I wanna be the minority "Jesus bleeping Christ..." Doggett said. "What, Dad," Starkweather teased. "Looks like this is it," he said as he pulled up to an apartment complex. Carter Lucas' Residence Doggett and Starkweather both got their badges ready, and knocked on the door. "mmmmm'c'm'n" came a muffled voice from inside. "It's the FBI!" Said Doggett. "Oh, bleep! I swear...I just sent those tapes to an internet friend of mine! And they weren't porn! They didn't have anthrax on them, and I'm not a terrorist!" She was almost-squeaking as she came to the door. She was pleasantly plump with messy dark curls that covered most of her face and a ruddy complexion that had no evidence of sun exposure for several days. "One of my sisters friends has a bleeping LSD factory in his basement," she said from the other side of the door. "Just don't arrest me...they don't have the internet in jail!" She wailed. Then with a huff, she opened the door, and blanched when she saw who her visitors were. "You..." she squeaked, "Oh god..." Back to the present "And then what?" Jose Chung asked, chin on hand, eyes fixed on Doggett. "Agent Starkweather and I conducted a through interview with Miss Lucas, thanked her for her time and then went about our business," Doggett said gravely. "That's it?" Jose Chung's eyebrows rose. "That's all?" "Yes sir." "Miss Lucas didn't object?" "No sir. She was pleasant and cooperative." "Hmmmmmmmmm..." Jose Chung perused his notes. "That's not what Miss Reyes said..." Doggett prided himself on being a reasonable man so the unreasonable urge to storm out of Skinner's office, find Reyes and choke her surprised him. "And what did Miss Reyes say?" he asked pleasantly. "She said that you and Starkweather scared Miss Lucas stupid." Doggett sighed and the homicidal tendency dissipated. "Well, she was a little nervous." "Miss Reyes said that Agent Starkweather almost made her cry." "What exactly did Miss Reyes all say to you!?!?!?!" Doggett asked while thinking ::Memo to self, do not, repeat, do not get drunk with Monica and discuss old cases with her ever again. Ever.:: "Well..." Jose Chung shifted in his chair. "In the light of confidentiality..." "But this nation thrives on secrets uncloaked," Doggett said silkily. Jose Chung huffed "Alright fine..." Back to the past Jose Chung was halfway up the stairs to Special Agent Monica Reyes' apartment when she opened the door. "Oh hi!" she said brightly. "You haven't been waiting long, have you?" Jose Chung warily looked at her long, lean body, clad in a trendy yet fully functional sweat suit. Her feet were in well worn sneakers, her dark brown-almost black hair tied up in a cute pony tail and she had a bulging knapsack slung over her shoulder. "When you said you had to run errands, I didn't know you meant that literally," he said nervously. "It's not far," Reyes assured him. "At least, what I need to do around here. Go drop off my dry cleaning, then return some books at the library. Stop at a friend's house to feed their dogs and cat, they're out of town for the weekend, run over to the grocery store and pick up a few things. Then if you don't mind, we'll go back to my apartment and I'll clean up quick and you can ride with me when I go get my new dog," she said as she descended the stairs quickly. "Um... okay..." Jose Chung said, pulling his tape recorder out, following Reyes. "You don't mind if I record this, do you?" He was already beginning to huff and puff and Reyes was only moving at a brisk walk along the sidewalk. "Record away!" she said. "When we spoke on the phone last night, you said that Agents Doggett and Starkweather encountered some difficulties interviewing the girls?" he gasped, feeling a stitch in his side. They had only gone a block. "They scared Carter Lucas stupid," Reyes said. "Not intentionally, mind you. John and Jerilyn are two of the nicest people in the world... when they feel like it. And when they are not working. When working this case, in my opinion, they just approached the subject wrong. And, for your information, Mr. Chung, I am not telling tales out of school or airing dirty laundry. I had both told them so, plus AD Skinner suggested that they change their tactics when they had called in to report their progress on the case." "What..." Huff. "Tac..." Puff. "Tics..." Huff. "Where..." Puff. "They using?" "For starters, Jerilyn is a paradox. She is a gifted teacher. She had aspirations to be a lecturer and instructor at Quantico. The irony is, she is one of the shortest tempered people I have ever met. I often wondered how she managed to be such a skilled teacher because teaching requires massive amounts of patience. Once I got to know Jerilyn, I realized that she only loses her temper when she encounters ignorance, intolerance and hindrance. Then she snaps. Unfortunately, in our line of work, we encounter ignorance and intolerance every day. " "Hin... hin... hindrance?" "Anything that hinders or prevents her from getting her way. She's kind of a spoiled brat." Reyes speeded up her pace, seeing that the dry cleaners were less than two blocks away. Jose Chung miserably stepped up his pace as well. "And..." Gasp. "Mr.." Gasp. "Dog..." Gasp. "Get?" Gasp. "Do you know how wonderful it is to have a dry cleaners that's actually open on Sundays?" she said. "Of course, the library isn't open but that's alright I can just put the books in the deposit slot." She got herself back on the subject. "John on the other hand, deep down, is still very much a military man. Through and through. He had planned on being career Marine until he was injured in Lebanon. He has this mentality that once an order is given, it should be obeyed instantly. Granted... he's not exactly a saint anymore. For better or worse, the X-Files and Jerilyn taught him the value of breaking a few rules... but old habits die hard. "And under normal circumstances, John and Jerilyn's powerful personalities are rather effective when confronting suspects. Especially when intimidation may be required. You have noticed that John bears a striking resemblance to the guy who played T1000 on Terminator 2, haven't you?" Short on breath, Jose Chung could only nod as he catched after Reyes, holding his tape recorder up. "And Jerilyn... well, not only does she have a military background too, but not as extensive as John's... Jerilyn is just a force of nature when she's on the rampage. Her brother, Deputy Mayor Mulder started calling her "The Hurricane" due to her temperamental nature. Let me tell you, she was not pleased when that nickname stuck." Jose Chung could only wheeze. "So we have an ex-Marine with a chip on his shoulder and an ex Airman with an axe to grind going in to interview a twenty-something year old college girl who had no idea she was doing anything wrong." Reyes stopped in front of the dry cleaners' door. "The results of their interview were less than successful... Mr. Chung? Are you alright????" Jose Chung was leaning against the wall, face red and coated with sweat. "I'm fine," he squeaked, pushing his glasses back up onto his nose. "So... what... exactly... happened?" * Back to the present "So what exactly happened?" Meekly, Doggett said "We didn't mean to scare her... Felt kinda bad 'bout it when it was all said and done. Miss Lucas was the nicer one out of the two." "WHAT was all said and done?" Doggett sighed. "It was my fault, really... how it went..." Athens Georgia Carter Lucas' Residence Doggett glanced at the posters all over Carter Lucas's modest house. Rocky Horror Picture Show, a whole gallery of Star Wars posters, X-Files posters, Harry Potter posters, Buffy the Vampire Slyaer posters, and prints of works by Georgia O'Keefe, posters of the Dave Matthews Band, The Beatles, and Jimi Hendrix. "Agent Doggett, Agent Starkweather," Carter said, not able to take her eyes off the two of them, "what did I do?" "You breeched FBI security," Doggett said. "I WHAT!?! I don't even know how to hack! Just a little HTML and that's it!" "Our Assistant Director informed us of the content on your site. It's highly sensitive material." "Sensitive, Agent Doggett...wow...you DO look like Robert Patrick!" She shook her head, "I don't get it. We've been working on that site for two years now. Why didn't your guys give us a slap on the wrist when we first put it up?" "Two years ago," Starkweather said, "we didn't have the security threats we have now." "Security threats! Oh puhlease...like Bin Laden and his cronies are gonna go surfing X-Files sites for FBI info." "How did you know our names?" Doggett glowered. "God, you're scary...um...I...um..." Lucas stammered. "HOW did you know our names?" Starkweather repeated. "We didn't introduce ourselves when we knocked on the door. Yet you knew exactly who we were." "Oh god..." The color totally drained from Lucas's face. "Ms. Lucas, if you don't answer us within the next ten seconds, I'm afraid you'll have to go under arrest for withholding information." "So much for a free country," Carter grumbled, "I know from the show..." "I'M not on the show," Starkweather accused. "I um...write stuff...about you...and um...Agent Doggett...and um..." "YOU WHAT!?!?" Doggett yelled. "I'm seriously wondering whether or not I should check myself into a nuthouse, cuz you're not supposed to be real." "What do you mean..." Starkweather glowered, "not supposed to be real." "I dunno how...I REALLY don't know...how...and...look...you can't make us take the stuff down anyway coz of the freedom of information act of 1996. And freedom of speech, and my whole family are lawyers, and I can prolly whip out a bunch of cases and acts and ammendments about why you can't take us down." "By the time I'm through with you, we'll make sure you never log on again," Doggett glowered. Carter Lucas just gave out an odd little squeaking sound as the two agents left. She booted up her PC, hoping to GOD her writing partner was online. Scully03776: Wow, you're actually awake now? Isn't it like 7:30 your time?
As Carter frantically typed to a girl she had never seen, Starkweather and Doggett stomped down the sidewalk to their rental car. "Well, that went well," Starkweather griped. "You didn't have to make her cry y'know." "She wasn't CRYING. More like whimpering." "Would it kill you to be a little nicer?" "Oh yeah, like you were... you were... I am too damn tired to come up with a snappy comeback right now, but when I do," she pointed her finger at him. "I'm saying it to you." "I'll be lookin' forward to it," Doggett drawled. Shooting him a dirty look, she walked around to the driver's side. "What are you doing?" "Getting into the car." "You're not driving." "Why not?" "Because you don't know where you're going." "We're going back to the hotel," Starkweather said. "It wasn't that far from here. I think I can handle it." "Doc. C'mon, don't be a bleep, let me drive." "It disturbs me how you seem to think 'bleep' is now a term of endearment," Starkweather scowled, opening the car door. "Besides, you forget, I have an almost accurate photographic memory-" "Almost bein' the key word." "I can remember how to get back to the hotel," Starkweather said as she got into the car. Doggett sighed, made the Sign of the Cross and got into the car. "Didn't know you became a Catholic." "I need all the help I can get." Eight hours later... "Okay, fine, say it. You've been dying to for the last three hours." "Toldja so." "I hate you." Needing gas, Starkweather finally relented to pull into a Golden Pantry. "They'll have a phonebook in there. I'll call the front desk and we'll get directions," Doggett grumbled. "Oh, please...Papa John...he doesn't speak a word of English, and unfortunately, I know Italian, Spanish, French, German, but not Indian." "Ok, so we'll ask directions..." "Oh, yeah...that nice man with the purple mohawke just has Southern Hospitality written all over him," Starkweather smirked. He didn't pay attention to her, though. He was tired. It had been a long day. Tomorrow was going to be another long day. And plus, this was his turf. Georgia was home. "'Scuse me!" Doggett said, walking up to the punk. "IT'S T-1000!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! RUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!" "I AM NOT T-1..." Doggett started, but Starkweather stopped them. "Just forget it...we'll find it..." "This is coming from the same mouth that declared eight hours ago that we wouldn't get lost." "I hate it when you gloat." "All we have to do is find 82, and we're fine." "According to the road signs we're ON 82." "Lemme drive." "Why?" "I know these roads like the back of my hand." "And we're lost right now because you wanted to take the scenic route?" "Just gimme the keys. I'm tired of sittin'." "Fine, but you're covering for the next tank of gas." Two hours later... "I know these roads like the back of my hand.'" Starkweather sneered at Doggett as she watched the rolling Georgian countryside pass by them as they drove along. Eyes on the road, Doggett replied "Yeah, keep talkin' Little Miss Photographic Memory." Starkweather closed her eyes and folded her arms across her flat stomach. Then she frowned. Then she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, cursing. "NOW what's your problem?" Doggett snapped, irritated by her fidgeting. "You don't want to know." Doggett looked at her briefly, noted her pale face and crinkled eyebrows, then turned his attention back to the road. "You look miserable." "I am miserable... look, as soon as we come across some sort of civilization, we've got to pull over. A gas station, bait shop, trailer park... anything." "Why? Are you sick?" Starkweather actually looked embarrassed. "Not exactly." "Then what the hell is wrong with you?" Doggett said, finally getting his bearing and pulling onto the road that would lead them back to Athens. He looked over at her again and saw her arms wrapped around her abdomen as if she had a major stomach ache. "I told you not to order anything from the Golden Pantry. Toxic waste is better for you than that stuff." "I'm not sick," she snapped. "I'm a girl." Doggett, typical male, didn't catch her drift. "No bleep." Starkweather glared at him. ::Idiot:: she fumed. She spoke slowly. "And what feminine occurrence was I talking about on the plane that you told me was overshare??" "You said a lot of things that was.... oh." Suddenly he was extremely interested in the road ahead. "Welcome aboard the Get-A-Clue Bus," she said, slouching down further in her seat. "You wouldn't have any drugs on you, would you?" she asked hopefully. "Aspirin? Ibuprofen? Cocaine?" "Sorry," he muttered, "Fresh out." "At this point in time, I'd settle for a beer," Starkweather sighed, drawing her legs up, resting her chin on her knees, wrapping her arms around her legs. The added pressure against her stomach alleviated the cramps somewhat. "Can we just pull over to a bar?" "Don't you need to get..." Doggett fumbled for an appropriate euphemism "Stuff for... your... um... whatever." "Period?" Starkweather said bluntly. When Doggett squirmed, she said under her breath. "Oh Jesus Christ," then in a louder voice, she assured him "I actually brought a purse with me so I don't have to get 'stuff' for my 'whatever.' I just need a bathroom. And a drink. Or a shot. Tequila maybe. Or moonshine." "I could drink antifreeze at this point," Doggett said. "Why? What's your problem? You don't have any biological occurrences that is altering your mood and physique going on right now." "No. While we've been running around like a bunch of idiots, I've been rehashing our meetin' with Miss Carter Lucas." "Yeah?" "She acted surprised to see us..." "Well, it's probably not every day that FBI agents come knocking on her door. Or at least, according to her background check, I don't think so." "She said that they have a website 'bout US, Doc. But Skinner didn't have a URL for us. So how'n the hell did this X-Files site reach the FBI's eyes?" "What's going on inside that pointed head of yours?" "My head is not pointed." He grumbled. Then he pulled over to the side of the room. "Um... Doggett? We're still in the wilds of Georgia. Not a bar in sight." Starkweather tried to keep her voice from sounded panicked. Granted she was wearing black slacks, but still... "Don't worry, there aren't any lions, tigers or bears in the wilds of Georgia," he said, putting the car in park and opening the door. "I'd REALLY like to find an establishment with a ladies' room in the VERY near future," she whined as he got out. "I know," he said. "I don't wanna explain to the car rental place where any weird stains came from... but I gotta call Skinner quick." "But-" He shut the car door on her. She flipped him off and sulked inside the car, muttering "Bleeping men." Leaning against the car, Doggett hit one of the speed dial buttons and hoped that the signal was decent." "A.D. Skinner." "A.D. Skinner, it's John Doggett." "Agent Doggett. Making any progress?" Doggett didn't mince words. "No sir. It would help if we had an URL for these girls' site." "The girls have their own website? I wasn't aware of this." Skinner grumbled as he packed up his briefcase, preparing to go home for the evening. "I was told that the information was being posted on a message board for X-Files fans." "Being what on a what?" "And I was under the impression that the message board's URL was in the case history." ::Oh, you mean the case history we haven't exactly gotten around to reading yet because we were too damn busy surfing the Internet trying to filter out the horsecrap from the BS?:: Doggett fumed. ::I knew we should have read the file during the plane trip. Plus, if I was readin', then I wouldn't have had to listen to her bleep. Bleeping women.:: "We only got as far as the girls' background checks, sir." "I would strongly recommend studying up on the case history." "Thank you sir," Doggett said through his teeth. "Anything else to report?" "Had our interview with Carter Lucas." "And?" "Starkweather made her cry." "This surprises you, Agent Doggett?" "Not really." "I would also recommend doing a little more research into the X-Files before meeting with the second suspect." "Sir... we ARE the X-Files." "No. I mean the televised version. It's bigger than you would think." "Really," Doggett said flatly, thinking of all those websites... and trying really really hard NOT to think about 'Doin' It Dogg Style with Fox N Da Hound.' "Sometimes they call me for consultation." "Who's they?" "1013 Productions," Skinner said. "Anything else, Agent Doggett?" "What's 1013 Productions?" Skinner sighed as if it had been an incredibly long day and Doggett had asked an incredibly stupid question. "It's the production company that produces the X-Files television show for FOX Broadcasting." "Oh." ::Gee, that bleeping helps, thanks:: he thought. "I would recommend giving them a call as well. They could probably assist you with your investigation." "Will do." "Good," and Skinner hung up on him. Doggett looked at the cell phone, then contemplated chucking it out onto the highway in hopes that a tractor runs over it. He put the cell phone back into his coat pocket and got back into the car. "What did Skin Man say?" Starkweather asked, still clutching her cramping abdomen. "And have I mentioned the importance of a bathroom in the last five minutes or so?" "We're goin', we're goin'," Doggett said. "Since you're in a man-hating mood right now..." "I don't hate men," Starkweather said. "Just you. And my husband. And my father. And Mulder. And my ex-boss in Minneapolis. And the guy I dated before I met Ben. An-" "ANYWAY," Doggett interrupted her listing. "I'll give you a reason to hate Skinner. He just told me the URL where the girls post our files in the case history notes." "Gee, that would have been nice to know that last night. And drive faster," she said anxiously, reaching down for Doggett's briefcase. "Does that mean we have another online session tonight?" "Guess so," Doggett muttered. "Sleep's over-rated," Starkweather said as she opened the briefcase and took out the case file. Flipping through the girls' background checks, she finally got to the case history. "Here we go. 'The first occurrence of the security breech was dated March 27, 2001...' March... LAST March?" "Guess so." "I thought Miss Lucas said this has been going on for two years?" "Maybe she was confused." "Maybe she lied." "Gonna go back and make her cry again?" "Maybe," Starkweather said, reaching up to turn the overhead light on. She read silently for a few more minutes but then said "Ah-ha!" "What?" "Got it. The URL that Walter-freaking-Skinner could have given us before leaving." She looked at the string of garbled letters and symbols again: http://forums.prospero.com/foxxfiles/messages?msg=48869.1 "Where does this lead I wonder?" "The beginning," Doggett replied. "Thank you, Mr. Cryptic." "Quit teasin' me or else I'll drive slower." Starkweather held her tongue until they entered the Athens city limits and Doggett pulled over to the first gas station he could find. Starkweather bolted from the car before he even had it in park and ran inside. Doggett snickered to himself as she flew right back out with a tiny key attached to a hubcab and raced around the convenience store, where the bathrooms were. Almost back to the present, but not quite
"Make yourself at home," Reyes said cheerfully as she led Jose Chung into her beautifully spacious loft. "It'll only take me a minute to clean up," she told him. "Then we can continue our talk. And are you sure that you don't mind coming with me when I go adopt my new puppy?" "No, no," wheezed Jose Chung. "Quite fine. I like dogs." He looked around and whistled. "Great place you have here..." he looked down at her coffee table and saw two of his books lying there. "Wonderful taste in architecture AND literature." She smiled at him, told him that there was mineral water and Diet Coke in the fridge if he needed something to drink "So help yourself" and then she walked back to retrieve clothes from her bedroom to bring into the bathroom. Jose Chung thought about making himself home on the couch. But the sofa was occupied by a rather intimidating looking tabby cat, sound asleep in the middle. Jose plopped down on the chair as he heard the bathroom door lock and the shower turn on. The tabby's eye lazily opened, gold and haughty. Then the other eye opened and he regarded Jose Chung with interest. "Hello," Jose Chung said nervously, not a cat person. The cat leapt from couch to coffee table and sat on "The Caligarian Candidate," tail twitching as he sniffed him. "Nice kitty-kitty," Jose Chung said "Please don't sit on my book." The cat tilted his head, as if he was listening but disregarding every word that came out of his mouth. As he reached out to carefully pick the cat up, Jose Chung said "You really shouldn't sit on that you know. I'm rather proud of that book, did you know that I just sold the rights to it to Twentieth Century for over four mil- OWWWWW!!!" The cat nipped at his fingers. Ears flat against his head, he curled up around the book, hissing. Jose Chung stuck his abused fingers in his mouth. "CAESAR!" Reyes yelled coming out of the bathroom. She was neatly dressed in a black sweater and low riding jeans but her hair was wet and her feet bare. "NO!" Caesar darted from the coffee table and fled to Reyes' bedroom. "I'm sorry," she said, towel drying her wet hair. "That's Caesar Dictator. I got roped into watching him this weekend. And I like cats, but he is truly evil. I can't wait until his owner comes to claim him. Do you need a band-aid?" "No," Jose Chung took his fingers out of his mouth and blew on them. "I think I'll be fine. So... um, Miss Reyes... after Mr. Doggett and Mrs. Starkweather finally made it back to Athens in relative safety, what happened next?" Reyes shrugged. "I guess they grabbed something to eat and then went back online to track down the URL that's in the case files. I'm going to put socks and shoes on and then we'll be ready to go. Do you want to drive through something first? McDonalds, Burger Kings, Subway...?" "The reason why I ask," Jose Chung said, raising his voice as she tossed the towel into her bathroom with a firm resolve to hang it up later, and then go back into her bedroom. "Is that I have a dear friend in Athens Georgia who works as a short order cook." Reyes came back out, a little bit of make up on and her feet clad in black leather boots. "Oh?" "And he said that he saw Mr. Doggett and Mrs. Starkweather at the Grill late that night." "So?" "So I am curious what may have transpired..." She shrugged. "Probably nothing. Nothing that has to do with your story Mr. Chung." "You never know what detail can enhance a novel." "You never know what detail is also the kiss of death," Reyes said. "And fair warning, Mr. Chung. John is also an intensely private person. Generous to a fault, he will help you if you need assistance with your research but the minute you step on his toes, you'll feel his entire foot up your ass." "I mean no disrespect towards Mr. Doggett," Jose Chung said, getting up. "It's just that Mrs. Starkweather is just such a... colorful character? I'm trying to get a feel... a view of her entire spectrum." "Mrs. Starkweather," Reyes reminded him. "Is not a character. But a person. As far as her spectrum goes... think red." Back to the past
"My God, I'm starving," Starkweather said as she reached for a menu. "Have you been here before? And what's good?" "Yeah, I've been here before and everything's good," Doggett said, tugging on his tie, pulling it off. As he sighed with relief, Starkweather snorted. "What's so funny?" he asked. "You. We've been lost for almost eleven hours, stuck in a car together for a grand majority of that time and NOW you're finally taking your tie off." She shook her head. "Hey, I loosened it," Doggett said, shoving the tie into his suit jacket and then shrugging off the coat. The waitress, a pretty girl with big brown eyes, long black hair and a Colgate bright smile approached them. Placing water glasses in front of them she asked "Can I start to y'all with something to drink or is water enough?" "Iced tea, please" Doggett said. "I'd like a Coke, please," Starkweather said. "Okay," the waitress said "What kind of coke?" Starkweather stared at her blankly. "Umm... just a Coke." A wicked glimmer shone in her eyes "I know, ma'am," she said "What kinda coke d'ya wan', honey?" Before Starkweather had a chance to go ballistic, Doggett glanced at the menu, then said to the waitress in his politest drawl "She wants a Pepsi, miss." "No I don't!" Starkweather said but the waitress ignored her, thanked Doggett and left to get their beverages. Doggett grinned at her. "She was messin' with ya Doc." "Why?" "Why? 'Cause, honey, you're a Yankee." "So?" "Some people down here call sodas 'cokes'." "Why?" "I dunno. Why do you and Ben call 'em 'pops'?" "I don't know. And last time I checked, 'why' and 'Ben' only have one syllable . Your accent is getting worse the longer we stay here. " "Me?" Doggett's grin became angelic. "I don't have an accent here. You're the one with the accent." "I really don't have an accent," Starkweather said but not argumentative for once. "I mean, not in way that singles me out from a particular part of the country. When I was a kid, with Dad being in the service and all, we never stuck around anywhere long enough for me to pick up an accent. Ben and his family on the other hand... holy balls, they are so from Minnesota and they can't hide it." Doggett waited patiently for her to start complaining on Ben's lastest sins against marriage but was surprised when she said "And speaking of parts of the country... what's really striking me as weird about this case is how in the hell did these girls meet? They didn't go to the same college. According to the background checks, they don't have any relatives, any mutual friends. They've never even met face to face. They don't even call each other, their phone records are clear, except for that weird 900 number on Scully3776's phone bill-" "And I'm sure there's a logical explanation for that," Doggett said. "Yeah right. ET borrowed my phone to call home. Anyway. My point. How do they know each other and how are they able to communicate to get into these files to post them?" "Email each I guess. That instant messager real-time email thing." "But you have to meet some how. Build some sort of a relationship." "Maybe they met online?" Starkweather looked at him. "People do that?" "I guess. I don't know. I don't know much about the Internet except for what I have to use for work." "Yeah. And http://www.nascar.com."/ Doggett blinked. "It just hit me Doc." "What? That you're a redneck? It's okay. It's actually become an endearing trademark that makes you so expressively you." "No. Doc. Shut up and listen. I had a revelation about the case." "Okay, I'm listening." "There's an official site for NASCAR. For the NFL. For the University of Georgia. For the FBI. For just about damn anything..." "I don't follow." "D'you think there's an official website for the X-Files?" "Well, of course there is. WWW.fbi.gov//xfiles. It's got our profiles in there, plus Mulder's and the guy who initially started up the X-Files, Arthur Dales." "You must be experiencing a blond moment Doc. Not OUR X-Files. The TV show X-Files. An official site for that." Starkweather's pretty eyes about fell out of her head. "No freaking way..." Doggett shrugged. "Why not? Anything's possible in this God-forsaken universe." "You've been hanging out with Mulder WAAAAAAAAAAAY too long." The waitress returned with Doggett's iced tea and Starkweather's Pepsi. "Are we ready to order?" she asked. "If I say 'cheeseburger' to the nice waitress, is it really a cheeseburger here or is it a generic term for a variety of sandwiches?" Starkweather asked Doggett sweetly. The waitress asked Doggett "Is she always this annoying?" "Yes," Doggett responded. After the waitress took their orders and left them alone Starkweather scowled at him, "You're mean." "Yeah, and you're a snow-white angel spreading peace and good will unto mankind." "Am I really that horrible of a person?" "When you're this pissy and hormonal, YES." "I'm fishing for a compliment," Starkweather pulled the wrapper off her straw and then tied it in a knot. Then she pulled hard on the wrapper so it broke in two. "Oh damn," she said when the knot in the middle had remained intact after she tore the wrapper in half. "What?" "Oh. Nothing. Me being maudlin and stupid." "'Bout what? About the annoying comment? I was just giving you bleep, Doc. I didn't mean it." "Seriously. It's nothing. Topic change." "No topic change 'cause you're full of bleep. You're moping about Ben." "You said you didn't want to hear me piss and moan about Ben anymore." "Doc, there's a difference between talking out a problem with a friend and then whining about a problem because you're feelin' sorry for yourself and want attention. And on the flight, you were definitely havin' a pity party and I turned down your invite to join you." "You say the sweetest things." "Hey, I can make up some sweet BS to make you feel better if you like. But I've never sugarcoated anything with you before so why start now?" Doggett said honestly but kindly. "Yeah, I guess. And maybe I shouldn't talk about it because I am feeling sorry for myself right now. I mean," she held up the straw wrapper. "This is the epitome of pathetic." When Doggett looked at her blankly she explained "It's a game that we used to play in junior high. After taking the wrapper off our straw, we'd tie it in a knot and then tear it while thinking about our true love's name. If the knot came undone when we tore the wrapper, then our dreamboat was thinking about us. But, if it stayed in a knot, like this one did..." she crumpled up the wrapper into a ball and put it in the ashtray. "Like I said, it's stupid. And right now I'm just being a bleeping baby about it because I'm too chickenbleep to do anything about it and I just want the attention and someone to go, "Aww, poor you." So, that being said, topic change? Please? Before I bore you stupid with details of my crappy marriage?" "Like what?" "I don't know." Starkweather reached around to the back of her head and started to pull out hairpins. Now Doggett was the one to grin and shake his head. "What?" Starkweather asked as she ran her fingers through her long hair. Her hair had been damp when she rolled it into its usual merciless bun so now it flowed over her shoulders and down her back in soft waves. "Here you are, sitting here making fun of me for leaving my tie on all day while we were lost and you're finally putting your hair down." "I don't like my hair in my face or on my neck when I'm working though," she said. "It distracts me. Whereas a tie, to me appeared to act like a suffocation tool. Which would explain the behavior of most men if they are indeed suffering mental incapacity if the blood supply to the brain is being choked off at the neck by a tie." "You've spent way too much time thinking about that." "I've also got theories about pantyhose and thongs that I'll bore you with at another time." "Oh. Good. Something to look forward to." "I know you're excited," Starkweather droned like her older brother. "Please restrain yourself, we are professionals." "I'll do my best," Doggett tried to say with a straight face but the effect was ruined by a gigantic yawn. "Sorry." "Great, my ego has suffered a new blow. I'm boring my partner to sleep. Here I thought I was semi-fascinating." "I'll be semi-fascinated with you tomorrow. Right now, I just want something to eat and enough coffee so we can look at that website." "Are you nuts? You and I are both running on maybe four hours of solid sleep with a few cat naps sneaked in here and there while we were playing Dora the Explorer in the glorious splendor of Georgia." "What's Dora the Explorer?" "Some damn kid's show I had to watch when Scully whined and begged me to watch William. I lasted about five minutes and then switched it over to HBO because they were having a 'Sopranos' marathon." "Bet Scully loved that." "What Scully doesn't know won't hurt me," Starkweather said innocently. "Although, she was wondering why William was saying 'Badda-bing'incessantly when she got home." "I hope you don't have kids." "I hope I don't have kids. That's part of the problem." Knowing that this time she wasn't fishing for a compliment or asking for sympathy, he asked her "Ben still pushing the kids issue?" "God, yes. And I'm not bleeping ready for kids. But, anyway. Whatever. That dead horse has been beaten into pulp. What I was trying to get at before you so neatly detoured the conversation is that we're both dog-tired, no pun intended Mr. Doggett, and we're both pissy and we both need food and sleep. Real sleep." "So says the doctor, right?" Doggett grinned at her as the waitress brought their meals. "Damn straight. One of the many perks of busting your ass, depriving self of sleep and life and not necessarily in that order, is that once we get those two little letters "MD" tacked on to ends of our names, is that we get to boss people around regarding their physical and mental wellbeing. And our word is law." "Should I go get your tiara now, Your Highness?" "God, yes. And I'm not bleeping ready for kids. But, anyway. Whatever. That dead horse has been beaten into pulp. What I was trying to get at before you so neatly detoured the conversation is that we're both dog-tired, no pun intended Mr. Doggett, and we're both pissy and we both need food and sleep. Real sleep." "So says the doctor, right?" Doggett grinned at her as the waitress brought their meals. "Damn straight. One of the many perks of busting your ass, depriving self of sleep and life and not necessarily in that order, is that once we get those two little letters "MD" tacked on to ends of our names, is that we get to boss people around regarding their physical and mental wellbeing. And our word is law." "Should I go get your tiara now, Your Highness?" "Ha," was all Starkweather could get out before the waitress came back with their orders. "Careful, the plates are still hot," she cautioned them. After making sure they didn't need anything else, she left them in peace. After stuffing her face full of fries, she asked Doggett "So after we check out this website, then what? Warrants?" "I don't know. Guess we gotta see how much of a security threat the link is," he said as he poured ketchup on his plate. "You know it's not a threat. It's a bone Skinner tossed us to chase to make it look like to the Senior Staff that the X-Files is important," she grumbled before biting into her cheeseburger. "Oh, yum... I've been dreaming about this all night and part of the day." "Maybe after visiting the website we go back and squeeze Ms. Lucas some more before we go to Hollywood." Starkweather arched an eyebrow. "Hollywood? What's in Hollywood?" "1013 Productions, I'm assuming." "You wanna go to California for this case?" He shrugged. "Have you lost your freaking mind?" "Yeah. Probably from the oxygen deprivation I've suffered with my necktie cutting off blood circulation to my brain." Starkweather leaned back in the booth. "I thought this was going to be an in-out kind of case. Scare the bleep out of two sci-fi nerd girls and then go home." "Well, if you really wanna go home that bad, Doc, we can..." "Doggett," Starkweather tilted her head. "Are you actually contemplating... wasting Bureau funds for personal reasons?" "What can I say? You and Scully are rubbing off on me." "I'm not sure that's a good thing." "Me neither," Doggett admitted. "Then why?" "Because Starkweather, we're getting bleeped," he said bluntly. "We worked our asses off in New York. We both... lost a lot in New York after Nine-Eleven. And I love my job and I love what I do... but a two week unpaid break. That's bullbleep. Especially after this goosechase they sent us on to validate the X-Files..." "Validate. Big word." Doggett ignored her remark. "When I was permanently assigned in the X-Files, the first thing I did was sit down and read every damn file in that office." "Yeah right." "Took me two weeks but I did." Starkweather looked at him in awe. "Good God. You truly do have no life." "Exactly," Doggett said. "And I saw all the detours and road trips and essentially waste of money that our good friend Leyla Harrison has covered up for the X-Files office over the years." "Who's Leyla Harrison?" "Nice girl. Major Mulder and Scully fan." "The TV Mulder and Scully or our Mulder and Scully?" "Our Mulder and Scully." Doggett took a drink of iced tea before going on. "They've rang up some major bills during their tenure together in the X-Files. Leyla, because she was in awe of their work, managed to cover most of their spending excess up... except for a few things that were impossible to hide, of course." "Like a snow plow left behind in Antarctica?" "Yeah." "I always wondered how the hell Mulder and Scully got off that ice cap." "And," Doggett glared at Starkweather "A fifteen hundred dollar credit card bill. That I got MY ass chewed out for, by the way." Starkweather squirmed uncomfortably in her booth. "Sorry," she said meekly. Then, gathering her resolve again, she said "Don't get me wrong. I'm not morally opposed to stretching this case out. And it's not like we couldn't drop it in a heartbeat and to go work on a real case if something did crop up that needed to be handled immediately. But the only problem I see is that this entire case is to justify that the X-Files is worth the money the Bureau is pouring into it. How can a minor road trip to Hollywood prove that?" "We're doing our case thoroughly, leaving no stone unturned," Doggett said piously. Starkweather just stared at him. "You are acting so out of character." Doggett just shrugged. "I missed out on that whole teenage-rebellion thing as a kid. Maybe it's just rearing it's ugly head right now." "Or maybe you're just having a midlife crisis." "Nah. I haven't gotten a convertible and a young blond girlfriend yet." Starkweather couldn't help herself. "No. You just have a testosterone induced pick up truck and a young blond FBI partner who encourages your late in life rebellious streak." "California may or may not be just a pipe dream," Doggett said. "If the risk outweighs the cost, I don't wanna do it." "I knew it," Starkweather grumbled. "And I was getting ready to find a Super Wal Mart and buy sunblock and a bikini." "But... I wouldn't mind stayin' in Georgia a little bit... if you don't mind. We should talk to Ms. Lucas a little more... maybe take a day as a breather. Or a mental health break as you would call it." Noticing the sudden far away look in his eyes before he looked down and started to wolf down the cheeseburger and fries, she realized ::He's homesick as hell.:: "So," she said casually, sipping her "coke." "How far away is Savannah from here?" "Depends," Doggett said, swallowing another yawn. "On what?" "On how fast you drive. On if you take the back roads or not. Or if you get stuck behind a tractor going five miles an hour." "No more horse and plow? You guys have finally moved into the Twentieth Century? Wowwwwwww..." "Horse and plow is better'n that piece of bleep you drive." "Rub it in." "Anyway, it's about four hours. Give or take." "I smell our own detour coming up." "Oh do you now?" Doggett smiled sheepishly. "You wouldn't mind?" "Why would I care?" Starkweather hesitated then asked "Would you want me to come along or would you want to go by yourself?" "Well..." Doggett looked torn. Starkweather knew right then and there that there was something extremely personal going on in Savannah and maybe she shouldn't tag along. "What are you going to do by yourself?" "Me? Cover your ass by working. I'll go squeeze the lovely and talented Miss Carter Lucas a little more while you go say hello to your mother." Starkweather said. Doggett looked grateful even as he said "I'd feel bad for leaving you on your own." ::You wouldn't be the first man to leave me alone:: she thought bitterly behind her sweet angelic poker face as she said "It's no big deal if I'm on my own." Before Starkweather could lie again, the waitress returned to their table. "How is everything? Can I get you anything else?" "Nope everything's fine, we just need the bill, please," Doggett said. "As long as you're sure," he then said to Starkweather as he pulled out his wallet and began counting out bills to settle the tab. "I swear, I'll be fine," Starkweather said. "Please. Don't fuss over me. Besides, some "me" time would be such a bad thing anyway. I need to figure some bleep out. Need to call Ben... figure out when we can get to Arizona so we can clean out Dad's house... then follow up with Dr. Nyman about Charlie..." she sighed. "Plus I do want to have a nice friendly chat with Miss Lucas." "That's your prorogitive Doc, but I don't know what good it would do." "It can't hurt, can it?" "Guess not. Just be nice to the poor girl." "I'm always nice." "Right. And I believe in aliens," Doggett said as the waitress returned with the check. Doggett reached for it but Starkweather snatched it out of Doggett's hand. "Now c'mon, Doc, I got it..." "Oh spare me the chivalry bull bleep," Starkweather said, digging into her coat pocket for her wallet. "I got it. It's my turn to pay for something anyway. You never let me pay." "You got the pizza last night." "And you got beer. So deal with it, I got this one," Starkweather looked at the bill, handed the waitress two ten dollar bills and said to Doggett "And if you boxers are truly in a twist about being ungentlemanly, then at least tip the poor girl something." To the waitress, she said "And you can keep the change from this too. He's kind of cheap so you may only get fifty cents more from him." Doggett rolled his eyes and handed the waitress a five. To Starkweather he said "Can we go while I still have a shred of dignity left?" "You have dignity left? How could I have allowed that to happen?" The waitress laughed at them. "Y'all have a good night." "Thank you," Doggett said as he and Starkweather got out of the booth. Shaking her head, counting the money, the waitress said, still giggling to herself, "Married people." But she wasn't as quiet as she thought she was because Doggett and Starkweather froze in their tracks when her comment reached their ears. Remembering their hotel room fiasco on La Luna Blanca, Starkweather finally turned her head towards Doggett and said sweetly "Ready to go, Mr. Starkweather?" as she held out her hand. Doggett gave her a dirty look. But still offered his arm for her to grasp as if they were in a black and white film from the Forties. "Pain in the ass," he grumbled as he escorted her out the door. "You adore me," she retorted. "You worship me." "I'll let you continue to believe that," he said, opening the door for her. "Makes working with you more tolerable." November 4, 2001 "I never thought I'd be this happy to see this bleep hole again," Starkweather said as she followed Doggett into his motel room. "Yeah," Doggett said apprehensively as he saw a roach scurry across the floor. "Really damn happy." They both looked at the computer, the screen saver blinking ominously at them. "I have a headache," Doggett blurted out. "Told you not to sit so close to the screen last night." "Do you have any aspirin?" "No, but I've got ibuprofen, is that okay?" She sounded concerned. He looked like death warmed over. "I don't care," Doggett said, looking exhausted as he sat down on the nearest bed. "But I gotta take something or else I'm not gonna be any good the rest of tonight." "You still want to go back to the Twilight Zone?" "Might as well get it over with. It can't get worse, can it?" he said in the same tone of voice as a little boy about to get his first tooth pulled, asking the dentist if it was going to hurt. "Damned if I know. But anyway, give me a bit. I want to get out of this damn suit and wash my face," she walked over to the door that led to her room next door. "I'll be right back." She put the thick file on the dresser next to the door and walked over to her motel room. Doggett slipped off his shoes, puffed up a pillow, then laid down on the bed, reaching for the remote. He struggled to keep his eyes open as he turned the TV on and began to channel surf. Meanwhile Starkweather threw off her blazer and unzipped her duffel bag, pulling out one of her favorite fleece sweatshirts and a pair of wrinkled jeans. Because she left the door connecting the motel rooms wide open, she went into the bathroom to change. She just about hung up her blouse and slacks but realized that they were so crumpled from travel that unless they stumbled across a dry cleaners in their near future, hanging up the blouse and pants was pointless. Once in comfy clothes, she washed her face and brushed her teeth. Then she took a velvet scrunchy out of the make up bag that contained very little make up and bundled her long hair up in a sloppy bun. "Oh bleep," she said, almost forgetting about Doggett's request for drugs. She reached back into her make up bag and took out the ibuprofen bottle. Before going back into Doggett's room, she opened the bottle, placed two tablets on her tongue, grimaced at the bitter taste, dry swallowed them and put the cap back on the white plastic bottle. Barefoot she padded back into Doggett's room. "Okay, how many do you nee-" A resounding snore cut her off. Starkweather shook her head and switched off the television set. "Old people," she said affectionately, as she went over to the other bed, stole the covers and threw them over her sleeping partner. Doggett stirred a little, but didn't wake up. Starkweather looked longingly towards her motel room. Then she looked at the computer. Looked back at her room. Looked at the computer. "Bleep," she muttered, going to get the file off the dresser, then dragging her heels towards the computer, thumping down in the chair in front of it and logged on. Weeding through the useless junk email Mulder thought it was so funny to send her ("Wild Co-Eds and Barnyard Animals - You Gotta See to Believe!") and responding to a few emails with a few people she had met in the military and medical school that she considered friends and kept in sporadic touch with through the years, she stared at the computer, hand poised on mouse. Looked at the file again. Stared at her computer. Then clicked on "Write Mail" SEND TO: bstarkweather@cartersa.com Because I don't want another discussion to deteriorate into a fight, I decided to email instead. First of all, made it to Georgia in one piece, thanks for asking... ... to say that I know you are not happy with the current situation is an understatement. I am painfully aware how miserable you are. I feel it with every silent treatment, every sulk, every angry phone call and lost opportunity to try and sort things out. I feel like hell that I allowed Skinner and Doggett railroad me into accepting another field assignment before even having any sort of chance of being with you. Right now is like living out Scylla and Chrybdis. My job is important but so are you. If I neglect one, I neglect the other. And it's so hard to find a balance right now, with the state of the nation plus all the little surprises the X-Files keeps throwing at me. I still don't know how to handle the fact that my father, someone that I thought was a good man, who loved me beyond reason, who was a patriot that defended our country during the Vietnam Conflict, was in fact a criminal. A criminal who took dirty money and helped an organized crime cartel continue their agenda in the country he swore to protect against all enemies, foreign and domestic. That Dad's duplicity almost killed you in the process. And I can't even confront him because he died a hero's death in the Pentagon Attack. And now with this new discovery. I did not have a chance to tell before I left - but the girl that broke into our apartment complex the other night believes that she may be my sister. This is not completely implausible with me being adopted and the girl, Eve Charlie, looks so much like me. They are doing DNA testing right now to see if it's true that she is my sister. I went from being an only child, to suddenly inheriting Mulder as my brother and now this sickie chickie as a sister. I think I liked being an only child better. And I can't imagine what it's like to be in your shoes. I can't imagine because you don't tell me what's going on until you are so upset that you explode. And me, being less than ladylike as always, fight fire with fire and nothing gets accomplished except for more animosity. I can't pretend that I'm not angry. Because I am. When you proposed, I had just sent off my application to Quantico and I warned you over and over what kind of life FBI agents lead. And you said you understood and it didn't matter because we'd be together. Well, surprise, surprise, it does matter, you're homesick, you miss your family, you miss Minneapolis and you hate DC and you hate my job and I'm afraid that you're going to start hating me. And that's not fair. To you or me or to us. I don't want not to have an 'us', we promised each other 'for better or worse' and now is definitely a 'for worse' time. And to be frank, we're both being selfish. We both want it our way or nothing at all... but we got to figure our a compromise or else there won't be an us anymore and I don't want that. I promised you forever. I don't take promises lightly. But I'm rambling now, sorry. I'm tired, I'm hormonal, I miss you and I want to come home.... but... "Whose woods these are I think I know,
My little horse must think it queer,
He gives his harness bells a shake,
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
I've definitely got some miles to go before I sleep, but I want to sleep beside you now and fifty years from now... I still love you, you know. You lug. Good night, Counselor Love, the big bad FBI broad She hit "Send" and then typed in the website address provide in the files.... November 4, 2001 Doggett's eyes opened for the first time without motivation of an alarm clock or a telephone crying out for attention. As he began to stir, he actually felt good, well rested and ready for a new day. It had been too long since he had slept in... and for him... anything past five in the morning was sleeping in. Pushing the covers off of him, he then noticed that he had slept in his clothes. Glancing over at the stripped bed across the room and then at his closed notebook computer he smiled wryly. ::And she says I fuss over her...:: Getting out of bed, he noticed that the connecting door was closed but there was a note taped to it. He walked over, took the note down and tried to decipher her phenomenally bad handwriting. "Papa John - First of all, you wake me up this morning and you will die a slow painful death. Secondly, if you get a chance during your road trip today - go online and take a gander at the website address that's in the case file. It is unreal. It is impossible. It is unbelievable. It's one of those 'gotta see to believe' things. Thirdly, if you cancel your road trip or come back early because of that website, again, the whole "dying a slow painful death" scenario will be played out and not in your favor. You need a mental health day, so sayeth the doctor. This letter is your prescription. Fourthly, while you're in Savannah, I'm going to sleep until noon, take a long hot bath and then go pay another visit with our good friend Carter Lucas and squeeze the hell out of her. Bleep being nice to her, I want her to grovel at my feet. And before you change your mind about Savannah again - please, let me handle this by myself. I am a professional, I can handle myself... ...but I will need you to help me with "Scully3776" because I want to beat the bleep out of her, but you'll understand why once you go online... ... and besides, I have a sneaky suspicion that Miss Lucas thinks you're the Liquid Metal Guy from T2 so having you there would be counterproductive. She'll either shrink away in terror or ask for your autograph. And finally, if you decide to spend the night in Savannah, just call and let me know when you're heading back to Athens. I can give you a status update over the phone about how my meeting went with "Spookykat" So I'll talk to you later And don't worry about taking the rental car. I'll either get another rental for me or call a cab (but I'll put it on my credit card instead of the Bureau's. That way, one, we'll actually save the Bureau money and two, Ben and I can write it off on our taxes as a business expense. Gotta love being married to a lawyer.) Have fun. You rebel. JS." Doggett wondered if maybe he should stay in Athens after all. Her hints about what she had discovered online definitely perked his curiosity. Then he noticed there was a post script at the very bottom of the letter: PS: Quit standing there debating if you should stay or go. Leave. Now. Before I wake up. Remember the whole "painful death" part from the beginning of the letter." Doggett grinned, shook his head, flipped the note over and scrawled out his own message. "Doc, Alright, alright, I'm going, I'm going. Call if you need anything. I'll have my cell with me at all times. I probably will stay in Savannah and be back early tomorrow morning. And BE NICE to the suspect!!!! I don't want to explain to the judge why you felt excessive force was necessary. JD." He slid the note under her door and went into the tiny bathroom to shower before leaving for Savannah. Later on that day..
She didn't like televisions, she only kept one around now to entertain her only grandchild when she came to visit. The other TV, the one her husband used to watch football and baseball voraciously on, was given to charity shortly after his funeral. She kept the radio on most of the time. And she didn't have a variety of stations she listened to. The dial stayed mostly on 900 AM but when she had her share of gospel music, she would change the frequency to FM and listen to Kix-96 until she remembered why she didn't like the "new" country music and would go find a CD or tape of one of her favorite "oldie but goodies" performers. She also didn't like dishwashers even though all four kids had pooled together to buy her one. She politely thanked them but sighed at the money they just wasted. What was the point of a machine that cleaned dishes if you had to clean the dishes before putting them in the machine? Might as well just wash them by hand. Which was what she was doing right now. All morning, she had concocted casseroles and other easy-to-heat up meals to bring over to her oldest daughter, Melanie. She sighed to herself as she scrubbed out her sauce pans. Melanie and her husband Parker had just been dealt a cruel blow. Parker was dying, there was no way around it. And Melanie was in deep denial, unusual for her normally calm and pragmatic daughter. But then it was hard to believe that straight laced Parker some how contracted the insidious HIV virus. And Parker and Melanie were adamant. No else was to know. Not even poor John, exiled in Washington DC. As far as anyone else was concerned, Park was just "sick." She shook her head again and continued scrubbing her pots, a little harder than necessary. There was a tap on her back door. "It's open," she called out as rinsed out the clean pot. She was expecting Christen, her youngest and somewhat flighty daughter. They were going to deliver the casseroles to Melanie later today. "Hi Mama." She was not expecting her youngest son. Putting the pan on the drying rack, she wiped her soapy, wrinkled hands on her apron and said "Well, look what the cat drug in." Doggett approached her and kissed her cheek. "Sorry I didn't call first," he said. "This was kind of an unexpected trip." "What brings you out to these parts, son?" she asked as she went over to make a fresh pot of coffee. "And have you eaten yet?" Doggett smiled wryly. His mother, bless her heart, always thought he was starving to death. "I grabbed something on m'way here," he told her even as she had already bread out and went to the refrigerator to look for what else she could feed him. "And anyway, I'm working a case in Athens right now. So I thought, since I was in the area, I'd stop by..." As good as familiarity felt, sitting down at the wide kitchen table where he had sat with his parents and brother and sisters as a child for countless meals, seeing that the walls were still off-white and the floor still had the God-awful ugly green linoleum popular in the Seventies... ... he couldn't help wonder if it really was such a good idea to leave Starkweather alone in Athens. A little later...
Actually she had only slept in until ten-thirty but as soon as she was fully conscious, she had gone straight to the bathroom to soak in the hotel's minuscule bathtub until her fingers and toes resembled prunes. Feeling marginally better, she had drained the bathwater and turned the shower on so she could wash her hair, but she washed it as quickly as she could as she knew she couldn't spend the entire day being lazy, no matter how bad she wanted to. She had called, still wrapped in a towel, a Hertz and asked if it was possible for her to pick a rental car for the day. Then she called a cab to bring her to the Hertz. She had just finished getting dressed as the cab pulled up to the crappy motel room and it was off to the Hertz where a modest 1999 taupe colored Ford Taurus waited for her. After getting coherent directions to the nearest Taco Bell, she got lunch and drove herself to Lumpkin Street and across the street from Carter Lucas' apartment, waiting. This was definitely the boring, unglamourous part of the job. Surveillance. Starkweather munched on a nacho chip as she waited for her quarry. She didn't have to wait long. She only ate half of her Nachos Bell Grande before she spotted Carter Lucas walking up the sidewalk, burdened by a heavy backpack. Starkweather sucked down a swig of soda... coke... pop... whatever... before bolting from the car and crossing the street, intercepting her. "Miss Lucas," she said unctuously, "how nice to see you again." Her normally pink cheeks faded to gray. "Oh God, it's you again..." she moaned. Then her pretty eyes nervously darted around as she asked "Where's... uh... you know..." "Liquid Metal Boy is off today to visit his mother," Starkweather said sharply. "It's just you and me today chica." "Oh God," she whimpered. "This isn't happening..." Meanwhile...
Exasperated, Mrs. Doggett looked at her watch. "Your sister was supposed to be here by now," she said as she got up to refill coffee cups. Doggett didn't have to ask which sister she was talking about. "Mama, you know that Chris couldn't be on time to save her life." "You would think I would remember that, wouldn't you," she said, pouring coffee. "Must be having one of those 'senior moments.'" Doggett grinned as his mother returned to the table. He inherited his looks from his father, his silence and dry wit from his mother. His understated intelligence and ambition was his own. She placed the coffee cup in front of him and was to sit down herself so they could resume the nice talk they were having when the door slammed open. "Hey Mama? D'ya got the Kleinhesslinks' cell phone number? Their car is finally ready but I can't fin-" the oldest Doggett son stopped dead in his tracks when he saw who was sitting across the table from his mother. "Oh... um... hiya Johnny," he muttered unwillingly, barely polite. Doggett's response was equally tense. "Hey Stevie." "Stevie, did you have your lunch yet?" Mrs. Doggett asked placidly as the two grown men eyed each other with childish animosity. If it wasn't for the coldness radiating off of the both of them, it would have been impossible to tell they were brothers. Stevie, a football player gone to seed, in his grease and oil-covered overalls he wore while working at the auto repair shop he inherited from their father. And John, tall and lean (too lean in his mother's opinion) dressed in old but clean blue jeans and a lightweight navy sweater, gun holster on his hip, by decree of FBI since technically, he was still on duty. But he had explained that to his mother when he took off his leather jacket before sitting down. His mother, raised around hunters and guns had only shrugged. She continued to rattle off menu options as John and Stevie continue to glare at each other. "... or I could reheat some soup." Mrs. Doggett did not miss the memo that women didn't have to wait on men anymore. She figured that women's lib is fine and dandy for the younger girls, especially her daughters and granddaughter, but she was too old to change her ways now. "Naw, I ain't hungry," Stevie said. "But I do need that number if you got it. I tried their home and work numbers but can't get a hold of them and George has been gripin' 'bout how long it's been takin' to us to rebuild the tranny in his car..." "I think I have it in my address book," she got up again. "But Stevie you really need to find a nice girl to run that office." "I'm trying to find a secretary, Mama," Stevie complained. "But none of them hang around for very long." ::Gee, wonder why:: Doggett thought acidically as his mother left the kitchen. He braced himself for the verbal offensive his brother was sure to launch at him the minute their mother was out of earshot. "So," Stevie said, helping himself to a cup of coffee. "What brings you 'round here?" "Work," Doggett said. Stevie snorted. "Nice, little brother. Real nice. Work keeps you away from Pop's funeral but when work brings you here, you just pop in whenever you feel like it." "Stevie," Doggett said "I would have come if I could. But Pop died right after 9-11 and I was in New York. I couldn't just up and leave." "He'd been sick before 9-11," Stevie retorted. "What's your excuse for not seeing him before then? Work? The X-Files are that damned important to you? I can't imagine how it could be if it's anything like the damned TV show." Doggett gaped at his brother. "You watch that show?" He shrugged. "Gillian Anderson's hot." "Who's Gillian Anderson?" Doggett said blankly. When Stevie stared at him in disbelief, it was Doggett's turn to shrug. "I don't watch must TV except for football and when the races are on." He then thought ::Oh damn, I'm missing the Falcons play against New England.:: He hoped Reyes got his voice mail about taping the game for him. Then he realized that Stevie must have been really getting some heat from the Kleinhesslinks (whoever they were) if he was actually working on a Sunday to get their car ready instead of sacking out in the living room to watch the game. Then Doggett had a brainstorm. If his own brother watched the television version of the X-Files... maybe he would have a perspective that Doggett himself lacked. "What's the show like then?" Doggett asked. "I used to like it," Stevie said. "It was okay. Then they brought in that guy who was T1000 in Terminator 2 to play," he sneered at him "Special Agent John Doggett and the show went into the toilet after that. So I stopped watching By the way, seeing any royalties from that?" ::No, I'm not... dammit!:: Doggett realized as he said "Well thanks for your support, Stevie." "Support. My God. You have the nerve to bring support up when you couldn't tear yourself away from your bleeping 'work' to be here for Mama when Pop died." "Jesus, Steve! It was a bleeping breach of national security! God dammit, I saw the bleeping Towers fall! I couldn't just leave." "Not even for a day to say good bye to Dad," Steve said quietly. "Not even to be at Mama's side for a few hours as we buried him." "Mama said she understood," he blurted out then instantly wished he hadn't. He felt like he was five years old again when Stevie blasted him for playing with his toy trucks and all he could say was "Mama said I could!" "Fine and dandy for Mama. What about Mel and Park? And Chris?" "I was under the impression," Doggett said coolly, "That Chris really didn't give a damn whether or not Pop lived or died." Before the argument could really turn ugly, Mrs. Doggett returned to the kitchen, holding out a slip of paper in her hands. "Here you go, Stevie," she said calmly, as if they had all been enjoying a nice Sunday afternoon together. "Thanks," he stuffed the paper down his pocket. "John, will you be staying for supper?" she asked. "No," Doggett said quietly, ignoring the blistering stare Stevie gave him. "This was a real last minute, short trip. I'm sorry. I should probably go in a little bit. 'Sides, I wanna stop in at Mel and Park's quick." "They aren't here," Stevie said suddenly. Doggett furrowed his brow. "Where are they?" Mrs. Doggett looked at the floor as Stevie lied for them. "They're out of town. For the weekend. Probably won't get back until late." "Oh," he said, disappointed. "Well, maybe I should get going then..." "Surely you can stay a little longer, son," Mrs. Doggett asked. "Chris and Laura should be here eventually..." As if on cue, a cheery voice burst out "Mama! We're here! Sorry it took so long," Christen, accompanied by her precocious daughter Laura entered the kitchen. Her jaw dropped as Laura squealed in pure pleasure and made a beeline for her uncle. "Uncle John!" she said as she leapt into his arms. "Ummpff... hey Laura..." Doggett said lifting her up. "You're almost too big to do this anymore. "I know! I grew a whole inch! Daddy said I'm getting too big for your britches. Are you here to see Auntie Mel and Uncle Park?" she asked innocently. "I was under the impression that they were out of town," he said, glowering at his mother and Stevie. "So I'm here to see you and your mama and Grandma instead." "YAY!" Laura wrapped her arms around her neck and began chattering excitedly about school and what she wanted to do over Thanksgiving break and her dance lessons and all the little things small girls hold dear. Doggett half-listened to her as he continued to glare at his brother and mother, quietly demanding to know what was going on with Melanie and Parker. Carter Lucas Residence
"I can show you where some guys keep a meth lab in their basement, Agent Starkweather...but other than that, I've helped you and your partner all I can." "You can help by telling me how the hell you got into the x-files databases." "We didn't." "What?" "We didn't. We made it up. You really should just make life easier on everyone and dump Ben. He's gonna get killed off anyway. Justin Leo and Bravo are going to make life hell enough as it is." "How do you..." "Made him up too. Oh, yeah...and Lux Carlos is gonna come back into the picture." "How do you..." "I've GOT to say you have GREAT taste in men...Keith Hamilton Cobb is DREEEEEEEEEEEEAMY." "Keith Hamilton Cobb?" "Come here," she said, ushering Starkweather into her bedroom, where there was a picture of the guy from Hercules, pictured with some chicks in futuristic cleavage-bearing outfits...along with someone that looked awfully familiar... Starkweather paled. "Do you not have a life???" "Nope," she said, shaking her head, "Don't need to. The preps may rule the world, but the nerds save it." "You'd get along great with a friend of mine." "I know...I sound like Langly. But the blond geeky types just aren't me. 'sides...he's pining after you." Carter and a very ashen-faced Starkweather went back to the living room. "So..." Starkweather said, looking around the living room. "So," Carter answered. Starkweather eyed the Dave Matthews Band Poster and the Tori Amos poster. "You have great taste in music," she said. "Thanks!" Carter beamed. "My partner hates him." "Agent Doggett has absolutely no imagination. What d'you expect from a guy who likes NASCAR, country and classic rock?" "See...that's what's killing me here," Starkweather said. "I'm a tad miffed right now because I don't understand how you guys got all that info from us. How do you know so much about us? I SWEAR, if you tell us, nothing will happen to you. No charges. No jail-time. The worst thing that'll happen is that your website will be shut down." "You can't just...shut us down. THOUSANDS of people visit that site. Look, if you want an idea of where we got all this info from, just take a look at our links page. And how was I supposed to know you guys were really real people! What the hell happened to freedom of speech?! Or is that just an inside joke?" "I still don't get it...how do you know about Ben...about Lux?" "I know about it because they're characters. I write about them. I write about you. My God...do you have ANY idea how WEIRD it is to be...talking to you?" "A little." Carter visibly shrunk. "You know I have control over whether or not you experience pain in the near future. I'd be very careful what you say, Agent Starkweather." "Threatening an Agent is a federal offense. So is interfering with an investigation." "Going against the fifth and first ammendments is unconstitutional. God I'll remember next time to tell my writing partner to make her next original character less bitchy." "I," Starkweather tried to stand as tall as possible, which didn't do her any good since Carter was at least two inches taller than her. "Am NOT a character. And I do NOT appreciate this slander-" "Libel," Carter meekly corrected her. "WHATEVER," Starkweather snapped. "And before you get all high and mighty about the First Amendment, let me clue you in on something. Yes, Americans have freedom of speech, something most countries don't enjoy. HOWEVER it comes WITH responsibilities and WITH regulations. Libel is illegal. False, scandalous and malicious publications are illegal. Invasion of privacy, be it misappropriation, unreasonable intrusion, publication of private information or putting someone in a false light by fictionalizing is illegal. 'Freedom of expression is neither absolute nor permanent but it remains a reflection of the society's homegeneity and sense of stability.'**" "You only know that," quailed Carter, "because my writing parter studied journalism and she can look up all that in her old text books." "I don't want my life put on the website," Starkweather said through her teeth. "What is so hard to understand that?" "What...?" "I read 'Introitus.' And I'm not really happy." Carter paled even more but she said defiantly "We're not taking the stories down. You're not real." Starkweather reached over and pinched Carter hard. "OW!" "Did that feel real to you!?!?!?!" Carter rubbed her arm but still stared Starkweather down. "You're a figment of imagination. You're someone playing a bleeping sick joke on us. We're not taking our site down." "You call me sick. You're the one who threatened me with how you control over whether or not I experience pain in the near future. Who's sick now?" Starkweather snapped at her. "Publishing personal and confidential FBI information... for... for what???" Carter shrugged. "For fun. It's a hobby." "A HOBBY!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!" *from "Introduction to Mass Communication, Third Edition" by Jay Black and Jennings Bryant February 14, 2003
Assistant Director Walter Skinner’s office
FBI Headquarters
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington DC
And she never did mention that to Doggett. "So," Jose Chung chewed thoughtfully on his pencil, "would you say that Agent Starkweather's visit was counterproductive? Seeing that she only antagonized the suspect even further?" "I don't see how she antagonized her. Starkweather really didn't go into much depth about on Miss Lucas' attitude." "Really," Jose Chung said thoughtfully. "Because when I interviewed Miss Lucas, she had told me in the heat of the moment, she let a spoiler slip to Mrs. Starkweather." "A spoiler?" Doggett said, thinking of an accessory for a sports car. "Yes. That she and the other writer were planning on... er... killing off the Benjamin Starkweather character. Miss Lucas claims at the time, she was still believed at the time that she was a victim of a cruel joke but instantly regretted her words when she stumbled across a news story on the Internet about the shootings at City Hall where Mr. Starkweather alas perished." Doggett was white as a sheet. "She never told me," he said faintly. "She probably didn't believe her when Miss Lucas said that... probably rationalized it and filed it away..." he added while thinking ::Was that what was going through her mind that day when I found her in the chapel? Was she wondering if she could have stopped it because one of those damned girls predicted it... dammit, Starkweather, why didn't you tell me?:: It was another secret she had kept from him. He also didn't know about a phone call she had made that day before winding up in the hospital's chapel... Shaking with rage, she didn't wait for Carter to provide a defense but just pivoted on her heel and stomped out of Carter's apartment. She felt anger coursing through every vein, artery and capilliary, her hot blood providing oxygen and fury to every part of her body. ::My life. It's my bleeping life they're publishing them. God damn them. God bleeping damn them. Just wait. Once we get done with the criminal trial and the FCC is going cream themselves once they see all the goodies the FBI's handing them on this one, then Ben and I will slap a civil suit on them so hard-" Her heart stopped. Her breath stopped. Her train of thought stopped. ::Ben.:: She had to steady herself against the car, her legs started to shake so badly. You really should just make life easier on everyone and dump Ben. He's gonna get killed off anyway. Justin Leo and Bravo are going to make life hell enough as it is.** ::She threatened Ben....:: ::I thought Leo was dead... he did that swan dive off the cliff of Luna Blanca...:: ::She threatened Ben....:: ::Who the bleep is Bravo? Any relation to Greg Brady?:: ::She threatened Ben, she threatened Ben, she threatened Ben....:: All resentment, all bitterness, all hurt feelings dissolved as fear and loyal congealed within her. She made herself take slow, deep cleansing breaths. ::Get it together Jerilyn. Her background check came back clean. Her family's background check came back clean. She had no known ties to any terrorist or organized criminal groups. She has no prior record to any sort of violence. Besides, just by talking to her and studying her profile in the report, she doesn't seem like a violent person at all. Actually, I think she's probably really sweet, when she's not backed into a corner by a bleep like me:: she grimaced, calming down now. ::She's scared because she thinks that I'm not real. That I'm imaginary. Hell. To be honest, if roles where reversed, I'd be looking for some Vicodin and a padded cell. She seems to be taking this remarkably well... considering the fact that she's looking at jail time when we bust her ass. I'm not feeling THAT generous.:: She fished the keys out of her pocket and unlocked the car door. "Whatever," she told herself as she switched the car radio on. "She's bluffing." And she decided that the bluff wasn't worth mentioning to Doggett. December 7, 2001
"Hey Jess?" Jessica Haarsma, lost in thought, didn't hear her roommate's obnoxious voice at first. "God damn it," she swore under her breath as she watched her cursor turn into an hourglass. "AOL, so help me God, if you boot me off before I can save and publish this damn page..." "HEY JESS!" "Yeah? What?!?!" Jess hated to be bothered when she was trying to update the website. "Phone call." Thank God for dual phone lines. "Who is it?" "She said it was an old friend from DC." DC. That perked her interest. Wondering if it was one of her online buddies who lived in DC, she got up from her computer and wandered out of the bedroom and into the living room where her roommate stood, holding out the phone. "Thanks," Jess said, taking the phone from her. "Hello?" There was a choking sound on the other end. Jess furrowed her brow. "Hello? she said again, cautiously. A familiar husky voice came on the other line, a voice Jess previously had only heard in her mind. "I hope you're happy, you fucking bitch." Then there was nothing but dial tone. "Jess?" her roommate asked, seeing how pale she had become. "Jess, hon, you okay?" "Yeah," Jess said weakly, putting the phone back on the cradle. "Wrong number... do you have any cigarettes?" "I thought you quit." "I quit quitting," Jess said and then emitted a dry, harsh laugh. That was her favorite Reyesism she had made up for whenever Reyes craved a cigarette and someone admonished her for lighting up again. Jess, ignoring her roommate's quizzical looks, took the pack of cigarettes and lighter out onto the balcony. Lighting up, she looked up at the winter sky and could barely make out the stars. The city lights blocked the majority of them out. But to her, the stars were like faith, just because you couldn't see them, didn't mean they weren't there anymore. ::Have a little faith, Jerilyn:: Jess thought, taking a long drag on her cigarette. ::You'll thank me later...:: Then Jess snorted. No she wouldn't. "So," Jess said to the almost black sky, the dirty snow on the ground and to the invisible stars. "This is how God feels." Back to the present
"Mr. Doggett?" "Huh? Oh. Sorry," Doggett said. "Mind wandered off..." ::What the bleep else didn't you tell me, Doc?:: "Understandable. My mind likes to take little trips too." Doggett bit back the urge to ask when his mind was due back from it's travels. "So what were you doing while Mrs. Starkweather interrogated Miss Lucas?" "Research," he flat out lied. November 4, 2001
He wished he had a map of the cemetery. Last time he had spoken to her, Melanie said the grave was near Conrad Aikens' but for the life of him, he couldn't remember where in the hell it was. It had literally been years since he visited this particular cemetery. Doggett was surprised that a dyed-in-the-wool Baptist like his father had consented to be buried in what he had always referred to as the "Papist graveyard" but Melanie had sighed and told him "Appearances, Johnny. It was always about appearances to that man. You know that." After Melanie said that, he realized that he did, indeed, should have known that. For him, only the most respected and famous cemetery would do... or infamous cemetery, thanks to that damn book and movie "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil." Melanie had argued with him on that point "I loved that movie and the book was better!" Mel. What the hell was going on with her and Parker? After Laura's innocent blunder, he didn't stay long. Didn't want to force his family to lie. Something obviously was wrong, but if Melanie and Park wanted him to know, they would have told him, of that much he was certain. So he made up a polite fiction about how he had to get back to Athens and continue to work on a case that demanded his attention, so on and so forth. Chris and Laura had pleaded but seeing the anxiety in his mother's eyes and the blatant hatred in his brother's, he begged them off and told them he had to go but made promises to visit. Soon. As he had walked back out to the rental car, Stevie had stopped him. "Hey, Johnny?" "What?" Stevie jogged up to him. It was almost amusing to see him run, his big belly jiggling. "Do us a favor," he said to him. "What?" Doggett narrowed his eyes. "Stay in DC for Thanksgiving," Stevie said. Doggett seemed to be taken aback by this. "Why?" he finally said. ::Because I'm doing you a bleeping favor by making sure you don't have to be home for the holidays and see Parker as a living corpse. He'll be gone by Christmas:: Stevie thought as he said "I can't do anything 'bout you coming for Christmas, Mama would have too much of a fit over that... but you don't need to be here for Thanksgiving." When Doggett didn't answer, Stevie added "All you ever do is cause trouble. We'd like to have one holiday without some sorta crisis." Stevie held his breath while Doggett stared off into space. "Okay," Doggett said finally. "Fine. If that's what everyone wants..." Doggett tried to tell himself he really didn't mind. If it made things easier for everyone else if he missed one little holiday, it didn't matter, much. He'd be home for Christmas... He stopped wallowing in self-pity when he spied what he was looking for. "Thanks, Mel," he mumbled under his breath as he got off the trail. "It's no where near Aikens' grave." He stood there, silently, in front of a plain marble marker. Well, plain for Bonaventure Cemetery. STEPHEN JAY DOGGETT
He didn't bring flowers for the grave. He had nothing left to give. Eventually, when the shadows finally lengthened, he turned and walked away, his dues and respects paid in full, in his mind anyway. November 4, 2001 Doggett let himself into his horrid motel room to find his laptop computer on and the door connecting his room and Starkweather's wide open. There was soft music filtering out from her room into his, not her usual loud angry rock music or even the lighter stuff she indulged that he still hated, like Dave Matthews Band or Sarah McLachlan. Alternative crap. This was a lot of violins and brass, still not exactly his taste, but better than a lot of the crap she usually polluted the air with. He started to unbutton his leather jacket. There was an unexpected chill in the air tonight. "That you Doggett?" a very weak, pathetic voice called out. Doggett stopped half-way from removing his jacket. "Yeah, it's me." She didn't sound like herself. He finished taking off his jacket and walked into her room. "You alright?" "Been better, but I think I'll live." The music came from the ancient clock radio, dial set to some classical music station. Her clothes, one of her nice black "power" suits, was laying in a heap on the floor, with her dress stockings and high heels on top of the pile. He noticed a trail of hair pins on the floor, leading to the bathroom, as if she needed a trail leading her from the motel door to the bathroom in case she got lost in her room later on. As for Starkweather herself, she was curled up in almost the fetal position, wearing a pair of flannel pajamas bottoms that seen better days and the same fleece sweatshirt she wore last night. Her hair was damp, laying loose about her. Her face was pale, her eyes closed. She looked miserable. "How was home?" she asked, not moving. He shrugged. "It was alright," he said, sitting down by her. "How was your day? Did you talk to Carter Lucas?" "Yeah," Starkweather said faintly. "And?" "Didn't find out anything important," she said, drawing her knees up closer to her abdomen. "Big bleeping waste of time." "Hey, Starkweather," Doggett leaned over her, pushing her hair out of her face. He rested his fingers on her cheek. She felt flushed. "Are you sick?" The minute the stupid question slipped out of his mouth, Doggett steeled himself for the snappy comeback. When none came, he asked her, "What's the matter?" "I ache everywhere," she whined, "And I'm freezing." Doggett now felt her forehead, "Doc, you're burning up. When did you start feeling this way?" "Right after talking to Carter Lucas. I felt all shaky but... I thought it was just stress and being overtired... but..." Her eyes opened as she struggled to sit up. "Move," she said rudely, grabbing his leg as she pulled herself up. "Now." She pushed him. "Doc, what the hel-" Too late, she had thrown up on his jeans and shoes. "Aw... dammit," Doggett said. She had already flopped back down onto the pillows. "Told you to move," she said, almost in tears. "Hey, Doggett?" "What?" "I think I need to go to the hospital..." "Why?" "Because muscle aches, vomiting, chills and fever are symptoms of Toxic Shock Syndrome," Dr. Starkweather told him. "Toxic... what?" "It's a disease menstruating women are susceptible to and since..." she didn't even have the energy to finish her sentence. Doggett about asked if it was serious but stopped himself. If someone as stubborn as Starkweather actually truly wanted to go to the hospital, it was serious. This day kept getting better and better for the both of them. "I'm going to kill that bleeping bleep," Starkweather mumbled. Doggett was driving her to Athens General Hospital. "What did she do now?" "Bleeper made me angry enough to be sick. I'm gonna..." she didn't get to finish her threat. She buried her head in the bag from the breadsticks they ordered from Papa Johns the previous night, because she was hacking up vomit, which was now only bile. "Why didn't you bleeping call me when you started feeling like bleep?" She tried to tell him, but then revisited the Papa John's bag. Doggett steadily looked at the road. "Big H." Starkweather said thickly, pointing at a bright blue road sign. Thankfully, they pulled into Athens General Hospital after a relatively short drive. "Anyone ever tell you you're a bleep when you're sick?" "Thank you, Lawrence Nightingale." "Starkweather, Jerilyn," droned an orderly, and then one look at her pale face, he said, "oh my..." then he turned to Doggett, "Are you the husband?" What? No." Doggett said, one arm around Starkweather's back, the other around her middle, his hand cupping her elbow as she leaned against him. "I'm her partner." "Oh." The orderly sniffed. "One of those 'open ended relationships.' What happened to good old fashioned marriage?" "No, he's my work part-" Starkweather tried to say but ended up throwing up all over the orderly's white Nikes. "Sorry..." she said, her body shaking all over as she clung to Doggett's shirt, afraid that her legs were going to give out from underneath her any minute. Doggett bent down, picked her up and said to the orderly "She's a doctor, she said she's having abdominal pain, a temp of a 101 but she says she's freezing. And she's been throwing up since we left for the hospital about twenty, twenty-five minutes ago. She thinks it might be Toxic Shock Syndrome due to the time of the month she's currently in." Starkweather only nodded weakly to concur with his statement. The orderly, over the shock his shoes covered in puke (not like it was the first time that had ever happened to him) "Follow me," he said. "We'll get you signed in and a doctor to see you." Later
"Got-dammit," Doggett looked at his watch again. "What'n the hell is keeping the doctors so long?" "Maybe there was a major accident," Starkweather said, laying on the gurney, shivering. She was trying to take her own pulse but her hand was shaking too badly. "Doc," Doggett said nervously, "What is Toxic Shock?" "Toxic shock syndrome is a severe disease caused by a toxin made by Staphylococcus aureus, characterized by shock and multiple organ dysfunction, usually kidneys and liver (1) " Starkweather told him in a hoarse whisper. "Oh is that all?" Doggett got up and started to pace. "You would think something like that would bring a doctor running then, wouldn't you?" "Not," Starkweather explained again, "if there was major trauma going on in the ER. A multiple injury car wreck, gun shot injury." She curled up tighter into a ball. "Or I'm totally wrong and it's not TSS but something else." "But what the hell else?" Doggett said, sitting back down by her, pushing her hair off her hot, sweaty face. Her eyes were red-rimmed as if she had been crying all day and part of the night. "I don't know..." she whimpered. "Have you called Ben?" He hesitated. "Yeah," he told her. "I left a message." Actually he had left three messages, the third one being "Ben, this is John Doggett, for the last time, your wife is really bleeping sick and she's askin' for you, my cell number is 555-1122, DC area code. I can't have it on in the hospital so leave me a message and I will call you right back wherever you are, you got that? Call and then sit by your got-damn phone." "Try his office," she said, closing her eyes. "He might be working." Before Doggett could tell her that the office was the first number he called, a short man with a boxer's body and wide baby blue eyes dressed in pea-green hospital scrubs burst through the door. "My name is Dr. Brock Northford, I apologize for the delay, I was reviewing the lab work. You must be Mrs. Starkweather?" After Starkweather limply nodded her head, Dr. Northford said "And are you Mr. Starkweather?" Doggett forced a smile, "No. We work together in the FBI." "Do you want us to notify your husband, then, Mrs. Starkweather?" "I did," Doggett spoke up, "he wasn't able to be reached." "It IS TSS then..." "No, I just thought you'd like him to know you were here so he wouldn't be surprised by an ER bill. Actually, it's not TSS. Don't arrange your funeral yet, because it's just a bad case of influenza. There's a nasts strain the vaccinations haven't been able to catch, because we've been getting a buttload of cases here. We'll keep you over night to restore fluid-loss. I'll subscribe something for the vomiting and Tylenol3 before you leave in the morning, but after a few days of bed rest and lots of fluids, you should be ok." Doggett wasn't listening, he was suddenly fixated on his hand. Then he spoke up, "how long till we feel somethin'?" "The incubation period is typically 6-12 hours from what I've seen of this particular strain, so before the night's out, I guess..." "Damn...she licked me..." "I'm signing up for Quantico..." "Aw, bleeping great! Now I'm going to get this bleep." "Look on the bright side, FX is running an X-Files marathon! Hey..." Dr. Northford said, studying Doggett, "come to think of it..." Doggett just glared, and Dr. Northford suddenly began to study his stethoscope. "I bet you guys get a lot of bleep from people with no life. I actually had some bleeper wanting to know if John Carter was working here." A familiar figure suddenly blocked the doorway, thankfully holding a new basin. "Ms. Lucas?!?!" Doggett gaped. "I candystripe here. I DO have a life offline, you know." "We couldn't tell." Starkweather said. A little while later
Doggett found a payphone near Starkweather's room and dialed. "Hi, this is Ben Starkweather, I'm sorry to have missed your call. Please leave a detailed message after the tone along with the best number to reach you and I will call you back as soon as I can. Have a great day." Beep. "Ben, it's John Doggett," Doggett said "I know it's late but I just wanted to let you know that Sta- Jerilyn's okay. She just has the flu really bad so they're keeping her overnight to make sure she's not getting dehydrated. They're gonna let her out in the morning... so... she still wants you to call her if you get a chance." Doggett left the hospital's number and Starkweather's room number and then hung up without saying goodbye. What an inconsiderate bleep. Even when things were at their most heated, Doggett knew that if he had gotten a message that Barb was seriously ill, he would have be at her side in two seconds. Truth be told, if he received a phone call today that Barb was seriously ill, he would be by her side. Some calamities can override bitterness, or so he thought and hoped. He made his way back towards Starkweather's room. The lights were off, but he went inside anyway, correctly guessing she was still awake. "Hey," he said, softly, sitting down on the other bed. "Hi sunshine," she croaked out. "God, you look like bleep." "Gee, how come you're still single?" She was still shivering underneath the covers. Doggett stood up, stripped the bed and then threw the thin blanket over her. "Thanks," she said. "Want anything else? Besides a million dollars and a pony?" Before Starkweather could answer, a candy striper stuck her head though the door, "Visiting hours are over." Both Doggett and Starkweather recognized her voice. "Leave," Starkweather croaked out. "Now." "Miss Lucas," Doggett said. "Maybe it would be better if you left. She's really not feeling good." "Duh," Carter said, "She's in the hospital. I don't think she'd be lying there if she felt great." "Wait!" Starkweather rasped out, sitting up in bed. She beckoned Carter over to her. "I'm not going to hurt you," she said tiredly. "I just have a question." "Okay," Carter said, but not moving any closer to Starkweather. "If you're here, and you're not writing, then why am I sick if you are supposed to control my life?" Starkweather asked. Carter thought about that. "Um... Well.... good point..." Doggett decided to push Carter a little, "Or should we call the TSS scare an attempted murder?" "We would never kill you two off, you're canon!" Carter exclaimed. Starkweather and Doggett looked at each other, then at the pretty girl in the ugly candy striper's uniform. "Is my fever high enough to make me start hearing things now? Did she call us canon?" Starkweather asked. "Well, not you, Agent Starkweather," Carter said hastily "But...don't worry, you're canon as far as my partner and I are concerned." "I would say thanks if I knew what the f*ck you were talking about..." Back to the present
"Sorry," Doggett said sheepishly to Jose Chung. "It slipped out. But that's what she said." "No worries, Mr. Doggett," Jose Chung said primly, "Like I told you, I am familiar with Mrs. Starkweather's colorful language. Please... continue..." November 5, 2001 Athens General Hospital 12:20 AM Eastern Standard Time "I would say thanks if I knew what the bleep you were talking about..." Carter sighed "Canonical characters, such as Agent Doggett, are established characters made up by the people who created the show." "So what happens if the show kills off a character?" Doggett asked. "That's the X-Files. No one really dies on that show. They always come back in some form or another." "Okay, stupid question time..." Starkweather laid back down on the bed. The conversation was exhausting her. "How popular is this damn show?" "Back in its heyday," Carter explained "Right after the movie came out, it was popular enough to put Fox on the map and count it as a major network. Now that Duchovny's gone and the writing's suffering, it's taking a nose-dive in the ratings, but if you go by the sheer number of fanfic out there, it's as popular as it ever was." That wasn't good enough for Starkweather. "But how did the TV show get popular? The 'Lazarus Bowl' bleeping sucked." "Four words," Carter said "Gillian Anderson, David Duchovny." Doggett asked "Who?" just as Starkweather said "Duchovny's hot." Carter recoiled "You just called your brother hot...gross!!" Starkweather said icily "Excuse me reality-impaired-girl but Mulder is my brother. Duchovny is of no relation to myself or Mulder... that I'm aware of." Carter shook her head "Mulder and Duchvony are the same people." Doggett and Starkweather looked at each other. "Cuckoo nest time," Doggett said under his breath. "Yeah, maybe she can room with Charlie," Starkweather muttered before saying loudly and patiently to Carter: "No they're not. Duchovny's married to Tea Leoni and they have a little girl. Mulder's with Scully and they've got Will. You twit." Carter still looked confused. "God this is the weirdest conversation I've ever had...look...I never thought abou this before make-believe people knocked on my door today, but what if there's two realities..." Doggett and Starkweather both said "What?" at the same time. Carter seemed to be talking more to herself than the agents, as if she was trying to explain the strangeness around her to herself. "That if something happens in the creative process that makes them solid, and a part of the real world." Starkweather swore under her breath and then asked "What drugs are you on?" "And can I have some?" Doggett added, rubbing his temple. His head hurt suddenly and the room felt hot. ::Oh bleep:: Carter continued to talk. "So there's Mulder," She held out on hand. "A fictional creation, who lives with Scully, another fictional creation, and they have a kid--another fictional creation, which, by the way, is an EXTREMELY heated debate in the fandom." Starkweather rolled her eyes "Why? He's just a kid?" Carter smiled knowingly at Starkweather and Doggett and told them "You won't be here long enough for me to go into it all. But the shortened version is that part of the reason the show was such a hit, was because you had a male and a female lead in a platonic friendship. A lot of people appreciated that about the show. Then Scully gets preggers, and you have a Friends finale." "Friends is still on the air?" Starkweather asked, amazed. Doggett looked down at her. "God, Doc, you DON'T watch TV. Even I knew that." Carter began to pace back and forth in the hospital room excitedly "So...think for a minute, for instance, you, Agent Doggett... you're here...but what if, in the same realm of reality, Robert Patrick was out in Hollyweird somewhere with his wife Barbara at this very same moment!" Starkweather whined, "That's making my head hurt." "Mine too," Doggett whined too as his stomach decided to start hurting as well to keep his head company. "Agent Doggett," Carter said "Have you ever stopped to wonder why so many people mistake you for the guy on T2?" "Because the actor who plays me played T1000 in the movie and we look a lot a like?" Carter nodded, "Remarkably alike. But the idea that you've got a twin floating around somewhere who you don't know about is highly unlikely. So, what if Robert Patrick was a different ...um...you?" "You watch way too much Star Trek, miss." "Not a big Star Trek fan, personally," Carter said blithely. "Come on, how many cases have been in the X-Files about different dimensions...it could happen!" "On TV, yes. Real life, no!" Starkweather moaned from her bed. "What about the time Mulder switched bodies with Morris Fletcher?" Doggett looked down at Starkweather, "When did that happpen?" Starkweather said "There's no case file on it." "Damn," Carter said. "No casefile on Morris Fletcher? Okay, or when that time-machine inventor guy tried to stop his own invention from getting developed? Both Doggett and Starkweather had blank looks on their faces Carter then said "Okay, remember when Mulder was arrested last summer?" "The man's been arrested more times than Richard Simmons is ridiculed by David Letterman," Starkweather said. "Which time?" "When he met Manny for the first time... Manny Ibarra, when he was arrested for killing Mr. Starkweather." Starkweather was deathly quiet for a moment. "Doc?" Doggett said softly, trying to ignore how miserably shaky he felt all of a sudden. "Yeah..." Starkweather sat back up in bed "What about that?" "Agent Doggett, do you remember feeling like you were missing a week in time after Mulder was cleared of those charges?" When Doggett nodded, Carter said "Okay, I can't tell you why you were missing time that week, 'cause it would severely mess up continuity, but ever thought that the missing time might be the due to some kind of alternate reality? How do you think I knew about you missing time?" Doggett didn't answer. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth, he was going to throw up all over Carter's shoes. Starkweather answered for him. "If you ask me if I lost nine minutes, I'm gonna bleeping hurt you." A smug little smile appeared on Carter's face. "You're sick. You can't hurt me that bad. You can barely stand up right now." Starkweather lifted her arm and pointed at Doggett, "I'll make him hurt you. Come on Johnny, sic 'er," she quipped. Doggett first glowered at Starkweather and then at Carter. Carter did not flinch as his piercing eyes bore down on her. "He wouldn't hurt a girl. He'd scare the bleep out of her, but he wouldn't hurt her." Doggett walked up to her and towered over her, "Scared yet?" "Maybe," Carter whimpered, noticing again that this so-called Agent Doggett was A LOT taller and A LOT muscular than he appeared on TV. And a lot more human for he took a step back, tried to warn Carter to get out of the way and ended up throwing up all over her shoes. "Doctor said six to twelve hours for symptoms to appear," Starkweather droned. "Lucky bleeping us." "Sorry," Doggett said, pulling a napkin out of his coat pocket and wiping his mouth. Carter just stared numbly at her splattered uniform and shoes "Um... can I go home now?" Doggett and Starkweather cried out at the same time "YES!!!" Doggett staggered over to the spare bed and flopped down. "Is there a doctor here?" Dr. Starkweather replied "Take two Valium and don't bleeping call me in the blankety blank morning.: Before leaving, Carter said to them "This is a hospital. There're doctors everywhere. I'll get one for you..." An evil grin appeared on her face. "You know.... Scully3776 and I couldn't have written a post better than this. Maybe truth is better than fiction." "Get the bleep out before I shoot you," Starkweather said wearily. November 5, 2001 "Here we are," the cabbie said, putting the vehicle in park and turning around to view the very green faced agents in the backseat. "Doggett," Starkweather nudged him. "We're here." "Damn, I have to stand up." "So much for you carrying me again." "You ain't the blushin' bride anymore," Doggett grumbled as he fished his wallet out of his pocket and paid the cab driver. "Thank you," he said as he and Starkweather got out of the cab and slowly made their way back to the dingy motel. "Awww..." the cabbie said, watching them walk off. "Honeymooners sick on their trip... sucks to be them." He put the cab back in drive and headed back to Athens. Doggett unlocked the motel door and let Starkweather go in first. Head down, the picture of abject misery, she stumbled through the room until she came to Doggett's bed. Watching Starkweather curl up in his bed, Doggett locked the door behind him, shed his coat, letting it drop on the floor and crept to the other bed. "Hey, Starkweather," he said, laying down, facing her. "How long's this damn thing supposed to last?" Shivering, he kicked off his shoes and pulled the covers over him. "Two to three days." Her face still shone with fever but she had battled the doctors all morning, insisting that she could get plenty of rest and drink fluids just as well at her motel as she could in the hospital. Feeling the room starting to spin again, Doggett said weakly "Dammit, I wish you HAD gotten that whatsitcalled syndrome." "Well, thanks a lot," she spat at him. "Besides men can get TSS too, it's not exclusive to women." "I thought it was from feminine hygiene products," Doggett said before groaning "God, I sound like one of those goddamn commercials." Starkweather sighed as she closed her eyes, wanting desperately for Doggett to shut up so she could sleep. "It's a staph infection. Let's stop talking about TSS, I'm getting nauseous again." "Me too, but I doubt seriously it's got somethin to do with the topic," Doggett whined. Then an unhappy thought struck Starkweather, "So... which one of us gets to call Skinner to tell them we're sick as bleep?" "Whoever can manage to stand up, which, at this point, happens to be you," Doggett said, throwing the covers off suddenly. Now he was too hot. And his stomach was churning again. "Bleep," he muttered. "I lost my capability to stand up when I laid down," Starkweather said, trying to get comfortable. "Did Ben call?" Doggett sat up in bed, pretty sure that he would have to run to the bathroom soon, judging how his stomach felt like it was doing the tango with his spleen. "Not yet." "Nice to know he cares." "I'm sure he's just busy," Doggett tried to reassure her. "If you want, I can try him again." Suddenly he stood up and bolted for the bathroom. Starkweather pulled the pillow over her face so she wouldn't have to listen to Doggett retch. ::Maybe, if I hold the pillow down on my face long enough, I'll suffocate. Goodbye cruel world!:: She rolled her eyes, called herself a drama queen and had the pillow back under her head when Doggett came out of the bathroom. "Didja want me to call him? I'm standing now... don't know for how much longer," he said as he creeped his way back to the other bed. "No, that's fine." "Fine my ass." "I'm more worried about Skinner's reaction than my marriage right now," she feebly retorted. Doggett sighed. "Good to know you've got your priorities in line. Skinner can't blame us for bein' sick." "It doesn't mean he's going to be happy and let's face it, Papa John, so far, we've got Jack-bleep on this case. I'm not saying he's going to be thrilled we're flat on our kiesters, I'm just sayin we've still got a ways to go before the books are closed. Do you have anything to drink in here?" "There should be some leftover Coke from the pizza we ordered last night." "Don't confuse me. Is it Coke-Coca-Cola, Coke-soda-pop-whatever, Coke-crack-cocaine." "Please don't be bleep, not now," Doggett said as Starkweather got out of her bed and made her way towards the dresser where three cans of warm Coke sat. As she poured the warm soda into the tumblers supplied by the motel, she tried not to lose her cookies as a roach ran across the floor while Doggett spoke. "Well, what the hell are we supposed to do? We can't go out... thanks," he took the glass of warm Coke from Starkweather and sipped at it tentatively as Starkweather also took baby-sips before getting back into bed. Once he was sure the Coke was going to stay in his stomach, he said "We can't go out and interview Miss Lucas when we're like this." "We still have to interview that nutjob!?!" Starkweather tried to inject her usual umbrage into her voice and failed utterly. "We've gotten all the info we're gonna get on her. Besides, she's two fries short of a Happy Meal...I don't think she's exactly a reliable source. And you think we still need to interview her?" "Only if you thought it's necessary. Considering the fact you called her a nutjob, I'm taking that as a no." Doggett replied, head aching. But he was delighted that the Coke was staying inside him. "I'm just trying to think of options. Don't know 'bout you but I'm in no shape to get on a plane... and if Spookykat was.... special... I'm scared to imagine what Scully3776's like." "We might as well do homework then." "I'm NOT getting online." "Not talking about getting online," she said as she reached for the remote. "Oh Christ." Starkweather clicked the television on, turned the volume down and began to channel surf. "Might as well. We're miserable anyway, might as well complete the package. Not like you can put up a fight anyway." "But I can whine a lot." "You whine anyway." "I do not," Doggett whined. "Look," Starkweather said, propping herself up on pillows. "Apparently this case might as well be out of the country because Ms Lucas was speaking in tongues tonight. If I'm going to get to the bottom of this case, I've got to get to the bottom of the secret code. I mean, come on. Did you understand ANY of what she was talking about?!?" "Nope, left my "Insanity to English" Translation Book at home." Starkweather rolled her eyes as she continued to flip through channels. "Here it is... FX..." She settled back down on the bed as a promo teaser aired. "Oh goody," she said snidely. "We haven't missed anything. And what the bleep is that music? Yanni on crack?" She continued to complain to herself. Doggett griped, "I can't see the TV from here." ::Men are babies:: Starkweather grit her teeth. "I thought you didn't want to watch?" "I don't but then I didn't want to exactly JOIN the X-Files either. Sometimes you gotta do things you don't want to do to get the job done. Will it help my headache if I take aspirin for it?" "If you can keep it down, sure," Starkweather said. "And you know I didn't think I'd still be here now. I should be teaching in Quantico. But if this were just a job, I would be there by now." "Good God, I'm not trying to start a debate to figure out exactly where our lives got bleeped up. I don't want to watch this damn thing, but I'll try to if it will help the case... but I don't know if I can stay awake." "Then quit your bleeping, and come sit by me. I'm not getting up to move the TV just so you can see. Doggett meekly obeyed, bringing his pillows and blankets with him. Laying down again on the other side of her bed, making sure a decorous space existed between them. His head still pounded and he felt like he had been used as the gym floor during a basketball game. "What if I fall asleep?" he couldn't help whine. "Now I see why nobody takes care of you when you're sick," Starkweather turned the volume up on the television: "I put the time of death between eight and twelve hours ago. No visible cause, no sign of battery or sexual assault. All we have is this." "Can we turn her over?...Karen Swenson." "Is that a positive ID?" "She went to school with my son." "Would that be the class of '89, detective? It's happening again isn't it?" "That's almost," Doggett said, head throbbing even more, "Verbatim from Mulder's interview with the coroner that's in the first X-File having to do with Billy Miles." "I don't think you'll have any trouble staying awake," Starkweather said as the X-Files Theme Music played. HOUR ONE - "Wow the chick that's playing Nose-Bleed Girl can NOT act. And I thought Gillian Anderson had RED hair?" "Which one's Gillian Anderson?" "The one playing Scully?" "Oh yeah..." "Try to keep up with the rest of the class, Doggett." "Shut up." * HOUR TWO - "Hey look, Doc. Gillian Anderson's hair's red now." "It's not red, it's more auburn. And Jesus God, whoever is in charge of wardrobe should be shot." "Why?" Doggett said, squinting at the television set, "What's wrong with that shirt she's got on?" "Besides the fact that it's white and lacy and practically see-through? NOTHING!" Starkweather rolled her eyes as the television-version of Scully suffered through a dinner date. "Besides, our Scully doesn't have a life. They are off by a mile on that one." "What's next after this one?" "Um... HOUR THREE - "I see dead people." "Starkweather, shut up!" HOUR FOUR - "Doc... Doc, wake up." "Huh, wha'... what happened?" "Don't know. Slept through most of it." "Hope we didn't miss anything." "Have a feeling we didn't." From the room next door, loud slams, one after the other could be heard. "WHO'S GOT THE KEG?" A boy yelled. A dog barked. "IS THERE A COVERCHARGE?" A girl yelled "It's an conspiracy" Starkweather grumbled. "They could at least share the beer." Doggett pouted. "You've severely lost perspective," she said. "No, I'm severely dehydrated and severely tired and severely pissy," he answered. "If I smell happy weed coming from the door on their side, I'm going in," she warned. "What? To inhale?" "Even if we are sick as dogs, we're still federal agents, and we're still on a case. A drug bust on the side is an added bonus" "You just wanna take our your frustration on a bunch of stupid college kids" "Damn skippy," Starkweather smirked. Then smoke started billowing out from the other side of the door. Reluctantly, Starkweather and Doggett both put on overcoats and grabbed their guns and FBI badges. "Freeze!" Doggett said as threateningly as he could without being on the verge of either coughing or throwing up, "unless you kids are oncology patients, you're all under arrest." "Hooooooooooooooooooooly bleep," a kid said. "He looks like..." The girls were all staring at the television now. The X-File music was playing, and Robert Patrick's face flashed on the screen. The girls all did a double-take. "OHHHHHH MY GOD!" A girl shrieked, "his eyes really ARE that blue! "Can I have your autograph?" Someone else said. "Can I have your coat?" Another girl asked. "I think I'm in the wrong business," Doggett said. "Can I have your baby?" Someone else asked. "WHAT!?!?!?!??!?!?" Doggett gawked. "I'm in hell," Starkweather mumbled, shaking her head, "I've died and I've gone to hell. Oh, look, the X-Files are here." "Do you REALLLLY like your wife???" The girl who asked Doggett if she could have his coat piped up. "I'm...not married," Doggett said, bewildered. "Hear that! He dumped Barb!" She shrieked, The ladies in the room all gave each other high fives. Another girl, who had been sitting quietly in the back spoke up, "Who the hell cares about Keebler over there. Is Mulder with you?" "Keebler?" Doggett wondered allowed. "Mulder ABANDONNED the X-Files. Doggett SAVED it!" The first girl who spoke up declared. "This suddenly just got a lot more bleeped up than I thought possible," Starkweather mumbled. "You got us into this bleep, you get us out." Doggett said. "DOGGETT is RUINING the X-Files! The ONLY GOOD EPS are the ones MULDER is IN!" Cried the girl who had called Doggett Keebler. "Oh for bleep's sake," one of young men finally spoke up, after taking a puff on the marijuana butt precariously squished in between the coils of a paper clip. "You bleeping shippers. YOU are the ones ruining the X-Files. Not bleeping Mulder. Not bleeping Doggett. And hey, Mr. Patrick, can I like have your autograph? I saw 'Terminator Two' in the theater three times and my little sister loves 'Spy Kids.'" "My name," Doggett said with admirable calm, "is Special Agent John Doggett." "Man," said another kid to the young man with the roach clip. "He's more bleeped up than you are." "Wait a minute," Starkweathe said, eyes narrowed. "You are all X-File fans, right?" "X-PHILE," the girl who wanted Doggett's baby corrected her. "P-H-I-L-E." "Uh-huh, sure, yeah, 'kay," Starkweather said, leaning against the door frame, feeling queasy and slightly stoned from the happy weed smoke. "Um... color me stupid, but what's a shipper?" "A shipper," droned Roach Clip Boy, "is an illiterate, uneducated fan who believes that romance is more important that the mytharc." "Mytharc?" Doggett said. "That's bullbleep!" one of the girls railed. "I'm extremely educated who just happens to believe that Mulder and Scully belong together. They're soulmates. The baby is their love made physical." Starkweather looked up at Doggett, at a complete loss. "Do you remember following a White Rabbit then falling down a hole?" "No, but I think I hit my head really hard a few days ago." "DOGGETT is RUINING the X-Files because he's INTERFERRING with the MSR!" the girl who called Doggett Keebler howled. "MSR?" Starkweather asked. "Does that have anything to do with MSG?" When the roomful of kids stared at her blankly she said "What, don't you people watch your sodium intake?" "Dr. Starkweather, you speak a foreign language to these kids," Doggett whispered. "Well, anyway," the girl who had oohed and aahed over Doggett's pretty blue eyes said "You're wrong. Doggett wants nothing to do with Scully. I bet they'll pair him up with that guest character Reyes. I've been reading some spoilers on the MB-" "If you spill any bleeping spoilers I'm gonna be bleeped," one of this kids yelled, eyes glued to the TV screen. "Agent Scully," she purred. "Damn, she's hot." Doggett and Starkweather pretended really hard to not have heard her remark. "You all visit the MB?" Starkweather said. "Yeah, but it's beginning to suck because of all the trolls and flaming," the girl wanting Doggett's baby told them. Starkweather suddenly had an image of little naked plastic dolls with bright orange and red hair running around with blowtorches and she turned her back to the college kids, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. Doggett, seeing that Starkweather was now useless, tried to regain control of the situation. "Do you ever read any of the stories on the... um... MB?" "Oh the fanfic?" Roach Clip Boy said with a sniff, "if for the smut deprived rabid Shippers or Philes with a severe Mary Sue complex." "The snarkfics are pretty cool," one of the guys said, taking a swig of beer. "The best snarkfics are at either Vox or Sporkinator though." "Are those the planets you all hail from?" Starkweather asked. The girl on the bed, eyes glued to the television version of Scully said "I love the slash fics..." Doggett and Starkweather cringed. "Um..." Starkweather turned around again, composed again. "Have any of you read any of the stories by Spookykat and Scully3776?" "They did a great snarkfic about the Brady Bunch and Mulder and Scully!" one of the kids piped up. "The Brady Bunch and the X-Files," Doggett sighed. "Yeah, those two things go together like a hooker in church." "Um, I've read the Starkweather Series," one of the girls volunteered nervously. "Yeah, me too," said the Scully Lover on the bed. "Or I tried to read it though. Couldn't get through 'Introitus.'" "Why not?" Starkweather suddenly, unreasonably felt slighted. The Scully Lover shrugged. "It was boring," she said. "And way too many spelling and grammer errors." "What 'bout you?" Doggett asked the first girl who had piped up. She shrugged. "I used to read it... but it's getting too mushy and smutty I'm not so much a shipper and I'm into DSR-" "TRAITOR!" a Rabid Shipper howled. "Doggett is bleeping better than Mulder! Robert Patrick actually WANTS to be on the show! Duchovny ditched!" "Duchovny did NOT ditch the show!" The girl who had called Doggett Keebler was instantly up in arms. "He had other responsibilities. He wanted to spend time with his family! Plus if he stayed on the show any longer he would have had the 'Luke Skywalker' syndrome; no casting agent would think of him as anything but Fox Mulder! He needs to experiment, try new things. There's no more he can do on the X-Files! He's too talented to molder away on a television show! No pun intended." "Can I shoot one?" Starkweather pleaded with Doggett. "Just one?" "Federal agents are forbidden to draw their weapons unless they feel their life or other innocent lives are in jeopardy," Doggett looked at the ensuing argument. "Unfortunately," he muttered. Starkweather pulled her cell phone out of her coat pocket and waggled it in front of Doggett's face. "Be my guest," he told her. "Excuse me," she said as the kids screamed at each other, debating hotly who's fault the X-Files demise belonged to, who was better looking, Robert Patrick or David Duchovny (or Gillian Anderson) and what was more important, the mysterious 'MSR' or the almighty 'mytharc'. "Excuse me!" Starkweather tried again but was ignored. "HEY! GEEKS!" All eyes were on her. "I'm doing this," she said, dialing 911 on her phone. "Because I hate you all." She put the phone to her ear. "My name is Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather, Badge Number X12179-B0409 and I need local police backup for minors in possession and narcotics." "Oh man," one of the kids moaned. "There went my buzz," another said. "There's only two of 'em," another said. "We can run!" The dog, a loveable Labrador, barked. Doggett and Starkweather blocked the entrance and drew their weapons. "Everyone, along the wall, knees on floor, hands on head, NOW," Starkweather snapped as Doggett began to Mirandarize them. As the sound of police sirens whined in the distance, Doggett muttered to Starkweather "Feel better now?" "Oh tons." "Good. I'm glad. Can we go back to bed after this?" "That came out totally wrong, Agent Doggett." She smirked in satisfaction as he began to blush. After the not-so-friendly local police rounded up the college kids and hauled them away, Doggett and Starkweather dragged themselves back to Doggett' motel room. "Wonder how much of the marathon we missed," Doggett said, locking the door behind him, watching Starkweather shed her trench coat, take off her gun holster, pull her FBI identification out of her pants pock and literally crawl into the bed in front of the television. "I don't think we'll miss that much if we take a break," she said hoarsely, curling up into a ball. "My head is pounding." "Yeah mine too," Doggett said, drawing the curtains, blocking out the bright Georgia sun. "What were those bleeping kids thinking? Throwing a kegger in the middle of the day?" "I was talking to that freaky girl who wanted your baby. She said they were celebrating the dog's birthday." "You're joking." "Serious as a heart attack." Starkweather's cell phone suddenly rang. Starkweather bolted up, then grabbed the edge of the bed, muttering, "Wish I hadn't done that," and then lunged for the Nokia whirring on the nightstand. "Starkweather... oh," she said, dejected. "Hi Scully." Doggett took off his coat and holster, set them on the table next to Starkweather's holster and weapon, then crept to the bed nearest to the door, laying down again. "What's going on... oh. Oh okay... I... well, yeah..." Then she was silent for a long, long time. Doggett was about to ask her what was going on when she suddenly said. "Oh. Wow... well. Whatever. I guess. Huh? Oh, no, Scully, it's not, it's just.... I don't feel good. Doggett and I both have the flu. Yeah, some weird strain. I got bleepslapped with it last night and Doggett this morning... we haven't told Skinner yet, we should be over it in another day or two. The case? Oh, the case defies physics by being able to suck and blow at the same time... yeah, he's here, but I don't think he's coherent," She held out her cell. "Wanna talk to Scully?" "Yeah, sure," Doggett sat up and took the phone from her. "John Doggett," he said feebly instead of his usual "take-charge" tone of voice. Starkweather laid back down and closed her eyes. "Agent Doggett?" Dr. Scully was suddenly on the case. "Agent Starkweather said you both had the flu?" "Yeah, Starkweather came down with it last night. Had a gut ache so bad, we ended up in the ER... I came down with it early this morning... or late last night depending how you look at things. We've both been too chicken-bleep to call Skinner yet and he's probably got a burr up his ass, waiting for a status update so..." his voice became wheedling, almost pleading. "I will tell Skinner you and Jerilyn are sick," Scully told him. "How is Jerilyn, otherwise? In light of what all happened with Eve Charlie and her neighbor and everything else?" "Good as can be expected I guess," Doggett said vaguely. "And you? What about you, John?" "Me?" He said tonelessly. "I'm fine... except for this raging headache and that I'm in the bathroom every five minutes." "Get plenty of rest and drink..." "... lots of fluids, I know, I know," Doggett said. "Too bad the fluids won't stay IN me. Whatta 'bout you, Dana? How are you doing?" "Me?" Scully looked down at Mulder, laying on her couch, his face covered with burning perspiration. Then looked over her shoulder where William was lying on his "boo bankie" playing with brightly colored car-shaped foam pieces. She reached over to bathe Mulder's fever flushed face with a cool washcloth again. "We're fine. Not much going on here." Mulder took her damp hand and enfolding her small cool fingers with his big, hot hand. "Okay." "And John, fair warning, I had to drop a bombshell on Jerilyn." "Now what?" "Agent Reyes just called here. She told me the DNA test came back and it's fairly conclusive that Eve Charlie is definitely a blood relative of Jerilyn. Half-sister, probably. Her DNA did not match up with Mulder's. So the geneticists are thinking same mothers." "Thanks for the heads up." "Get some rest, Agent Doggett." Scully hung up the phone. "They're both sick too," Scully said, pushing a lock of damp hair out of Mulder's eyes. "Something must be going around." "It's the gift that keeps on giving," Mulder coughed. "Yeah," Scully said, bereft of words, stroking his face with her cool hands as William continued to play with his toys at her feet. "The ringing," Mulder said thickly. "The ringing in my ears won't stop February 9, 2003 "You can turn on the radio if you like," Reyes said graciously as she got onto the freeway. "Or pick a CD. It's quite a drive. A few miles out of Alexandria. A farm, really. But NOT a puppy mill," she said as she passed a slow moving vehicle, chugging along in the "fast" lane. "I researched this thoroughly. When I learned of the horrible conditions that dogs are subjected to in puppy mills, I swore to myself that I would never ever-" "If it's all the same, Miss Reyes," Jose Chung said. "I would prefer that we'd just continue out chat." "Oh," Reyes said, eyes on the road. "Sure." "Now, you worked with Mrs. Starkweather's sister... Eve Charlie, is that correct?" "Yes," Reyes said. "I wanted to see how she would respond to art therapy. I believed that there was still a person trapped inside the monster." "Monster?" "It's public record. Eve Charlie, before her capture, went on a killing spree." Reyes said quietly. "Yes... yes I do remember reading about that... she killed seven people? One of them, a police officer by the name of Beth Johnson? And she had also killed a child as well?" "A twelve year old. He was in a gang," Reyes said faintly. "She killed him for the switchblade he carried." "This world we live in," Jose Chung shook his head as he jotted down a memo to himself in his notebook as a reminder to look more deeply into the strange Eve Charlie case. Maybe her story could be the follow up to this novel. Provided that this novel did well of course. He needed this novel to do well. The last two books tanked miserably. Thank God for movie deals and the continuing royalties from older books. "And if I understand correctly, Eve Charlie is no longer with us?" When Reyes nodded, Jose Chung asked, "How did Mrs. Starkweather handle that news?" "What does that have to do with your book, Mr. Chung?" Reyes suddenly became cold, very out of character for her. "And besides, Charlie died in January of 2002. This particular case took place in November of 2001?" "Please," Jose Chung pleaded. "I meant no disrespect, Miss Reyes. I ask because... well, because I wonder if the fanfic writers, Scully3776 and Spookykat knew about poor Charlie?" "They knew," Reyes said bitterly. "And they broadcasted it to the world." "And Mrs. Starkweather?" "Took Charlie's death hard." "But she barely knew her..." "Exactly." November 6, 2001 The blaring television set woke Doggett up. His head still pounded but at least his stomach has stopped using his intestines as a jump rope. Always a plus. But he still felt disgusting, his body sticky from the fever-induced sweating and the clothes he fell asleep in clung to him. A shower sounded about as good as winning the Lotto right now. Sitting up, he saw her tiny form sitting at the end of her bed, all the blankets and sheets wrapped around her. Getting up, he saw that she was hugging a pillow tight to her as she watched the X-Files marathon. The actors' voices droned from the television's speakers. "...I was hoping we could take in a Warriors game. Actually I was just in the neighborhood... Wondered if I ever told you about the Lichfield Experiments." "No you haven't." "Well, it was the most interesting project. Highest level of classification. All records have since been destroyed. And those who knew of it, denied knowledge of its existence. It existed during the height of the cold war. We got wind the Russians were fooling around with Eugenics. Rather primitively, I might add. Trying to crossbreed top scientists, athletes... to come up with the superior soldier. Naturally, we jumped on the band wagon..." "Doc," Doggett said, walking towards her. "Turn it off. You're not going to get better if you stay up all night watching this crap." "'The most interesting project'" Starkweather mimicked Jerry Hardin's voice. "Nice." She turned up the volume of the television a little. "Tell you what, the guy that they got to play Mulder has his monotone down to a T." David Duchovny droned from the television. "The Lichfield Experiment." "A group of genetically controlled children. Raised and monitored on a compound in Lichfield. The boys were called Adam and the girls were called Eve. There's a woman you should see and I'll make sure that you can get in..." Doggett took the remote from her and switched off the television, plunging them into complete darkness. "Starkweather, stop tearing yourself up over this. There's nothing more you can do." "Did you hear that Doggett? They were talking about making 'superior soldiers.' They-" "Stop it," Doggett said quietly. "It's a television show. Based on the X-Files. The truth is probably so distorted by the time it's aired..." Doggett reached out, groping for the bed. Then guided himself to sit beside her. She couldn't see him, but she could sense him next to her. "I hate this," she said finally. "I hate being watched." "I know," he said. "No, you don't. You have no idea." "Maybe I do," Doggett said. "Scully told me about Charlie." "Oh yeah. Isn't it great? Another long lost insane sibling to add to the dysfunctional family reunion? Being an only child was overrated, seriously." She started singing softly "Psychos to the right of me, Spooky to the left, here I am, stuck in the middle with you." "Oh God, you gotta be tired if you're quoting me," Doggett said as he felt her lean into him, resting her head against his shoulder. Awkwardly he put his arm around her shoulders. "I couldn't sleep, this headache just won't quit. Sorry if I woke up you up with the TV. I didn't have the energy to crawl back into my room." "You didn't wake me up." "Liar." "Well, I needed to get up and peel my clothes off. They're sticking to me." "Aren't you just full of Freudian slips tonight?" "Is that an offer?" Doggett joked. The room became deadly quiet. "Ben never called me back," Starkweather said. "So much for that 'in sickness and in health' crap." Doggett reached over, searching for her hands. He found them folded up in her lap. He placed his own hand over hers. He could feel the diamond of her wedding ring poking his palm. "He's there when it counts. The man went to Mexico to try and find you during that case in La Luna Blanca." He squeezed her hand slightly. Starkweather snorted. "So... where is he now?" "Drowning his sorrows because you aren't home with him?" "You don't sugar coat things with me Doggett. Don't start now." "Damn, I was hoping you'd let me go back to sleep." There was the slightest bit of hesitation. "I'm not stopping you from anything," she said, barely audible. Doggett laughed softly. "You think you control the universe, don't you?" "No... but I often entertain the fantasy." "Liar." "Am not," there was a trace of pouting in her voice. "You're stubborn as a mule, you know that?" his voice was nothing more than a whisper. "I'm not stubborn. I'm persistent." "You say tomato, I say to-mah-to. You know you can't force anyone but you, right?" He felt her nodding her head. "Right. I know." "He's gonna do what he's gonna do, no matter what you do." Doggett felt her hands moving, her left hand sliding out from under his, then resting on top of his, her fingers interlocking with his. "So where does that leave me?" "Wherever you want it to leave you. I know it's a knife in your heart right now, but give it time..." "Why are you defending him?" He could barely hear her. But then, she could barely hear him. "I'm not defending anybody." "Then why should I give him anymore time?" "That's up to you. You've got all the cards on this one," he said in an oddly constrained voice as he felt her other hand touching his face. He felt her moving, getting closer, turning to face him. "Jerilyn..." "Don't call me that," she said, cupping his face with both hands as she felt his hands going through her long hair, tucking two locks behind her ears. Just as she tilted her head up, feeling his breath on her lips, there was a loud cracking noise above them. "What the hell was that?" she asked. "Probably nothi-" Suddenly, buckets of ice cold water streamed down on them. Starkweather screamed and Doggett swore as they leapt away from each other and off the bed. "This is your idea of 'probably nothing'?" Pushing her wet hair out of her face, Starkweather shrieked "What the bleep?" "Water pipe," Doggett groaned, wiping water off his face. "Broken." "Oh really. Well, thanks for the update, Captain Obvious," she said as she shivered in her soaked clothes. "I'll call the night manager," Doggett said, grimacing as he wiggled his toes in his sopping wet socks. ::I wanted to take a shower, but this definitely was not what I had in mind.:: Starkweather snorted as she turned to go back into her room. "This puts a whole new perspective on the phrase "take a cold shower.'" Her snotty comment effectively killed the mood for the rest of the night. A little later...
Carter typed in "ttyl - nite!" in the AIM window to Flyerfly and logged off. She rubbed her eyes and yawned like a little girl. All her net buddies and X-Phile pals had been online tonight... except Scully3776. Figures. The one night she REALLY wanted to talk to her, and she wasn't online. Oh well. S3776 was just as much as a Net junkie as she was plus she was slightly... okay borderline obsessive-compulsive about posting on their fanfic series. She'd be online tomorrow or maybe the day after next. And who knows, maybe this weirdness with "Agent Starkweather" will have blown over by then. Carter devoutly hoped so. She was tired of seeing the blond spitfire that was supposed to only live in her mind and cyberspace pop up in the realm of reality. ::I wonder if maybe I should write a telescreenplay about this and submit it to Chris Carter?:: Carter thought as she powered her computer down. Then remembered that 1013 Productions did not accept unsolicited materials and she was far too poor to enlist the aid of an agent. "Dammit, this would make a really bleeping good X-File too, don't you think Spooky?" Carter asked her cuddly black and white kitten with a yawn. She bent down and picked up the cat and stroked her silky fur. "Cyberlife becomes reality." The phone rang. Carter looked at the phone nervously and put the cat down. "Maybe it's Publisher's Clearing House calling to tell me I may already be a winner," she quipped to the cat as she reached out with a shaking hand to answer the phone. "Hello?" "Everything going according to plan?" a gruff voice asked her. Carter's legs trembled as she sat down on her bed. "I think so... I did everything you told me to do." "Good," the voice said curtly. "I'm sure you did fine." "Why didn't you tell us Starkweather was real?" Carter demanded. "Why should I?" the voice snapped at her. "I figured you two would figure it out for yourselves eventually. Are you two ready to start posting the next story?" "Almost," Carter said. "We just finished 'Quanta' yesterday, actually. Scully3776's about finished with FM... but she said she's got to fine tune the ending." "Then what? The Jurassic Park crossover?" "Um yeah..." "Um yeah, what?" "Well, yeah, Scully3776 and I are going to write the JP crossover but..." "But what?" "Jess said she had an idea for a Starkweather fic she wanted to work on solo but she was writing the outline out now. It won't be ready until after FM's done." There was silence. Then "Does she have a title for her solo fic?" "Yeah... she told me she might call it 'Meum Mel.'" "Meum... what?" "Yeah... it's going to be a trilogy, she said." Another silence. "Keep me posted." Then there was nothing but dial tone. Carter put the phone back on the cradle and then crawled into bed to lie awake the rest of the night. February 9, 2003
"You must be Monica Reyes," a friendly looking woman came out to greet Reyes and Jose Chung as they walked up the stairs of her porch. "I'm Bethany Corner." "Hi!" Reyes said apologetically. "Sorry I'm late. I took a wrong turn." "No problem," Bethany told her. "This place is a bit tricky to find." She looked over Reyes' shoulder, at the funny looking man with the wild graying hair and big glasses and asked "Who's your friend?" Jose Chung twitched his nose. He felt the burning weeping feeling in his eyes that only happened when he was near canines. Pulling out a handkerchief, he said "Believe me, Agent Reyes and I are not friends." Reyes was not expecting that reaction from the little author. "Why not?" Feeling awkward, Bethany said meekly "Um... okay. Well. Let me take you 'round back to the barn where we keep the puppies. Tristan is waiting for you." As they walked across the yard, dirty snow crunching under their feet, Reyes asked with a pout "Does this mean you're not going to autograph my copy of Lonely Buddha?" Bethany froze in her tracks, her hand on the door handle to the barn. "Oh my gosh, you're Jose Chung? "It would seem so," Jose Chung said stiffly, his nose beginning to water with his eyes. "Oh my gosh! This is such an honor! I LOVED 'From Outer Space.' That one character... Reynard Muldrake...his obsession with the truth took my breath away. Reminded me of Fox Mulder from the X-Files. Sir," Bethany opened the door with a big grin. Jose Chung cringed when he saw all the roly-poly puppies playing in the heated barn. "Let me give you one of our blue-ribbon Corgi puppies. On the house." Jose Chung recoiled, then sneezed violently. "Please, dear Lord, keep your vermin to yourself. I'm *sneeze* allergic..." "Well," Reyes said brightly. "Then you can wait out here in the cold. I'm going to go get my puppy." Jose Chung weighed the pros and cons of freezing to death versus sneezing to death. He opted for sneezing and went inside the barn. Nervously watching Bethany placing a fat little puppy into Reyes' waiting arms, Jose Chung leaned against the door, ready for a fast get away. "So anyway Miss Reyes... what did initially prompt Agents Doggett and Starkweather to go to Hollywood after their... less than successful trip to Georgia?" Reyes ignored him. "Hello Tristan. Hello sweetheart. Oh, Ms. Corner, he's precious. He's exactly how I pictured him!" "Miss Reyes," Jose Chung said, finding it difficult to breath. He blew his nose loudly into his hankie. "Oh," Reyes cuddled her new best friend as she said with a shrug. "I suspect Starkweather wanted a free trip to Hollywood on the government's dime. But they told Skinner they wanted to go so they could get a better idea of the fans. Isn't that right, Tristan?" "Tristan's one of my favorites," Bethany admitted, petting the little puppy's head. "I'm going to miss him." After sneezing three times in a row, Jose Chung asked "Agent Starkweather wouldn't do anything... unethical, would she?" "Don't get me wrong. I trust my life with Agent Starkweather. But judging from the FBI credit card bill she ran up earlier last year, I wouldn't necessarily trust her with my wallet." She laughed. "I hardly trust *myself* with my wallet." To Bethany she asked. "Now, would you like me to write a check or do you take credit cards?" "As long as it's a major credit card. Visa, Mastercard..." "Discover?" "That's fine. I'll ring you up once we get back inside the house and then I'll give you Tristan's registration papers and a book on the care of Corgis. The book's included in the price." "What else WOULD you trust her with?" Jose Chung sneezed again. It sounded painful. "I'd trust her with everything BUT my wallet. I don't think I'd trust her with Tristan, though. Ok. Tristan and my wallet. And anything that needed to be kept alive," she said, thinking of all the houseplants she had killed whenever Doggett had asked her to housesit for him. Jose Chung muttered, "She kept that cat alive. God knows why..." "That's because she loved that cat. It's not that I don't trust Starkweather with anything. I trust her with the important things, just not with everything." Bethany's cell phone vibrated against her hip. "I have to take this," she said, looking at the Caller ID. "I'll be right outside." After Bethany left, Jose Chung asked Reyes "What else DON'T you trust her with?" Reyes looked at the puppy instead of the author, who was sneezing loud enough to scare the other dogs. "There's nothing else I don't trust her with." "Let me rephrase.... has she done anything that made you question her morals?" Now Reyes looked at him, staring him down like she had those judges during Mulder's sham of a trial. "No, not once. She's a good soul. Not perfect, but a good soul." Jose Chung sneezed and coughed at the same time. "Miss Reyes, with all due respect, I think you're withholding information that I need for my book." Reyes laughed as the puppy snuggled in her arms. "Mr. Chung, you're reading too much into simple English." "Fine!" He had enough. He had to chase after her while she ran (literally ran) errands, got attacked by a cat from hell and was now surrounded by fuzzy little creatures destined to destroy his well-being. His nose was all stuffed up, his eyes were leaking, he was tired and wanted to go back to his hotel room, take a bubble bath and drink a hot toddy before going to bed for the rest of the day. "I'll stop beating around the bush. Why did the fanfic writers have such a fascination with the relationship between Agents Doggett and Starkweather?" Before Reyes could answer, Jose Chung started coughing and sneezing at the same time. Suddenly he collapsed. "Oh my God!" Reyes cried out. "Mr. Chung?" "My back!" he moaned. "I threw out my back!" Suddenly, all the puppies came out of hiding and romped over to the prostrate Mr. Chung, crawling all over him, chewing on his coat sleeves and pants cuffs, licking his face. Thursday, November 8, 2001 Starkweather examined her face in the cracked bathroom mirror after rinsing the facial cleanser off. "Oh, Jiminy bleeping Christmas," she said, tilting her head to get a better look at the monsterous beginning of a new pimple on her chin. "Wonderful," she muttered, turning around, re-opening her makeup bag. "I needed this like a blankety blank hole in my head." She took out the tube of concealer and squeezed out a glob on her fingertip. As she dabbed at the pimple, she winced. "Oh good. And it's one of those that hurt. Yippee." She looked at her face again, then took out her compact of loose powder and dusted her face with it. "Life sucks," she griped as she dropped the tube and the concealer back in the make up bag. An impatient voice from the motel room drawled "Starkweather, are you ready yet?" She rolled her eyes. "Don't get your knickers in a knot, I'm almost ready." "Our flight leaves in less than three hours." "I know, I know," Starkweather ran a brush through her hair, then, deciding there was no time for the more complicated buns or braids she usually wore for work, grabbed a pony tail tie and pulled her hair back into a loose pony tail at the nape of her neck. "Our cab is going to be here in about fifteen minutes." Starkweather ran her hands down the front of her shirt, smoothing out any imaginary wrinkles, making sure that all the buttons were fastened. "I know, I know..." she put her hand to her throat. "Have you seen my necklace?" Doggett zipped up his duffel bag with a sigh. The last two days had been incredibly, painfully awkward. Stuck in the same room together because there were no other available rooms, they had barely said two words to each other. Doggett tried to blame the entire ordeal on their illness. But still... "What does it look like?" Doggett called out as Starkweather came out of the bathroom, carrying her small make up and toiletries bag. A black skirt with a matching coat and a vivid purple blouse hid all traces of her vulnerability and fraility... except... "What happened to your face Doc?" He received a look that would have wilted houseplants. "It's just a silver medal on a silver chain," she said as politely as she could, wishing that she could get a paper sack to put over her head. Doggett turned and saw it laying on the small in table in between the two beds. The bed he had slept in was neatly made up again, force of habit. The bed she had slept in had all the covers and sheets kicked off, force of bad habit and night sweats. "Found it," he said, picking up the holy medal of Saint Christopher by its chain. "You ready to go," he asked, walking over to her, holding out her necklace. She tossed her make up bag into her open duffel bag and took the necklace from him. "I'm packed," she told him, putting her necklace on. "Let's get the hell out of here." "Gladly," Doggett said, picking up his luggage and walking towards the door. He waited until she had zipped up her duffel bag and slung it over her shoulder before he opened the door. "Go 'head," he said. Starkweather walked past him, taking care not to even let the sleeve of her coat brush up against him. Doggett shut and locked the door behind him and told her "Wait here, I'm going to drop the keys off." "Where else would I go?" she asked, letting her duffel bag slide off her bag. It hit the red ground with a soft thud. Doggett only shrugged and walked towards the manager's office to return the keys, hands in pockets, appearing to be lost in thought. Starkweather sighed and crossed her arms, standing guard over their luggage while waiting for the cab to arrive. "Wonder what crawled up his ass and died?" she muttered, kicking a pebble. The wait for the cab or for Doggett to return didn't take long at all. Doggett had just returned to her side as the cab pulled up to them. "You the folks needing a ride to the Atlanta airport?" the cabbie asked as he got out of the cab. "Yes sir," Doggett said, making a move to help him with their luggage. The cab driver said "Nope. I got it. Don't worry. You and the missus just hop inside and I'll take care of the bags." "Oh Christ," Starkweather mumbled as she walked past Doggett to get into the cab. Doggett sighed. "Thanks a lot," he said. The cab driver smiled. "No problem!" The agents sat in silence until they were halfway to the airport. Doggett kept stealing looks at her. The flu sapped a lot of her vitality, her face appeared to be very pale... except for that one weird spot where it looked like she slavered on a ton of make up to cover up a zit. He never understood why women did that anyway. In his opinion, it just made the blemish look worse. Even though she was staring out the window, observing the beautiful Georgia landscape roll by, she finally asked him "What are you looking at?" Doggett admitted "You just seem to look kinda sick still." She shrugged, still not looking at him. "Maybe I'm just a little tired. I'll sleep on the plane." ::Alright, this is crap:: Doggett thought, fed up with the strain between them. "Starkweather... you and me," he watched her entire body tense up. "We're... we're okay, aren't we?" Finally she turned to look at him. "Why wouldn't we be?" Now he shrugged. She looked away again. Softly, she said "It's not like that's going to ever happen again... so... whatever." Feeling the anxiety levels rising instead of falling, Doggett wished he would have kept his big mouth shut. Then she threw a question at him completely from left field. "How did you and Barb meet?" "What? Why?" She made a face at him. "Why not?" Doggett looked out his own window. "It was a blind date," he said. "Minerva set us up." "I remember Minn telling me that Barb was an old friend of hers," Starkweather said slowly, recalling a conversation that took place in another era, when everyone felt arrogantly safe... September 10, 2001 The mammoth meal had finally tapered off to coffee spiked with Bailey’s Irish Cream, out on the balcony. After much pleading, for the girls adored their "Uncle" John and wanted to monopolize his time, Mickey finally ordered the girls to retire to their rooms for the rest of the evening. "It’s grown-up time. Now SCRAM!" "But Pop," Cindy whined. "I’m not a baby. I’m practically an adult already." "An adult at fifteen, God help us," Mickey groaned. "Oh no fair," Claudia instantly jumped in. "If she gets to stay, then I do too. I mean, I’M the one who’s graduating this spring. Cindy JUST started high school!" "I get to stay too then," Laurie crossed her arms and pouted. "I’m not a baby either." "Youse three are all babies. As long as you live in my house-" "This isn’t a house," Cindy pointed out, "it’s an apartment." Mickey continued his tirade as if his wise-assed middle child hadn’t spoken "- and eat my food, youse are my baby girls and youse three best GIT," Mickey roared but it good-natured. Starkweather suspected that this little comedy was performed nightly. "Dad-" "GO!!" he barked. Then he said, "But gimme some lovin’ first." He pointed to his cheek. Dutifully each girl pecked his cheek. "Alright. Good night." "Night, Pop," Cindy said sulkily. "Dibs on the computer," Claudia announced and ran off. "NO FAIR!" Cindy yelled. "I got research for a paper to do, so shut up!" came Claudia’s merry voice down the hall. "Ma, she’s gonna tie up the phone line and I’m expecting a HIGHLY important phone call later!" Cindy appealed to her mother. "What fifteen year old child gets important phone calls?" Minn challenged her. "From her boyfriend," Laurie announced in a singsong voice. "Why, you little rat!!!" Cindy swatted at her little sister who dodged the blow and ran to her room. "A boyfriend??" Minn smiled. Starkweather and Doggett politely retreated to the balcony to lessen Cindy’s humiliation. Even with the glass door shut, Mickey’s boisterous voice could be heard: "BOYFRIEND?? What’s this about a BOYFRIEND??? At YOUR age???" "Gawd, POP…." Starkweather shook her head, sipped her coffee. "You couldn’t pay me enough to be fifteen again." Doggett shrugged. "Ah… it wasn’t so bad." "Oh God, you’re not one of those who… LIKED high school, are you?" "Well, I didn’t HATE it. " "Oh lord, I don’t trust ANYBODY who even remotely enjoyed high school one little bit. Next thing you’ll be telling me is that you played high school football." "Offensive linesman." "That’s it. I can’t talk to you anymore." Minn joined them, shaking her head. "Teenagers," she chuckled. "You couldn’t pay me enough to be fifteen again." Starkweather looked at Doggett and stuck out her tongue. "Hey, Doggett!" Mickey stuck his head through the door. "I finally got rid of the rugrats. I was just about ready to resort to hugging them in public-" "Kill ‘em with kindness," Minn said with a grin. "It’s a great parenting tool. Especially with teenagers when they’re positively allergic to your presence." "Come play bartender with me. Minn, whaddya want?" "Sweet and sour vodka." "And, the lovely Mrs. Starkweather? What’s your poison?" "Do you have Jack?" "Jack? Jack’s a very good friend of mine. ‘Long with Jim, Johnnie and Captain Morgan." "Jack and Coke please." "As the lady wishes." Mickey bowed theatrically. "C’mon Doggett, I need a barback." Doggett grinned and went inside, walking toward the kitchen. "There you are!" Mickey boomed when Doggett came in. "Get lost?" "Just about. Shoulda left me a map." "Thought about leavin’ a breadcrumb trail, but you know. Minn would scream about the carpet, tell me to vacuum. I’d tell her no, that’s women’s work, she’d make me sleep on the couch, yadda yadda yadda." "You watch too much ‘Seinfeld’." "Shut up and get me some ice." Mickey said. "And hey, whaddya you want?" "Jack and Coke’s fine with me too." "’Kay that’s three JD’s and one foo-foo drink for the missus." "Speaking of missuses," Doggett began awkwardly. "How’s… um…" "Your ex?" Mickey finished for him. "Same. Still a b*tch, but that’s my opinion. She and Minn still thick as thieves so I say no evil, see no evil, hear no evil. Why you ask? Thinkin’ ‘bout mending fences. Or lookin’ for closure?" "Both." Mickey handed him his and Starkweather’s drinks. "Look. I know you loved her. And you love her still, it’s in your face man, I ain’t stupid. Nobody is. But…" he shook his head. "Let sleepin’ dogs lie. She’s bitter. She’s unhappy. Havin’ you pop back in the picture isn’t gonna make one damn bit of difference, especially while she’s busy making her new husband miserable. So, just forget about it. Forget about her. And start hopin’ that the enticing Mrs. Starkweather gets divorced." "Ha," Doggett said, lamely. Meanwhile, out on the balcony, the enticing Mrs. Starkweather turned to Minn, "In case I forget or I’m too bombed to form complete sentences," she grinned at her, "I had a really great time tonight." "Well, it’s nice to meet you Jerilyn," Minn said, "I’m glad you and John came. I was half afraid he wouldn’t, that he’d make some excuse," she sighed and drained the rest of her coffee. "Dogg- er… um, John," his first name fell awkwardly out of her mouth, especially without the prefix of "Papa" she bestowed on him because of his continual fussing over her, "isn’t the type to duck out of things." "Oh, I know, but circumstances are a little different…" she leaned on the balcony rails and looked out into the glittering city below. Starkweather finished her coffee and joined her, awed and humbled by the power man had over steel, brick and electric light. In a soft voice, Minn said, "Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this, but you and John seem really close. Not like that!" she chuckled when she saw the look of dismay cross her face. "My husband was teamed up with a female cop once. I had no problem with it but her husband… let’s just say he was less than trusting." ::I can relate:: Starkweather thought dismally but said nothing. "But, it’s safe to say you two are friends, right?" "Oh yes. He’s one of my best friends." Starkweather nodded. "He’s a great guy." "I know," Minn said. "That’s why I fixed him up with one of my best girlfriends. He eventually married her… and she ended up divorcing him." "Oh. Jesus," Starkweather said sympathetically. "Talk about being in the middle." "It was not a good time. It would be easy to blame their marriage’s disintegration on the death of that poor little boy… god…" Minn’s eyes teared up a little. "Sorry, but, you didn’t know him. I did. Such a sweetie. Like his daddy in every way. He used to play with my youngest," she shook her head. "It’s just something you never get over, I guess. Maybe they would have worked things out if Luke was still here, but… when all of that happened… there wasn’t a chance in hell." "Oh god," Starkweather’s heart ached. Her martial issues seemed petty now. "I didn’t know." "John’s never been good about talking much about what’s goin’ on in his heart," Minn smiled knowingly. "That’s what was his fault in the marriage. I’m not being disloyal. His ex-wife and I are still good friends. But she did things that were wrong and he did things that were wrong. My mother had a great sayin’, there’s three sides to a fight, ‘their side, your side and the right side.’" **** From "One Nation, Indivisble" - only on the Hurricane Shelter site Back to the present... um... past... um... oh whatever... "Well," Doggett shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable. "If you already knew, then why did you ask?" "I don't ALREADY know, I just know that Minn and your ex were friends. And that she set you two up. But that's all. I'm just curious. It's not that big of a deal," she said, exasperated at his constant secrecy. "It's not like I asked you when and where you lost your virginity." "What about you?" "Me? I was seventeen when I-" "NO. You and Ben. How did you and Ben meet?" "I asked you first." Doggett traced the outline of the car window, watching the world zip by as the got closer and closer to urbanization. "Alright. Fine. But it's kind of boring." Starkweather shrugged. "So is how Ben and I met. We met in a bar. That's about as boring as it gets." "Thought you and Ben worked together at the Air National Guard." "We did, but I didn't know he existed for the longest time and you are changing the subject." "I had just broken up with a girl. She... well, I still consider her the worst thing I ever got involved with." "Why?" Doggett gave her an evil look that rivalled the one she gave him when he asked her about the pimple on her chin. "Now, THAT'S personal and I'm not going to talk about THAT." "Okay, fine," Starkweather backed off. "I didn't know." "Well, now you do." "Jesus, what side of the kitty liter did you wake up on?" "With you snoring, I haven't gotten a decent night of sleep so forgive me, your highness, for not being a ray of bleeping sunshine." "I do not snore and quit changing the subject." Before Doggett could open his mouth, she added "Besides, you talk in your sleep." "Do not." "Do so." "Prove it." "Fine," Starkweather made a mental note to find her miniature tape recorder and stash it somewhere in Doggett's next hotel room. "And anyway, I'm not just randomly pulling these questions out of my ass. There's a method behind the madness. So, spill it. Your first date with your first wife." Doggett groaned. Then looked at her, startled. "What do you mean, "first" wife." "Oh come on," Starkweather rolled her eyes. "I've met guys like you before. You liked being married too much to stay single forever. You'll get married again." "In what parallel universe?" "Anyway... so... Minn introduce you to Barb and...?" Doggett sighed. "Minn arranged the whole thing..." "...So, spill it. Your first date with your first wife." Doggett groaned. Then looked at her, startled. "What do you mean, "first" wife." "Oh come on," Starkweather rolled her eyes. "I've met guys like you before. You liked being married too much to stay single forever. You'll get married again." "In what parallel universe?" "Anyway... so... Minn introduce you to Barb and...?" Doggett sighed. "Minn arranged the whole thing..." But Doggett's comment was overridden by the cabbie. "Hey I met my wife on a blind date too! Wanna hear 'bout it?" "Uh-" Starkweather started to say but she was overruled. "It was real magic, lemme tell ya. Minute I saw Betty Sue Lou, I knew she was meant for me..." Doggett heard Starkweather muttered "Where did he met Betty Sue Lou? Who-ville?" and elbowed her hard. Big mistake, for she elbowed him back, right in the ribs. And her elbows were bony. "Quit it," Doggett hissed at her. "Quidditch?" the cabbie said, turning around for a second to look at the agents bickering in the back seat before turning around again. "Did you say Quidditch?" "Huh?" Doggett said. "My kids are real Harry Potter junkies. So's the wife. She wants to name our next baby after the main girl character but... uh, I have no idea how to pronounce it right..." "Her-my-oh-nee," Starkweather blurted out. Doggett smirked at her. "You read children's stories?" Starkweather slunk down in her seat. "They're very well written," she said as her face turned brick red. To redeem herself, she added furiously "And also Hermione is a name of a character from a Shakesperean play called 'A Winter's Tale'." "I don't read Shakespeare either," the cabbie snorted. "All those guys running around in tights. Don't get it." "But yet, you watch professional wresting and 'Superman'," Starkweather said. Doggett poked her again. "Be nice or I'll tell Mulder you're a closet Harry Potter fan." Starkweather shut up as the cabbie began his tale. "So anyway, I asked Betty Sue Lou if she wanted to go with me to the prom, but she said she wanted to go have a first date before the prom. So we went to the drive-in movie that following Friday and lemme tell you..." "Maybe you can tell me on the plane about you and Barb," Starkweather whispered as the cabbie droned on and on about finding love in the backseat of his father's Cadillac at the drive-in movies. "If you say so," Doggett said, looking out the window again. Only this time, he was actually smiling a little. Later on that day... "I wish," Starkweather gripped as she held her make up compact close to her face, staring intently at the blemish on her chin "We could have gotten a direct flight to LA. I HATE O'Hare. I feel like a rat in a maze at that airport." "It's not that bad and you know, if you keep picking at that thing, it's only gonna get worse," Doggett said, immersed the sports page of the Atlanta Daily World. "Damn, the Falcons were playing a home game against Houston. Maybe we should have stayed an extra day." "It was your bright idea to go to Hollywood," Starkweather reminded him, dabbing the small white puff into the ivory powder and then lightly applied more make up to her poor chin. "Can't believe I'm breaking out. I'm almost thirty bleeping years old and I'm breaking out like a teenager..." She closed her compact and put it in her coat pocket. "And by the way, you're not getting off the hook about your first date. With Barb." With a sigh, he asked her "Why is it so important to know?" "Come on, Papa John. Don't be a such a pain in the bleep. I wouldn't be digging if I had a valid reason. I already told you that." "Maybe if you gave me the reason why you're digging into my personal life." "What life?" "Ha." "Alright, alright," Starkweather relented. She bent down and reached for her valise. Placing it precariously on her lap she opened it while saying "Since we have a lovely five hour lay over in Chicago anyway, here's some light reading to pass the time with," She pulled out a thick folder and handed it to Doggett. "What is it?" he asked, taking it from her. "My life story." "Seriously." "I am serious. The night before you left to visit your family in Savannah, I went to that URL that's listed in the case file. It's all right there. The first case I ever worked with you and Scully. But it was more than just that." "More?" "It... everything is in there. The details about... the fight Ben and I had before we left for Scotland, what Mulder and I said to each other when we first meet... it's... it's not just the case file we worked on... it's my life. They knew everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, Doggett." "Define everything." "In the first story," Starkweather said quietly, "there's a part about me waking up in your bed. If Ben's suspicious now..." "But," Doggett spluttered. "He's got no right to be. And anyway, if that's from our first case together, well, hell, Doc, you were hurt and doped up on so many painkillers, I was TOLD to keep an eye on you. And you were out cold. And," he finished truculently. "We didn't DO anything." "That's beside the point," Starkweather said. "The point is, that somehow, these girls are going beyond the X-Files and plastering our private life out onto the Internet." She stared out the window, watching the clouds serenely sail past. "I don't want the world to know about my marital problems. And I especially don't want people to read about my problems for their entertainment." "So," Doggett said. "It's personal now." "Yes," Starkweather said. "That's why I asked about your first date with Barb. When we interview Miss Haarsma, I want to see if we can trip her up with a question into your personal life." "And if she knows," Doggett said darkly. "I wanna know how she knows too. 'Cause if you don't want YOUR personal life out there for anyone to see," he looked away from her. "Imagine how I feel." Much much much much much later...
Doggett had just finished reading the pages Starkweather had printed out when she walked up to him baring sodas and gloomy news. "They say our flight to LA is going to be delayed by at least another hour," Starkweather said as she flopped down on the seat next to him. "Another hour??" Doggett groaned. "Why?" "The winds. It's too windy for take off." "Gee, windy? In Chicago. I wouldn't have thought..." "This just is more evidence that O'Hare is indeed, a gateway to hell." "Isn't that a little dramatic?" "The zip code IS 60666." Doggett snorted silently as he put the fanfic folder back into his briefcase. Finally taking the drink from Starkweather, he told her, "You need to lay off the Buffy the Vampire Slayer show." "The what?" "Starkweather, there's this neat thing called a television. When you turn it on, pictures that move come on that entertain you." "Sorry, in my non-existant spare thing, I'm too busy reading these things called books." Starkweather took a sip of her Mountain Dew before asking "So, what did you think?" "Of what? The story? Well... there were a lot of typos... but it.. it was... it was..." "Weird, isn't it?" "Damn weird..." Doggett admitted. He looked at her. "How do you... how DOES she know? All of that?" "And Spookykat too," Starkweather reminded him. "What do you think about Spookykat's theory about doubles, dopplegangers or whatever?" Doggett's eyebrows scrunched together as he tried to think. "Didn't Mulder and Scully work a case like that a couple of years ago?" "Doppelgangers? I'm not sure. I don't remember reading about it. Maybe I missed that file." "Where is Leyla Harrison when you need her?" Doggett lamented. "Who?" "Never mind." "Why?" "Because she's very sweet, very kind, kind of ditzy and very obsessed with Mul-duh and Scully." "Oh. So I'd want to kill her." "Pretty much." Friday, November 9, 2001
Doggett held her bags as Starkweather unlocked her hotel room door. "This place looks slightly better," she announced, flicking on the lights, looking into the room. "No cat-size roaches visible in here." She turned around and held out her hands. "I'm going to get some sleep. I'm dead." Doggett handed her her bags. "What time do you wanna get up tomorrow?" "What do we have to do tomorrow?" "Well, I wanna see if we can get an appointment with some of the big shots that produce the X-Files television shows. In the meantime, I want to read more of those stories the girls wrote." Starkweather nodded. "And I need to call Mulder tomorrow." "Why?" If Doggett sounded surprised it was mostly due to the fact that Starkweather tried to keep her interfering big brother at arm's length as much as possible. He wondered if Starkweather still resented Mulder at times. He also wondered if they only got along for Scully and William's sake. And if they got along because they were the only family that the other had. Because he realized it really was none of his business, Doggett dismissed his inquisitive thoughts regarding Starkweather and Mulder's relationship. But he did ask. "Think he might have a theory?" She shrugged. "Actually it's me that has a theory. Well, to be honest, it's something you said earlier today. About Mulder and Scully working a case with doubles... doppelgangers. But I want to follow up on it with Mulder instead of some chick that I don't know that I would probably potentially throttle." "Fair enough," Doggett said. Then he yawned. "G'night Doc." "See you later," she gave him an exhausted smile and let herself into her room. Locking the door behind her, she dragged her bags over towards the beds and threw them onto the bed nearest the door. After rummaging through them and finding a soft pair of pajamas pants and a well-loved t-shirt, she changed and crossed over to the other bed. Then she sat down on the bed near the window and stared at the phone. Mentally calculating in her head, she guessed it would be about seven in the morning in Washington DC. Ben would be awake, would probably be in the car en route to work. He would probably have his cell phone with him. Was it even worth the effort? Starkweather decided it was not and she curled up on the bed and closed her eyes, wishing her cat was with to cuddle with. Then she felt tears prick her eyes because she was wishing for her cat and not her husband. Mercifully, she soon fell asleep after that. ****** 10:13AM "There's a much easier way to get this bleep done. How could we have been such idiots!" "You've got Mul-dah in you." Starkweather arched a threatening eyebrow at him. Then whipped out her cell-phone. "Byers, we're desperate." "Langly should be glad to hear that," Byers snorted. Starkweather rolled her eyes. "We need your help. We're on a case right now. Are you guys busy?" "Um, actually, we are, Agent Starkweather." "How can you guys be busy. Is Langly washing his hair tonight?" "Good morning, Agent Starkweather," Langly chirped. "Oh bleep," Starkweather groaned. "Oh, I get it, we're playing a new game. I hate games." Frohike put in. "Do you know anything about Fanfiction? Or the X-Files Official Message board?" Starkweather asked. "Fanfiction? No idea what that is, Agent Starkweather," Byers said. "We used to pretend we were A-Team characters, if that's what you mean," Langly piped up. "I had to be Mr. T," Frohike grumbled. "Thank you for our daily dosage of dumbassness" Starkweather griped. "He still does a mean 'pity da fool'" Langly said. "Shut up," Frohike said. "We're heading out on The Jerry Springer Show," "You're WHAT?" Starkweather gawked. "What's the show, Loving the Chat Rooms More than the Real World?" "We're heading out the door to the airport now," Byers said. "And in case your wondering, no, we don't have shame." "Or cash," Langly said. "Jerry's forking out big bucks for us to do this." Doggett, only hearing Starkweather's half of the conversation, asked her, "What are they saying?" With a disgruntled snort, Starkweather covered her mouthpiece of her phone. "The guys are en route to Chicago. To go on SPRINGER." Doggett stared at her blankly. "Yeah, that's what I said," Starkweather said before uncovering her phone. "Can you guys do us a little bitty favor really quick before going on television to reveal that you three have been secretly in love with Mulder for all these years?" "Well..." Byers hesitated. "Let me put it this way. Do it or I'll kill you." "Well, put it that way..." "Can you get us the direct phone number to Chris Carter's office?" "Who?" "Chris Carter... he... he runs a production studio for a company called 1013 Productions here in LA. We need to talk to him but we don't to bleep around with Nazi receptionists acting like guard dogs." "That should be pretty easy," Byers told her. "Just out of curiosity," Starkweather said, "What is the topic of Jerry's show anyway?" "The Government Conspiracy to cover up the existence of Harry Potter and Hogwarts," Langly said proudly. In the background, Frohike muttered "Like we said, we're getting paid well to do this." "Uh-huh," Starkweather closed her eyes as if that alone could ward off a sudden migrane. "What?" Doggett asked. "Trust me," she said, "you don't wanna know." "We'll call you back as soon as we get the number Mrs. Starkweather," Byers promised her as he watched Langly and Frohike take off their shoes for the disgruntled security guard at the airport terminal gate. "We have to board our flight now. As soon as we're airborne, we'll boot up, find the numbers you need and call you back." "Spiffy," Starkweather said, rubbing her temple. Meanwhile, back at Ronald Reagan International Airport, the security guard held her nose the minute Langly had his shoes off and stood their in his smelly socks. "Okay, you're good, please put your shoes back on!" she cried out, waving them through. "Talk to you soon," Byers said to Starkweather as he watched Langly and Frohike stumble through the metal detectors. "I'll be waiting with bells on," Starkweather droned before hanging up. With an evil smirk, Doggett said "You sound more and more like Mul-duh everyday." "Bleep you." "That reminds me, you said you were gonna call him?" "Yeah, I better. I want to talk to him about that one case he worked on with Scully back in the day..." "About... doppelgangers?" "Something like that..." "Well, it can't hurt, I guess." Doggett stood up and began shooing her out the door. "Go, give him a call." "Doggett... you're rushing me out of the room." "No I'm not." "You got a girl coming over?" "What's a girl?" Doggett drawled, gently pushing her towards the door. Then they both froze. "Deja vu?" Starkweather asked. "No such thing as deja vu," Doggett grumbled. "I just wanna change my clothes and get out of the hotel for a while. I'm getting cabin fever. Go make your call." Starkweather arched an eyebrow at him, but complied. February 14, 2003
"And where did you end up going to, Mr. Doggett?" Jose Chung turned the page of his notebook so he could have a clean sheet of paper to take notes on. "Well, I wanted to go to the 1013 Productions Studios, just to canvass it, get a feel for it. Standard FBI procedure," Doggett said. "But that's not where I ended up..." "Where did you end up?" "Well..." November 9, 2001
"But this isn't where I want to go..." "Eu não falo o inglês," the cab driver said politely. Doggett looked out his window in dismay at all the hordes of happy-go-lucky vacationers with their squalling offspring entering the amusement park slash movie studio. "I need to go to 1013 Productions, look, I gave you the address..." The cab driver only smiled wider and pointed to the meter, which Doggett realized, was still running. "Look, can you at least take me back to my hotel? My hotel? Aw, come on..." The cab driver pointed again to the meter. "Fine, whatever," Doggett took out his wallet and begrudgingly gave the cab driver his money and got out of the cab in a huff. Miserably staring up at the gates, he pulled out his cell phone. "Oh damn it!" he cried out when he saw that it was dead as a hammer. ::Forgot to charge it last night, God damn it all to hell...:: he berated himself as he walked unwillingly towards the ticket booth. ::God I hope they'll let me use the phone...:: he thought as he also prayed to God Starkweather was off the phone with Mulder by now... but then, Mulder had a tendency to be a bit longwinded at times... "Hey!" Doggett turned around to see a man wearing shorts, a black polo with the Universal Studios logo on the pocket, a black cap with the same logo on it, a Universal Studios "Official Personale" badge clipped to his collar and a headset-microphone combination under the hat, running towards him. Doggett blinked. ::It's hot, I'm seeing things...:: "Who, me?" "You're late!" the Universal Studios man huffed at him as he grabbed him by the arm and dragging him inside the gates. "It's okay, Penny!" the Universal Studios man said to the bewildered ticket taker, "He works here." "WHAT?" Doggett said. "I told you, Fred," the Universal Studios man said irritably. "If you're late again, I'm going to have to write you up. And I swear to God, if you weren't a dead ringer for the dude that played the original T-1000, I would have fired you from the "Terminator 2, 3-D Show a LONG time ago." Doggett broke free of the man's grip. "I'M NOT ROBERT PATRICK!" he bellowed. "I KNOW that," the Universal Studios man rolled his eyes. "No... I'm a..." Doggett fumbled inside his coat jacket and produced his FBI identification. The Universal Studios man stared at it intently, then looked up at Doggett. "Oh... sorry, man. You're a stunt double for the X-Files show. My bad. Hey, if you see Fred, tell 'em I got a bone to pick with him." And the Universal Studios man left Doggett completely stranded in the theme park. The minute he was left alone, a little boy burst into tears upon seeing him and as his mother bore him away, trying to reassure him that it really WASN'T T-1000, two girls, wearing "I want to believe" T-shirts, approached him. "Can we have your autograph?" they chorused. "Oh crap," Doggett mumbled. Starkweather dialed Mulder's number. Then when she got the answering machine, she dialed his cell phone. Then when she got his voicemail, she dialed Scully's number. "Thank you for calling HotchicksHotline, one hundred persent pu..." "William, honey, I don't want to stifle your creativity but banana mush does not make a good medium." Scully could be heard in the background. "And it clashes with the mauve," Mulder said. "I'm telling Mom," Starkweather said. "Scully! Phone for you." "Thank god," Scully muttered. "Hello?" "Hi, Scully. How's it going?" "Tell me a dead body turned up. Please." "Actually, I was wanting to talk to Mulder." "Mulder?" "What?" He said, poking his head through the kitchen doorway with Will in tow. "It's not for me. She wants to talk to you." "Who are you and what have you done with my sister." "Actually, that's why I wanted to talk to you." "You mean you're really not her? So can I skin your cat alive? William, don't eat the phone cord." "You leave Caesar the bleep alone!" "Oh, damn, it really is you. And here I was getting my hopes up." "Cut the bleep Mulder. What do you know about Doppelgangers?" Meanwhile...
To his immense relief Doggett found a pair of sunglasses and enough cash in his jacket pocket to buy a baseball cap. Once the sunglasses and hat were on, with the bill pulled as far down as it would go, Doggett discovered he could search the park for a pay phone in relative peace. Almost. While waiting in line at a food stand so he could buy a drink, Doggett took his hat off for only a second to wipe the sweat off his forehead with his forearm. The minute the hat was off, three comely girls approached him. "Oh no..." he muttered. "Um..." one of the supreme specimens of femininity giggled nervously. Wearing a red hot halter top and short shorts that made Doggett take a second look, the girl tittered. "I... well, we saw you at the hat kiosk and we've been... well, following you... not stalking and we were just wondering...?" "Look," Doggett said tiredly. "I'm not Robert Patrick." "Oh we know." ::Thank you God:: Doggett thought. "Do you always get mistaken for your older brother?" the second girl, a shapely maiden in a little sundress, asked. "Huh?" Doggett said, instantly thinking of Stevie. "God, no." "Richard, we love your music," Red Halter Top Girl gushed, thrusting a CD at him. "I just bought this today even but had NO idea..." Doggett warily accepted the CD case from the girl and read the name printed on the bright orange and blue CD cover. "Filter?" "You dumbasses," the third girl, wearing a bikini top and even shorter shorts than the Red Halter Top Girl. "That's not Richard Patrick." "Who?" Doggett asked dumbly. "Take off your sunglasses," Bikini Top Girl snapped at him. As Doggett did so, the Bikini Top Girl said "Ha. See. Told you so. Richie has brown eyes, not blue. Plus Richie doesn't have all those crow's feet." "Crow's feet??" Doggett said, wounded. Appraising him, the Sundress Girl said. "Yeah, and I don't think Richard Patrick is losing his hair either." "I'm not losing my hair," Doggett huffed, suddenly painfully aware how his widow's peak kept becoming more prominent every year. "You're a moron," Bikini Top Girl said to Red Halter Top Girl. "It's not Richard Patrick." "Who's Richard Patrick?" Doggett asked again. "Well," Red Halter Top Girl snapped back at her friend. "He sure LOOKED like Richard Patrick from a distance." "Yeah, but Gawd. Look at him. He's old enough to be our dad." "How old are you three?" Doggett asked while thinking ::Please say fourteen, please say fourteen...:: "Twenty-three," they chorused. ::Oh God, I could be their dad...:: Doggett thought as he mumbled to the girls "Sorry to disappoint you" and slunk out of line to find a phone. Seeing a phone booth, Doggett sped up his pace while thinking ::Dammit Starkweather, if you don't pick up the phone when I call you, I'm going to put a gun barrel in my mouth.:: "What do I know about Doppelgangers?" Mulder echoed. "Yeah, besides that really creepy Twin Peaks episode." "Doppelgangers are part of what was known as mirror mythology." "Kind of like all that mirror-mirror on the wall stuff?" "Precisely. That's carried over from virtually all ancient major cultures. Some believe that mirrors were a window to the soul or the after-life, or some alternate reality. Queen Elizabeth, Shelley and Goethe reportedly saw a mirror of themselves and lived to tell the tale. The Germans, coining the phrase in the 1500's, believed that it was some kind of omen, since it wasn't actually a ghost or a spirit, since those only existed once a person has died." "And what does Scully think?" "You're no fun." "Grow up, butt-munch." "That's mature..." "Like watching Plan09 From Outer Space 39..." "...42..." "42 Times is MATURE." Scully, meanwhile, had picked up on the other end of the line, and cut into their conversation. "From a psychological standpoint, they're manifestations of our deepest fears and desires. Doppelgangers are split-personalities. They are one person but they have two different realities. They lead different lives entirely. In some cases, even report to having different body temperatures and blood pressure. And I don't want to have to put you two in separate corners." "Yes Mom," Both Starkweather and Mulder answered. "Any developments?" "We interviewed Carter Lucas. Definitely out there. She's worse than Leyla Harrison...and...she *knew* stuff...it was creepy. But she said she had no idea I was an actual person...she said I was just a figment of someone's imagination. Mulder...she knew about your murder case last summer..." "She WHAT!?!" "She said Ben was going to die..." "You can count that as a threat and press charges..." "All we can do is get her to take down the site. I think she's going to fight us tooth-and-nail though." "God bless the U.S.A." "Speaking of raving lunatics, we're going to investigate Chris Carter today." "Have fun..." Meanwhile… "My God," J. Stephen Cello complained as he followed his friend and his legal colleague Benjamin Starkweather through the office doors. "That was a travesty." "Now we know what it feels like to be eaten alive and then spit out. If I find out," Ben said as he loosened his tie, "that our main witness was lying, the hell with the legal penalties of perjury, I’ll beat him myself." "Well, get your boxing gloves on," Cello said glumly, pausing in front of his office door. "Because I think we’ve been bleeped without any KY. Excuse the foul language." "Oh. Oh. My virgin ears," Ben droned without even an inkling a humor. As he passed the receptionist’s desk, he said wearily, "Hi Noelle," as he headed towards his office. "Hello, Mr. Starkweather," Noelle Goodhall said, her eyes never leaving the computer screen, even as she reached over for the ringing phone. Ben closed the door to his little office quietly behind him and leaned against it. "Jesus Christ," he groaned, rubbing his forehead, closing his eyes. Re-opening his eyes, he saw the piles of paperwork and memos mounting in his In box along with the stacks of legal files he hadn’t even touched yet. Which meant he was going to be in the office over the weekend again. So much for Thank God It’s Friday. So far he had been doing a good job as a rookie holding his own, keeping up with his case files. Then he was assigned to assist Cello with a case for one of the firm’s oldest retainers and the case seemed doomed from the start. Ben felt like he was spending more time trying to seal up ever widening cracks than actually litigating. Which meant more hours in the office… Of course, it helps immensely that he didn’t have a home life seeing that the missus was either in the field, not speaking to him or bleeping her partner. Ben shoved the thought of Jerilyn and John Doggett out of his head even as he guiltily remembered that he hadn’t called her back yet. But it had to wait. He needed to focus. He needed to figure out a way to salvage this Titanic of a shipwrecked case… He walked towards his desk and as he got closer, he realized that he hadn’t touched his emails in more than a week. ::Oh God, what if something important was sent to me…:: he felt his head starting to pound. There was a knock on his door. "Come in," he said, fully expecting to see one of the senior partners with a pink slip and a sympathetic smile. So he let out a breath of relief when he saw it was just Noelle, with a smile and a cup of coffee. "Thought you might need this," she said shyly. "If it has a shot of liquor in it, I just might kiss you," Ben said, accepting the coffee, noticing how her cheeks pinked up just a bit when he said ‘kiss’. "I think Mrs. Starkweather might have an objection to that," Noelle said, sounding almost flirty. Almost. Ben surveyed her quickly over the rim of his coffee mug as he took a sip. Highly doubtful she was coming on to him, after all, this was sweet, semi-nerdy little Noelle. No one really paid attention to her. But she was kind of cute, in a Bridget Jones sort of way… not that he ever read the book but he did sit through the movie at Jerilyn’s demand. His stomach twinged with another tremor of guilt as the coffee went down. He had fallen asleep at his desk the night Agent Doggett left all those nasty messages about Jerilyn being so sick… Jerilyn being in the hospital. He hadn’t gotten the messages until later the following afternoon. But when Doggett’s final message said that Jerilyn was fine and was just recuperating from the flu Ben put off calling her back. And put it off. And put it off. And then his case exploded in his face… "Actually," Noelle cleared her throat. "I’m here to tell you that Jessie Spangle wants you and Mr. Cello in her office as soon as possible for an emergency meeting on the Ramsfeld case. She thinks there’s a way to settle out of court. I’m supposed to go pull older case files as soon as I get you." "Well, it’s better than being told to pack up your office and leave, I guess," Ben said, putting the coffee mug down on his desk and straightening his tie. "And Noelle, I’d hate to ask, but I need a huge favor…" "Name it," she said instantly. "Can you go into my email and weed through it? This damn case has left me no time and…" "Not a problem," she said with a smile. "Any specific orders?" "Um… print out important stuff, save personal emails and delete the spam," Ben smiled gratefully at her. He suddenly realized he had been starving lately to see a simple wholesome friendly face. "You’re the best, Noelle. I owe you a beer." "You better hurry," Noelle told him. "Ms. Spangle is waiting." Watching Ben rush out the door, she sat down at his desk and logged onto into the LAN network at Starkweather. As receptionist, she had a list of all the passwords just in case someone would happen to be out of the office for an extended amount of time… or needed a huge favor. She just made sure she memorized Ben’s passwords. Printing out interoffice memos and deleting junk mail (mostly from a sender called ‘trustno1@hotmail.com’ advertising for things like "Wild Co-Eds and Barnyard Animals - You Gotta See to Believe!") she then came across an unread message dated November 4 from an ‘jeribs@AOL.COM’. "Wow, you are behind in your email," Noelle muttered as she opened the email from Jerilyn. She skimmed through it and then deleted it without a second thought. Powering down the computer, she said to herself "I hate Robert Frost," and left the office while thinking of a way to get Ben Starkweather to make good on his word that he owed her a drink for what she’s done for him. Meanwhile…
Starkweather paced back and forth in her hotel room, pausing in front of the mirror hanging above the dresser to inspect the progress of her pimple while listening to Mulder drone on and on about the possibility of doppelgangers as he read to her from one of his occult studies journals. "And it in this article by H.P. Blavatsky, it states that "It is unconscious to the extent that the dying man does not generally do it knowingly; nor is he aware that he so appears. What happens is this. If he thinks very intently at the moment of death of the person he either is very anxious to see, or loves best, he may appear to that person. The thought becomes objective; the double, or shadow of a man, being nothing but the faithful reproduction of him, like a reflection in a mirror: that which the man does, even in thought, that the double repeats. This is why the phantoms are often seen in such cases in the clothes they wear at the particular moment, and the image reproduces even the expression on the dying man's face. If the double of a man bathing were seen it would seem to be immersed in water; so when a man who has been drowned appears to his friend, the image will be seen to be dripping with water. The cause for the apparition may also be reversed; i.e., the dying man may or may not be thinking at all of the particular person his image appears to, but it is that person who is sensitive. Or perhaps his sympathy or his hatred for the individual whose wraith is thus evoked is very intense physically or psychically; and in this case the apparition is created by, and depends upon the intensity of the thought. What then happens is this. Let us call the dying man A, and him who sees the double B. The latter, owing to love, hate, or fear, has the image of A so deeply impressed on his psychic memory, that actual magnetic attraction and repulsion are established between the two, whether one knows of it and feels it, or not. When A dies, the sixth sense or psychic spiritual intelligence of the inner man in B becomes cognizant of the change in A, and forthwith apprizes the physical senses of the man by projecting before his eye the form of A as it is at the instant of the great change. The same when the dying man longs to see some one; his thought telegraphs to his friend, consciously or unconsciously along the wire of sympathy, and becomes objective. This is what the "Spookical" Research Society would pompously, but none the less muddily, call telepathic impact. " "Uh huh," Starkweather said, now studying the rest of her face as she took her hair down. ::I wonder what my hair would look like short…:: "…"The "Double" cannot act unless the key-note of this action was struck in the brain of the man to whom the "Double" belongs, be that man just dead, or alive, in good or in bad health. If he paused on the thought a second, long enough to give it form, before he passed on to other mental pictures, this one second is as sufficient for the objectivization of his personality on the astral waves, as for your face to impress itself on the sensitized plate of a photographic apparatus. Nothing prevents your form then being seized upon by the surrounding Forces -- as a dry leaf fallen from a tree is taken up and carried away by the wind -- being made to caricature or distort your thought…"" ::Blah, blah, blah…:: Starkweather thought just as her cell phone beeped. ::There is a God, and he is Good!:: she rejoiced as she said, "Hold on Mulder, I have another call." "But-" **** And the article Mulder was quoting came from this website http://www.theosociety.org/pasadena/hpb-sio/sio-ast.htm which I have c&p'ed :D Starkweather pressed the middle button of her cell phone and connected with her second caller. "Hello?" she said, jamming her finger in her ear. "HELLO?" "DR. STARKWEATHER? CAN YOU HEAR ME?" Meanwhile... "Oh damn," Doggett’s shoulders’ slumped as the busy signal echoed in his ears. Behind him, some kid called out "Hey, mister, whaddya doin’? Jackin’ off in the phone booth?" while his buddy snickered. Doggett whipped around and glowered at the acne-ridden youths. "Bug off." Both boys paled. "Jesus, it’s the gym teacher from ‘The Faculty’!" the first boy squawked and they both ran off. Doggett rolled his eyes, turned back around and re-dialed… Meanwhile… Comfort Inn 1710 West 7th Street Los Angeles, CA 90017 "Byers?" Starkweather said, pressing the phone harder against her ear. She could hear the background noise clearer now… "JERRY! JERRY! JERRY!" ::Oh God almighty…:: she thought. "We don’t have much time. We’re on next. Just wanted to let you know that we set it up so that you can have a tour of the X-Files set tomorrow." "Tomorrow?" Starkweather whined. "But I want to interview Chris Carter today!" "Well, unfortunately, Mr. Carter is unavailable for interviews at this time." "Why?" "His receptionist told me he’s on vacation in Hawaii for the next couple of weeks. Some big surfing tournament." "Surfing tournament?" Starkweather grumbled, rubbing her temple. "Is he a celebrity judge or something?" She reached for the can of Pepsi she had been sipping on all morning. "No… I think he’s a contestant." "Wow, his life insurance must be through the roof." She took a swig of soda. "Anyway, you and Agent Doggett need to be in the lobby of your hotel at eight AM sharp tomorrow. 1013 Productions is sending you a car and then Mr. Carter’s assistant Brad Follmer will meet you at the studio lot." She instantly spit soda-pop-coke all over "WHO is meeting us?" "Uh… his assistant, Brad Follmer?" "FOLLMER? Are you sure?" Starkweather wiped dripping Pepsi off her chin. "That’s his name? Brad Follmer?" She could hear one of Jerry Springer’s assistants urging Byers "Mr. Byers, it’s almost time for your segment…" "JERRY! JERRY! JERRY!" "One moment, please," Starkweather heard Byers tell the assistant. "Yes, that’s his name, Brad Follmer. Why?" "Because that’s the same, the EXACT same name as my bleephead ex-boss in the Minneapolis Field Office," she groaned. "What are the odds…" "Well… actually the odds would be roughly-" "Nobody likes a math geek, Byers." "Nobody likes a copy cat, Mrs. Starkweather." "It’s genetic, I can’t help it," Starkweather replied, remembering that she left Mulder hanging on the other end. "Well, thanks for your help, Byers. We do appreciate it…" ::Hey, I wonder where Doggett is ….:: Meanwhile... "Jerilyn…" Doggett growled into the receiver, "Pick up the Got-damned phone…" He hung up the phone with a slam and started to dig for more change in his pockets. Then someone tapped him on the shoulder. Doggett turned around and saw a fairly normal looking guy with his five year old son holding his hand. "Hi, I was just wondering if you were going to be a while. I left my cell phone at home and need to check in the wif-" Just then, the boy, who had gotten a good look at Doggett’s face, instantly burst into tears. Loud, hysterical, attention getting tears. "Timmy, what’s the matter, buddy?" his dad asked him, kneeling down to his level. Timmy pointed his chubby little finger at Doggett and whimpered. "That’s the bad man from ‘Spy Kids’," and then he began to howl. As Timmy’s embarrassed dad carried Timmy away, Doggett, red to the tips of his ears, turned his back towards the world again and plunked more money into the pay phone. ::Good lord, does this Robert Patrick only play bad guys?:: he thought dejectedly as he received another busy signal. Meanwhile… "Not a problem Mrs. Starkweather," Byers said warmly. "We’ll keep working on this for you." "Say what?" Starkweather said. "Mr. Byers, you need to come with me now," a Springer drone told Byers. Before Byers said his goodbyes and hung up, Starkweather clearly heard an audience member scream out "I’m carrying Severus Snape’s love child!!!!!" "Alrighty then," Starkweather said, pressing the phone button again. "You were saying Mulder?" "You don’t even have on hold music." "What did you expect? Dvorak’s ‘New World Symphony’?" "Well, even some Muzak would have been nice. "ANYWAY… go on with your doppelganger theory…" Starkweather said with gritted teeth, praying for another interruption. "So what have you got on this case so far?" Mulder said. "We've got this rabid fan who has way too much time on our hands putting MY life in a fictional account." "At least you don't have Gary Shandling as your alter ego." "Point taken." "So what have you found out?" "That apparently everybody really does have a twin out there." "See...that's just a branch of the whole doppelganger theory. It's become a part of pop culture. Didn't you ever watch re-runs, Starkweather? There was always the standard double episode." "I don't like the idea of someone looking like me. I mean, my evil step-sisters have cured me of ever wanting a twin. They've proved that can become a real problem for a federal officer." "So, what are you going to do? Arrest the Wicked Witch of the West and demand a judge to court order major cosmetic surgery? I think that's unconstitutional." "Ha. Ha." A silence on the other end of the line made Starkweather worry. "Mulder..." she said finally, "I can call back later." "It's ok...what's your take on this?" "Well...myth has some truth to it. And if that's what fanfiction is, a kind of popular mythical oral tradition, then there's a margin of truth to their stories. Our job, I think, is to figure out how big of a margin is truth and how big of a margin is fabrication and how much of that fabrication is imagination or libel." "Sometimes fact is hard to separate from fiction, and I think that's your job on this case, Starkweather. But that's what we do every day on the job, isn't it?" "Well...me...you're unemployed." "Rub it in." "Get some rest," she said. "I'll call you back later," and hung up. The minute she hung up the cell phone, it rang again, the words "Caller ID unavailable" flashing on the screen. "Who in the hell?" she murmured as she hit the "Receive" button again. "Starkweather," she said with a puzzled look on her face. "Get. Me. Out. Of. Here." "Doggett?" "No, Robert Patrick." "Really?" Starkweather couldn't help herself. "As far as everyone is concerned in this damn place, yeah," Doggett said, trying to hide in the phone booth as much as possible. "Then why don't you just pretend to be Robert Patrick and have someone drive you back to the hotel?" "Where are you when I need you?" Doggett grumbled. "Walking out the door," Starkweather said, going to the dresser and getting the rental car keys. "To come get your sorry ass. Where are you anyway?" "Universal Studios." "How in the hell did you-" "Long story," he cut her off. "Just hurry. I'll be out front." Doggett peered around the phone booth, ready to make his escape. "Is it really that bad?" Starkweather said as she walked out the hotel door and started walking down the hall. "Well, so far, I've made three little kids cry and I had three girls young enough to be my daughters think I was some singer in a band but then decided I was too old and wrinkled to be him, so yeah, it's kind of bad, Starkweather and I'd really like to get the hell outta here. In fact, I would have loved to have gotten out of her sooner but SOMEONE was on her cell phone!" "Why didn't you call me on the hotel line?" "Um... couldn't remember the hotel number." Starkweather shook her head and decided that after getting Doggett, she would spend some quality time in her hotel room along. "What in the hell did I do," she sighed as she hung up her cell phone. "To deserve **him**?" Saturday, November 10, 2001 Doggett was still in a horrible mood. "Oh, would you pull that stick out of your ass," Starkweather griped at him as she poured herself a cup of coffee in the hotel’s lobby. "You’re blowing yesterday at Universal out of proportion. It could have been a lot worse." "How?" Doggett grumbled, trying to straighten in his tie by looking at his reflection in the glass doorway. With a sigh, she set her Styrofoam cup down and walked over to him. She stood up on her tiptoes so she could tap his shoulder. "What?" "Turn around." Doggett sighed and turned around obediently as Starkweather pulled down his shirt collar with a hard yank to straighten it and then preceded to un-do his necktie so she could re-tie it properly. "Most people," she said, attempting at a soothing voice (and failing utterly) "would be flattered to be mistaken for a movie star." "This guy plays villainous characters that kill more people than cancer," Doggett said. "And I’m supposed to be flattered? And not so tight, I like being able to breath." Doggett squirmed as her nimble hands tightened his blue necktie. "We’ll discuss problems breathing when you start wearing control-top pantyhose," Starkweather said, giving his tie a good tug as she finished knotting it. "Well, cross-dressing did do J.Edgar wonders in the criminal justice field." "God, you’ve been hanging out with Mulder too much." "I hardly talk to the guy, except about X-File stuff," Doggett grumbled. "It’s not like we go out bowling or anything." "Thank God," Starkweather said. "As if you two weren’t dorks enough, the last thing we need is for you to be tossing around heavy balls at pins." She smoothed the lapels of his coat. "There. Happy?" "I’ll be happier," Doggett said, "When this damn case is over with." "Well, maybe today we can get enough to shut down those damn girls’ website down," Starkweather ran her hands over her blond head, checking for stray strands of hair. Her hair was pulled back in its uncompromising bun as always but instead of one of her black suits, she was wearing a stunning red blazer with a matching skirt. "What are you hoping to find today?" Doggett asked her. "I’ll know it when I find it," she responded in an arrogant tone that equaled her brother’s. "Hope so," Doggett said, pushing up his coat sleeve and his shirt sleeve to look at his watch. "What time is this Follmer-guy supposed to be coming?" "Eight," Starkweather said, walking back over to retrieve her coffee. "Or so Byers said." Doggett yawned. "Hope so. Otherwise, I’m not going to be happy. I could have slept in." "You’re never happy," Starkweather reminded him before sipping her coffee. "And you never sleep in." "I never get a chance to sleep in," Doggett retorted. "And I’m happy." "When?" "There was a moment or two of happiness in my life… but that was before you were assigned to me." "Gee that almost hurts my feelings." "How can I hurt something you don’t have?" "My, we’re on a roll this morning, aren’t we?" Starkweather clearly didn’t appreciate being on the receiving end of verbal abuse. "Yeah, actually, I’m starting to feel a lot better," he grinned at her. "I hate you." "No you don’t," Doggett’s grin got wider. "You adore me. You worship me." Starkweather sat down, sulking. "I like you better when you’re in a bad mood." Doggett checked the clock on the wall. "If Follmer is s'posta get here at eight, that gives us forty-five minutes." "Good, you can count," Starkweather said dryly. Doggett only glared at her. "You were PMSing when we got on the plane. Then you were sick. What's your excuse NOW for bein' a bleep." "You know, you are kinda Terminatory when you glare like that. And I don't need an excuse for being bitchy." "Got that right. If I here the name Robert Patrick or any references whatsoever to the character he plays in that goddamn movie one more friggin' time, I'm gonna go insane. Oh, wait. You're my partner. Too late for savin' my sanity." "Bleep you." "Look, wanna go for somethin' quick while we wait on this Follmer character?" "How can I resist day-old donuts, stale cereal and weak coffee?" ******* "Donuts?" Starkweather guffawed as he devoured a half a donut in one mouthful. "No wonder you're crabby after a breakfast like that." "What? It's copfood! And you're the one who's crabby," she spread nonfat cream cheese over her bagel. "Touche." "Did you finally get a hold of Ben?" "Not yet," Starkweather said, taking another bite of her bagel. "Who was hogging your cell phone line, then?" "My big dumb brother." "Did hell freeze over?" "Mebbe. I wanted to get his opinion on this case, because as of right now, we've got nada." "And?" "Scully said that Doppelgangers are the personifications of our deepest fears and desires. Sometimes these can manifest in split personalities. Split personalities can be the same person, but have different mannerisms, speech patterns, voice, even different vital signs." "But if that was all there was to it, those bleepin' fangirls wouldna been mobbin' me." "And Carter wouldn't know all that bleep about the real us." "Right." "Mulder said that the whole double thing is a part of pop culture. That people seeing their doubles are an omen." "I think that's a bunch of bleep." "Me too...from what I can tell, our job here is to separate fact from fiction." "Hang on," she said as her cell phone buzzed. "Thank you, Mr. Follmer, we'll be in the lobby." Pause, "Oh, just look for the T-1000 look-alike. You can't miss us." "I think that's a bunch of bleep." "Me too...from what I can tell, our job here is to separate fact from fiction." "Hang on," she said as her cell phone buzzed. "Thank you, Mr. Follmer, we'll be in the lobby." Pause, "Oh, just look for the T-1000 look-alike. You can't miss us." Doggett shot Starkweather a filthy dirty look as she hung up her phone to which she responded to an angelic smile. "Bagel?" she asked sweetly, holding up what was left of her bagel. Doggett scowled and turned away from her just as a tall, good-looking man in jeans, white tennis shoes and a black polo with an 'X-Files' logo on the pocket walked in. "Hi, are you two Agents Doggett and Starkweather?" Compared to him, Doggett and Starkweather were completely overdressed, with Starkweather in her red jacket-and-skirt combo and good black heels and Doggett in his coal black suit, blue shirt and matching tie. "Yes," Doggett said. "Are you...?" "Brad Follmer," the man said with an engaging smile, holding out his hand. "Chris Carter's assistant. I'm handling things at 1013 while Chris is on vacation." Doggett wondered if he had imagined the look of pain that crossed Starkweather's face when the man said his name, and then dismissed it. "I figured you had to be Agent Doggett," Brad was saying as he shook Doggett's hand. "Damn, you ARE a dead ringer for Robert Patrick." Starkweather smirked as Doggett smiled at Brad through clenched teeth. "You, I'm not so familiar with," Brad apologized to Starkweather as he shook her hand. "You must be new to the FBI." "I'm new to the X-Files anyway," Starkweather said. "Well, we better get going," Brad said. "Big day ahead of us." Doggett and Starkweather exchanged pained looks. "This is going to take all day?" Doggett groaned under his breath. "You better get a pen," Starkweather advised him as they followed Follmer to the car. "Because they're going to be asking you for Robert Patrick's autograph all day long." Doggett suddenly wished he still had the flu. En route from the hotel to 1013 Productions/X-Files Soundstages... Starkweather looked out the car window and saw a billboard pass them back that simply said "Patience." ::Weird...:: she thought at Brad said "We're almost there." Doggett sat up in the front seat with Follmer. Starkweather had been regulated to the backseat, much to her irritation. Normally Doggett, the uber-gentlement, let her sit up front if a choice had to be made. She was oblivious to the fact that Doggett had become so tired of her catty attitude (especially this early in the morning) that he knew he would be tempted to kill her if he had to look at her during the drive down to the studios. So he nabbed shotgun and was content to let her sulk in the backseat. He liked her and all... but sometimes she just didn't know when to quit or at least shut the hell up. "So, uh, Mr. Follmer..." "Brad." "Right," Doggett said. "Anyway, how does Mr. Carter typically handle cases of plagiarism and defamation regarding his show? Especially the Internet sites?" "Well, we have an extensive legal department that handles issues like that," Brad explained as they slowed down while turning on a secluded driveway. "But for the most part, well, we really can't do too much about the fan sites or the online fan fiction unless they are trying to make money off of it." "Why not?" Doggett asked. "One, the sheer volume. There are thousands and thousands of sites out there. It would cost too much time and money to go after them all. Two... in a way, it's considered flattery. Someone thinks so highly of the show that they would spend their time, money and effort into creating a site about our show... it's a sort of free advertising." "What about the fan fiction?" Doggett asked. Brad slowed the car to a stop at the gate. "Again, there's too great of a volume. We only go after them if they are trying to make a profit off of our creations without our consent. There's just no way we could shut them all down." ::Dammit:: Starkweather thought dismally as Brad started to roll down his window. "So," she spoke up for the first time since getting into the car. "Why do you believe your show has such a loyal Internet following then to take the time and money to create these fan sites and write stories based off of television characters?" ::That are based off my friends and family...:: she thought, her head spinning. "Hold that thought, Agent Starkweather," Brad asked her as a security guard left his little booth and made his way towards the car. As Brad showed his pass to the attending guard, the guard smiled and said "Good morning Mr. Follmer... Mr. Patrick." Doggett wanted to crawl under his seat. "But I don't get it," Starkweather pressed, "you guys found actors who look uncannily like Agents Doggett, Scully, Reyes and even AD Skinner." Follmer shrugged, "Lucky coincidence, I guess. Everybody has their doubles right?" Pretty soon, the sound sets and various other buildings became visible. Starkweather felt a nervous twinge in her belly. ::This is where the line between reality and fantasy becomes blurred and then sold to the unsuspecting American public...:: she thought as the buildings crept closer and closer. "Hey," she said as the car started to slow to a stop. "Why wasn't I incorporated into the show this season?" "Well," Brad said. "Because when did you join the X-Files. Last... March?" "April." "Ah. See, we didn't find out that there had been another agent hired in your division until a few weeks ago and we already had the first four scripts of the new season written and had started filming the season premiere. It was too late to incorporate a new character." Starkweather bridled visibly at the word 'character'. Oblivious to the ticked off female in backseat, Brad continued "Mr. Carter has a pretty good idea where he wants this season and the next to go... but if we get picked up for season ten, then we'll probably be writing you in." "Hey," Doggett remembered his distasteful conversation with his closet X-Phile older brother. "Why don't we see any royalties from this?" "That's handled by the Legal and Finance departments," Brad said, bringing the card to a stop. "I have no control over that." He looked out the window, smiled and waved at someone walking towards them and then turned to Doggett and Starkweather. "This is where I leave you. I'm sorry I can't personally escort you today, but I am swamped with meetings. Our intern Skip will show you around and answer any questions you may have." "Skip?" Starkweather asked flatly. "His name is Skip?" When Brad nodded, she asked "Can I call him Skippy?" "Shut up Doc," Doggett growled. "Yes Puppy Man." "Puppy Man..." Brad said thoughtfully. "I may have to mention that to our writers..." Doggett fumed at Starkweather. A twenties something man who looked like he could be Frohike's younger cousin wearing a black x-files t-shirt and a matching x-files visor. What was left of his hair was a greasy brown, gathered in a long ponytail in the back. His thick glasses gleamed in the Californian sunlight as he waddled over to them. "I was told you hated being reminded of how much you look like Robert Patrick," he squeaked, and extended his hand out to Doggett. Starkweather rolled her eyes. She thought he might still be going through his awkward stage. "I'm Skip Porter, and I'll be your escort for the rest of the day." "We just wanted to speak to some of the producers," Starkweather said. "We didn't really want to stay and watch a taping. We're not tourists here, we're working on a case." "You mean you're not x-philes?" "We're x-files agents," Doggett corrected. "No. P-H-I-L-E. Not F-I-L-E. X-philes are what fans call themselves." "Thanks for clarifyin'." Doggett said. "Let me make notes," Starkweather said dryly. "I can find a pad and pen if you need them, miss," he squeaked, unaware of her murderous glare. Starkweather just shook her head. "The producers are all in a meeting till about 2pm. Till then, would you like a tour?" Doggett nodded. Starkweather gave the small man in front of her a pained smile. Then they got a golf-cart which was marked 1013. "About sixty percent of the series is filmed on the set, and that's what keeps our production costs down so we can spend funding on special effects. That means, though, that we film about forty percent of the series on location. A lot of our shots happen to take place either in wooded areas or on highways or in desserts. Today, you happen to be in luck. They're shooting on location?" "Yippy skippy," Starkweather said. "Would I be overstepping my bounds if I said you calling me skippy is a big turn-on?" "Not if you don't value your life or your job or certain parts of your anatomy." Starkweather said sweetly with a venomous smile. "This," Skip's voice jumped up two octaves. He cleared his throat and began again. "This is the FBI building." "Would I be overstepping my bounds if I said you calling me Skippy is a big turn-on?" "Not if you don't value your life or your job or certain parts of your anatomy." Starkweather said sweetly with a venomous smile. "This," Skip's voice jumped up two octaves. He cleared his throat and began again. "This is the FBI building." Doggett and Starkweather looked at each other, looked at the building, then looked at each other again. Starkweather felt compelled to spit out the obvious. "It's a sound stage." "Well, we know that, Miss Starkweather." "Mrs." Skip ignored her correction. "This is the sound stage where all the interior J. Edgar Hoover sets are housed. Skinner's office, Kersh's office, the X-Files office. We just call it the FBI building." "Uh huh," Doggett drawled, staring at the unassuming building. "They're not shooting anything on this set until later on today. Manners wanted to get the outdoors shots done right away. You may see the principal cast later on today." "Who's Manners?" Starkweather asked as she and Doggett got out of the golf cart. Starkweather tried and tried to tame her unruly tongue as she watched her tall partner ungracefully exit the tiny vehicle but alas, failed. "This is kind of like watching the clowns leaving their little bitty car during Barnum and Bailey's Circus." "Zip it," he said. There was something poisonous in his voice that made Starkweather shut up instantly but left her thinking ::Bleeping God, what the hell crawled up his ass and died? He still can't be all that bent out of shape about the Terminator-look-alike thing.:: "Kim Manners," Skip answered her question as they started to walk towards the "FBI building." "What does she do?" Starkweather asked innocently. Skip guffawed, then collected himself. "No, no, Miss Starkweather-" "Mrs." "Kim Manners is a 'he'. He's a director." "Oh," Starkweather said as she followed Skip and her crabby partner inside. "We'll go straight to the tour de force first," Skip said proudly as he flashed his ID badge to a bored guard. "We'll visit the X-Files Office." To make polite conversation while Skip led the agents down the hall, Doggett asked "Where do you go to school at, Skip? "UCLA. I want to be a camera guy. I'm majoring in mass communications and media department." "So how come you're not out with the director watching them film?" Starkweather asked. "Well, Mr. Follmer said they needed me here today. I'm kind of their go-for right now." "So what else do they have you doing?" Doggett asked. "Um, well, right now, Mr. Carter's shredder is broken so until the repair guy can come in to repair it, I've been shredding all his old scripts and private papers for him." "Sounds fun," Doggett deadpanned. "Hey, I get a head's up on script ideas so it's not so bad." Doggett and Starkweather exchanged another look. "Now, if you have access to story spoilers, you wouldn't be tempted to post them on the Internet, would you?" Starkweather asked sweetly. Skip paled. "No way. If I did and got busted, I'd be a dead man. I had to sign this confidentiality contract before they'd let me start interning here. I'm hoping that next week though, I get to go along when they're shooting a scene. Maybe they'll even let me bring Gillian Anderson water..." From the faraway tone in Skip's voice, Starkweather and Doggett correctly concluded why Skip was shredding Carter's papers instead of shadowing the director. "So, do you give a lot of tours then?" Doggett asked. "Nope this is my first one," Skip said proudly. "At first, when Mr. Follmer told me I was giving a tour today, I thought you guys were potential writers." "Why?" Starkweather asked. "Oh, you can't go anywhere in Hollywood without some kind of writer pestering you to read his stuff. And 1013 will only accept a script through certain agents... but some people don't get that... even the famous writers." "Famous writers?" "See, the story goes that there was this really annoying writer named Jose Chung that kept pestering Mr. Carter. But he was a big shot so they had placate him somehow. Then our writers incorporated him into what became one of our more infamous episodes..." He paused for dramatic effect. 'Jose Chung's From Outer Space.'" He looked at Doggett and Starkweather's faces and saw that their expressions hadn't changed. With a sigh, he continued, "But then, Mr. Carter's other series Millennium -" "Never heard of it," Doggett said. Skip replied "That was the problem." "Oh." "It needed a ratings boost. So we brought back the Jose Chung character and killed him off in a leap=the-shark kind of deal... I hope the real Jose Chung didn't mind..." February 14, 2003 "I did mind actually." Jose Chung said in a sulky voice, "Quite dreadfully." "Ummm," Doggett struggled with an appropriate response. "Do you know how distressing it is to see your alter ego DIE on television?" Doggett found himself recalling an episode from "The X-Files" titled "The Gift" where his character was regurgitated back into life. ::Although I'm still not sure if that's how it really happened or not..:: "No clue whatsoever," Doggett drawled lazily. "And this," Skip Porter said, as if it was the proudest moment of his life, "is the set of the basement office." Doggett paled. Starkweather just kept stepping back until she backed up into the desk. THE desk. Doggett's desk. "It's like...one of those dreams...where you missed a whole class except for the last day of exams." "Damn, I was hoping you were gonna say it was like the dream where you show up to work naked. I have that dream a lot," Skip said. "So that's where that went," Doggett said, picking up his old Mickey Mantel Baseball. "And how...the hell did they get that?" "Our set guys do our research," Skip said modestly. "Get what?" Starkweather wondered aloud. Doggett showed her the small picture frame of the blond little boy on his desk. "Luke...oh bleep..." she said. "Do you realize that the investigation was kept from the press for a reason." Doggett demanded. "I did not know that. Maybe you should inform the producers when you meet with them. So," he said, "it's pretty accurate then?" "I think we've seen enough," Doggett said. "Shall I take you around to the rest of the lot then?" Doggett and Starkweather exchanged knowing glances, then nodded. By the look on Skip's face you'd have thought they were planning his murder, not that the plan wasn't a tempting one. "This," Skip said, voice two octaves higher. Then he cleared his throat. "Right this way, then." Starkweather stared straight at Doggett's back as Skip lead them off of the X-Files set. She didn't dare look at him. Thanks to that stupid picture of the anonymous kid actor, 1013 Productions had just lost brownie points with Doggett... as if they had any to begin with. ::Oh dear God:: Starkweather thought ::The twit that wrote Introitus mentions Luke in it... did those girls write about Luke in their other stories? If they did, no need for an investigation but Doggett will need a good defense lawyer...wonder if Ben would be willing to... no scratch that. Ben lose his case on purpose.:: She stifled a sigh. Still no call or email from Ben. ::What a jerk...:: she fumed to herself, now bowing her head, not listening to a word burbling from Skip's mouth. ::All that talk about trying to make it better was just bullblank...:: She reached up with her left hand to rub the back of her aching neck. ::He bleeps about me never being home, but when I broke my wrist last summer and was off work, he was never home. When they fished me out of the ocean after Luna Blanca, he was never home. He was supposed to go with me to Luna Blanca and he didn't. He didn't want to come with me to New York... he bleeps so much about DC and yet when I give him a chance to go somewhere with me... it's like something's holding him back...:: "You smell like sandalwood." She rubbed her neck harder as her mind started to wander down dark, uncertain avenues. ::No... he wouldn't...:: "He lied to me about being at the office Monday."* "I thought he said he blew off work on Labor Day." "He left for the firm before I left for J. Edgar and I left at eight o’clock." "Maybe he got sick of it and came home early." "Maybe…" "You think he’s cheating on you?" Starkweather folded her lips tight together as she started to rotate her head around and around in an attempt to alleviate the pressure in her neck muscles and her worried mind. Doing so, she happened to look over her shoulder and out of the corner of her eye, she saw a tall man with dark brown hair walking through a door and towards the faux X-Files office. Starkweather whirled around. "MULDER!" she yelled. "WHAT THE BLEEP DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING HERE!!" He jumped and turned to face her. "Working?" he said, eyebrows high, eyes wide. Starkweather whirled around. "MULDER!" she yelled. "WHAT THE BLEEP DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING HERE!!" He jumped and turned to face her. "Working?" he said, eyebrows high, eyes wide. "Working??? How can you be working?" she accused him. "I thought you were sick?" "No I feel fine..." "Oh, so you conveniently feel better just in time for you to trail after me and Doggett. God, you are SUCH an arrogant bleep! This case has nothing to do with your little crusade, quest, mission, what-the-bleep-ever-you-call-it. Can't you just back the hell off? Not everything has to do with YOU or little green men. Jesus bleeping Christ, Mulder, when are you going to get it through your bleeping thick skull that you are NOT with the X-Files anymore!" He scowled with her. "I have a contract for eleven episodes, miss." Starkweather stared blankly at him. "Huh?" "Mr. Duchovny," Skip rushed to the actor. "I am SO sorry..." As Starkweather turned an ugly shade of green and Doggett attempted to stifle his laughter, David Duchovny sighed and asked the intern "Should we be calling security?" "We are security," Starkweather said miserably, wishing the floor would swallow her up whole. "That does nothing to make me feel better," David responded laconically as Doggett turned his back to all of them, unable to keep a straight face. "They're FBI agents," Skip explained. "From the *real* X-Files." "The *real* X-Files?" the actor raised his eyebrows. "Oh I thought Chris got the idea from the show after a bad peyote experience." "This is Mr. Doggett and Miss Starkweather." Starkweather was too humiliated to correct Skip. "Doggett huh," David said, studying him when Doggett turned around. "You know..." he began thoughtfully. "Don't," Doggett grumbled. "And Miss Starkweather?" David turned to the now red-faced agent. "Yeah?" "They're grey, not green," he corrected her with a grin so similar to the real Mulder's. "I loved 'Evolution'," she mumbled before muttering an excuse and fleeing the set. *** "And Miss Starkweather?" David turned to the now red-faced agent. "Yeah?" "They're grey, not green," he corrected her with a grin so similar to the real Mulder's. "I loved 'Evolution'," she mumbled before muttering an excuse and fleeing the set. Watching her go, David asked Doggett "Is she always this high strung?" "No," Doggett said. "This is actually one of her better days." "We better go find her," Skip said anxiously. "Mr. Carter doesn't like it if guests aren't with an escort." "She's an adult," Doggett said with a sigh. "Most of the time, anyway. She can take care of herself." "But Mr. Carter won't LIKE it..." "How would he know?" Doggett wished he could backhand the boy back to UCLA. "I thought he was on vacation in Hawaii for some surfing tournament?" "He would KNOW though..." Skip said cryptically. Doggett and David looked at each other. David shrugged then looked over Doggett's shoulder. Grinning broadly and waving, he called out "Hi Gillian!" "WHERE!" Skip squealed with glee. "Just went by, she's probably on her way to Wardrobe," David said and both men stifled their laughter as Skip scampered down the hall. Once Skip was gone, David asked "So anyway, what brings you here?" Doggett gave him the general run down on their case. "... so anyway, while I got you here, what are your thoughts on fanfic?" David shrugged again. "I really don't have a strong opinion either way. It's out there and so be it, but as long as the writers don't write horrible things about Tea or West, I really don't have a problem with it." "Can't say I blame you... Have you ever visited any of the fan sites out there?" "I tried to log into the official X-Files Fan Site Message Board once. I posted a message saying "Hi, this is David Duchovny" and I instantly received several messages back saying get the bleep off these boards you bleeping lying troll." "Ah," Doggett didn't know how else to respond to that. "Well," he offered his hand. As David shook it, Doggett said "Thank you for your time... I should... um... probably go find my partner." "That might be a good idea. I'd hate to have her make a similar faux pas as she did earlier today," David said. "Like say Rob? He'd probably call security. Gillian on the other side, might kick her in the ankles. Me, I'm just going to sue for harassment." "Don't bother, her husband's a lawyer." "You're a real killjoy, aren't you?" "Just doin' my job," Doggett said as he started to leave. Then he stopped. "Can you do me a favor though?" David's eyebrows rose. "Depends on what the favor is." "Oh... trust me..." "Our show's credo," David said stuffily. "Is 'Trust No One'." "My credo," Doggett said "is revenge is a dish best served cold." "Okay, you have my attention now." A little bit later... Doggett found Starkweather sulking in front of the candy machine, desolately pushing the same button over and over again. Then she pounded the glass with both of her little fists. "Careful Doc," Doggett called out. "You don't wanna break that thing." Starkweather whirled around. "Is it really YOU?" she asked warily. "Or are you the stunt double?" "It's ME, Jerilyn," Doggett said. "Prove it." "Oh for the love of..." Doggett plunged into the pocket of his suit and pulled out his FBI identification. "And would Robert Patrick or anyone else know that I call you 'Doc'?" he reminded her testily as he held out his ID for her to see. "Sorry," she muttered, looking back at the candy machine. "I already made a major horse's ass of myself today, didn't want to repeat or re-live the experience... and dammit!" She hit the candy machine again. "This bleeping thing ate my money! And I need chocolate!" "You don't NEED chocolate," Doggett said soothingly. "You want chocolate. I explained things to Mr. Duchovny and he doesn't think you're completely nuts." "Oh, great, thanks. That does so much to improve my mood." She leaned her forehead on the glass. Doggett felt a stab of sympathy. Her cheeks were still pink with embarrassment. "Oh, now... anyone who knows Mul-duh could have made the same mistake... and anyway, how many times have I been mistaken for this Robert Patrick guy now? Plus I had a bunch of girls tell me that I was too old and bald to be the lead singer of Filter, whatever the hell that is..." "You got mistaken for Richard Patrick too?" Starkweather turned her head to study him. "Well, the jawline and the ears are similar, but I think Richie's eyes are hazel and he has dark brown hair..." Noticing that Doggett stared at her blankly, she explained "Richard Patrick is Robert Patrick's younger brother. Richard's the frontman for an industrial rock band called Filter. Say, did your mother have two additional kids that she gave away and didn't tell anyone about?" Thinking about his dismal older brother, he grumbled "If she did, she gave the wrong ones away." "What?" "Never mind... look... Starkweather, it really wasn't so bad. Honest. Tomorrow we're gonna look back on this and laugh our butts off that you were actually rude to a lead guy on a TV show." "You mean YOU are going to laugh your butt off tomorrow..." she closed her eyes, still wallowing in her mortification. "Starkweather, you've been ruder to more important people and didn't even experience a bit of regret even when you should have? What's the big deal about this?" "Who is your favorite actress in the whole world?" "What?" Doggett blinked at the sudden change of tact. "Um... I don't know, I don't watch a lot of movies... I guess... well, I like Julia Roberts." "Think she's pretty?" "Pretty? That's damn stupid question Doc, of course I think she's pretty, most normal guys do, but how doe-" "How would YOU feel," Starkweather fired back. "If you made a complete ass of yourself in front of Julia Roberts?" "Well, I'd feel pretty stupid." "There you go. You're not as dumb as you look." She rested her head against the candy machine and closed her eyes. "You have a thing for David Duchovny?" Doggett said incredulously. "It's just a crush," she replied softly, defiantly. Doggett didn't hear her. "Christ, Starkweather, he's a dead ringer for Mul-duh!" "Well," she said meekly, head still on the vending machine, eyes still closed. "I thought Mulder was attractive too until I found out he was my brother." Doggett cringed. "I'm not hearing this." "What is the big deal?" Starkweather now stood up straight, glaring at Doggett. "Mulder's not ugly. Neither is David Duchovny. It's... it's like art... I appreciate the beauty that's presented to me, but I'm not going to rip it away and bring it into bed with me!" "Yeah, I know, but still... God, Starkweather, didn't Mulder and Scully investigate a case about in-breeding once?" Starkweather felt her temper rising. "I didn't say I wanted to get it on with my brother, I'm just saying that I thought Mulder was good-looking when I first saw him and that I feel like a bleeping idiot ripping David Duchovny a new bleephole because... because..." "You want to get it on with David Duchovny?" Doggett was completely and thoroughly confused by feminine logic. "NO!" Starkweather yelled. "Just because I have a crush doesn't make me unfaithful!" Her witch hazel eyes were overbright. "Whoa," Doggett said softly. "Where did that come from?" "Nowhere," she said, her voice edgy. "Right," Doggett drawled. "That's why it looks like you're about to cry." That was the most absolutely wrong statement he could have made at that point. Starkweather bristled and snapped. "I DO NOT." "Starkweather," Doggett lowered his voice. "What's wrong?" "Other than looking like a jackass in front of a celebrity, absolutely nothing," she scowled. "Doc, you don't strike me as the type to get all teary-eyed over a stupid TV star. What's the matter?" "I am NOT bleeping teary-eyed," she said, blinking her eyes very quickly. "I just feel like an idiot right now. And YOU'RE the one making worse. Flipping out because I have puppy love for an actor that just happen to looks like my brother." "I didn't **flip** out." "And besides, don't tell me the whole time you were with Barbara you didn't look at other women?" "Well... no actually. I mean, I looked but not like, I mean..." Doggett felt himself getting defensive. "What does that have to do with anything?" "Your ex-wife didn't think you were running around on her just because you looked at other girls, did she?" "She was the one who cheated, not me." The hallway buzzed with the awful silence. Starkweather looked at her shoes. "Sorry," she finally said. "Yeah... well..." Doggett replied gruffly, putting his hands in his pockets. "I'd 'preciate it if you kept that to yourself. I don't exactly advertise it." "I-" Starkweather started to say but then, Skip showed up. "I found you guys! Thank God," he wheezed. "And, ha ha, that Mr. Duchovny's such a joker... Ms. Anderson wasn't anywhere NEAR Wardrobe." Before either Doggett or Starkweather could reply, Skip said "Anyway while I was looking for Ms. Anderson, Mr. Follmer paged me and he said it would be a good idea to take you to where we keep some of our promotion videos and get you guys stocked up on some of our more... notorious episodes? He said the shows themselves would be the best source of information into fanfiction." Without looking at each other, Doggett and Starkweather trailed Skip, Starkweather still looking like she was on the verge of tears and a tic throbbing uncontrollably in Doggett's cheek. Skip however was oblivious to the unease between the two agents. "Mr. Follmer said a lot of the fan fic writers try to write "Missing Scenes" based on certain episodes where a love scene might be inserted or try to fix inadvertent continuity error. You know when a show's been on the air for so long, it's hard to keep track of things like if Samantha's middle name is Anne or Lynn or if Doggett's son bit the dust in 1993 or 1997," he added carelessly, forgetting how reality had intruded into Make-Believe-Land. Skip was extremely lucky his back was towards Doggett or else he would have seen how similar he really was to T-1000. Just as Doggett balled his fist and lifted it to strike the intern, Starkweather reached up and seized him by the wrist. Doggett paused and looked down at the diminutive woman holding on to him, her nails digging into his skin. "Stop it," she hissed at him but her eyes still glittered strangely. He pulled away from her but hung back, letting her go before him, acting as a buffer between him and Skip. When Starkweather wasn't looking, Doggett rubbed his wrist. For someone with little hands, she had a hell of a grip. "This," Skip said, fumbling with a set of keys. "Is where some of the promotion items are kept. Mr. Follmer said we have some VHS tapes of older episodes we could give you for research. We don't have anything from last season though. We're going to be starting a massive marketing campaign with DVD box sets so they really aren't putting eps onto VHS anymore." Skip opened the door and stood aside so the agents could go in first. "Holy..." Starkweather trailed off, unable to think of an appropriate obscenity. Doggett could only stare at the rows and rows of video tapes. "Weird," was all he could think to say. Faintly, his partner responded "Damn weird." "Holy..." Starkweather trailed off, unable to think of an appropriate obscenity. Doggett could only stare at the rows and rows of video tapes. "Weird," was all he could think to say. Faintly, his partner responded "Damn weird." Skip squeezed by them. "Okay, then. Um, if you'll just follow me, I'll give you the tapes Mr. Follmer thinks will most benefit you in your investigations... um... have you seen any of the eps?" "We tried to watch part of the X-Files marathon on FX," Starkweather said, walking behind Doggett who walked behind Skip. "But we were both sick with the flu and had annoying pot-smoking neighbors that prevented us from watching the entire marathon." "Well, we'll just start from scratch then," Skip said, grabbing a tape labeled 'Pilot' and handing it to Doggett. Doggett absent-mindedly handed the tape to Starkweather and asked Skip "Where exactly do the writers get all their information for the plots?" "Oh, you know," Skip said vaguely. "Research. And there's that retired FBI guy that helps them out. Here, 'Ice' and 'Darkness Falls' are two great MOTWs," he handed the tapes to Doggett. Doggett passed them off to Starkweather. "What's an MOTW?" "Monster of the Week," Skip explained. "Episodes are divided up into two distinct categories. Mytharc episodes... such as... ah, here we go... "Conduit" and "Fallen Angel" deal exclusively with the alien abduction conspiracy. These two are considered the first true Mytharc eps from Season One by some," he handed two more tapes to Doggett who immediately passed them to Starkweather. "Hey," she said sharply but was ignored. "Some other great Mytharc eps are...." Skip started pulling tapes at a rapid rate and handed them to Doggett who handed them to Starkweather, piling them on top of the tapes she already had in her hands. "Hey, my hands are full," she whined. "Little Green Men... Duane Barry... Ascension... One Breath... Colony/End Game two parter... Anasazi... The Blessing Way... Paper Clip... Nisei... 731... Piper Maru... Apocrypha... Talitha Cumi... Herrenvolk... Tunguska.... Terma... Momento Mori.... now Momento Mori," Skip exclaimed to Doggett giving him the tape "is an awesome ep! It's the one where Scully gets cancer." "How," Starkweather's angry voice rose over the tower of VHS tapes in her arms, "could there be anything 'awesome' about someone getting cancer?" "Mr. Porter," Doggett slammed the Momento Mori tape on top of the already tottering pile of tapes in Starkweather's arms. "I feel it's in your best interest to be reminded that this show is based off of reality and you need to gauge your responses before saying them out loud." "Huh," Skip fidgeted with a copy of Tempus Fugit in his hands. "My mother died of cancer you bleepbleeper," Starkweather said. "Oh," Skip said meekly. "Sorry... I thought... well nobody told me until today that there was a real X-Files," he put copies of Max, Gethsemane, and Redux I and II in Doggett's hands. "I bet this show is tame compared of the stuff you guys have seen." "Actually," Doggett added the tapes Skip gave him to Starkweather's pile. "Most of the cases we've investigated have been crap. "Except for the fighter pilot that crashed in Scotland," Starkweather piped up. "Well, yeah, that..." "And when my husband was kidnapped by the Syndicate and they tried to frame Mulder for his murder even though they didn't kill Ben." "You know, Doc, I'll be damned if I can remember anything from that case..." "And then there was the Ghost in the radio station..." "Oh, here," Skip handed Doggett another tape. "Ghost in the Machine. Not a huge hit, but one of my personal favorites... and there was a REAL ghost in the radio station?" "No," Doggett instantly said when Starkweather said "Yes." "WHAT?" "Well SOMETHING covered me with slime." "Yeah, but... no, Starkweather, we've gone over that. There's no such thing as ghosts." "Right. Like there's no such thing as dinosaurs either." "Dinosaurs? Really!" Skip squealed. "Neato!" "ANYWAY," Doggett said as Skip searched the racks for the rest of the Mytharc episodes from the fifth season. "So, the Mytharc are about little green men-" "Grey," both Starkweather and Skip corrected him. He ignored them. "What's the Monster of the Week?" "Well, Agent Doggett," Skip chortled importantly. "That's pretty self-explanatory," he handed a stack of video tapes to Doggett who piled them in Starkweather's arms. "I'm gonna hurt ya," she said under her breath as he made her burden even heavier. But Doggett didn't hear her over Skip's response. "It's the weekly episode where Mulder and Scully are hunting down a monster that's killing everybody." "Uh-huh," Doggett said as Skip handed him more tapes which he instantly pawned off on Starkweather. "Doggett, god-dammit," she said, a little bit louder now. "Now the monsters though, aren't always... well, okay some of the monsters really are monsters like the kind you don't want to find under your bed... I still have bad dreams about the Flukeman... But some of the MOTWs are like Chimera... humans turning into monsters. Or they're like Donnie Pfaster from Irrestible and Orison... humans who are monsters... hey, I forgot to give you the Erlenmeyer Flask... mytharc," he explained, thrusting another tape into Doggett's hands. "Not all of the episodes are so serious though," Skip said, continuing to pile tapes in Doggett's hand who continued to pile tapes in Starkweather's arms. "Hey, I'm for equal rights and all," Starkweather griped "But I need some help carrying these..." "In a minute," Doggett said offhandedly to her. "Mr. Porter, whaddya mean not all the eps are serious?" "Some of them are funny as hell," Skip proclaimed. "Bad Blood is just hysterical. And then, of course, Jose Chung from Outer Space is just a riot. Another one that I loved was-" There was a resounding crash behind Doggett. Skip and Doggett turned around and saw Starkweather standing in front of a pile of VHS tapes with her hands on her hips fuming at them both. "Would you quit beating around the bush," Starkweather said testily. "And ask him how the writers are getting the personal information on you, not to mention Mulder and Scully? Especially," her eyes became catlike slits as she glared at Skip, "since information the murder of Luke Doggett, in 199-THREE, bleephole, was withheld from the press." Skip broke up in a smelly sweat. Doggett tried to inch away from him as politely as possible. "I-I don't know," he admitted miserably. "I'm not allowed to be part of the writer's meetings. I just... I just shred Mr. Carter's papers for him until the copy machine gets fixed... and all the interesting stuff is blacked out with a Magic Marker anyway. I learn more stuff about the show from the O/S rather than here." Doggett and Starkweather looked at each other again. "You post at the X-Files Official Message board." "I lurk sometimes. I usually stay on the 'Malcolm In The Middle' boards though..." "Do you recognize the screen name Spookykat?" Starkweather asked. When Skip shook his head, she asked "Scully3776?" Skip brightened. "Yeah, she posted to me once. I had cut and pasted some interesting information about the Arbitron ratings for the X-Files in Season Four and she had posted..." his face fell, "that I needed to re-check my source of information because she thought that Arbitron handled the ratings for radio stations and it was usually the Nielsons that handled television ratings. That's about when I started staying in the 'Malcolm' forums..." "Mr. Porter," Doggett reached inside his coat. Skip flinched and held up his hands as if he was expecting Doggett to pull out his gun. "Put your hands down, you look like a moron," Starkweather snapped at him. Doggett scrawled an address on the back of his business card. "Can you have all those tapes sent to my hotel room?" he handed Skip his card. "Oh sure," Skip said with a gulp, taking the card. "Um... do you wanna go see the set for A.D. Skinner's office now?" "No," Doggett said. "We've been in there enough," Starkweather added. "Mr. Porter," Doggett said formally, putting his pen back in his coat pocket. "Thank you for your time. We'll show ourselves out." Skip wailed "You CAN'T be without an escort!" Starkweather pulled her FBI identification out of her pocket and held it up for Skip to see. "This says I can," she purred, turning around again. Putting his hand on the small of her back, Doggett added as he ushered Starkweather out the door, "And our badges aren't property of the prop room either." As they left the intern alone quivering with fear, Starkweather said "Let's take the scenic route towards the exit, shall we?" "Fine with me," Doggett replied. "Oh, hey Doc?" "Yeah?" "If we get separated, I'm the one wearing a black suit, blue shirt and tie and a big 'Visitors' badge clipped to my lapel." "I hope you trip and fall in front of Julia Roberts," Starkweather pouted. February 9, 2003 "Poor wittle Tristy-wisty-pie!" "It *is* amazing how animals will reduce the human vocabulary to motherese, isn't it?" If Reyes heard him, she didn't show it. "Bad Kharma always catches up with you. Poor little thing probably told a little fib in a past life." "Or maybe he soiled a poor, hapless soul's suit," he said with a heavy sigh, shrugging out of his jacket, and crumpling it up into a ball. "I needed to send it to the cleaners anyway..." "Send me the bill, Mr. Chung. I'm so sorry! Who knew dogs got car-sick?" "Don't worry, I will." "Anything else you wanted to know, Mr. Chung?" Reyes said edgily. "What's your sign?" "Tell me, Mr. Chung, are you really a writer, or do you use that as an excuse to meet poor hapless souls in the name of 'art'? Because you need an updated routine. That is the oldest line in the book." "Agent Reyes, I'll have you know I won the Isaac Asimov Award for It Came From Outer Space. At one time I was on the New York Times best-seller list two years straight, and believe me, spending quality time with a hippie like you and this...MONGREL...is NOT my ideal way of picking up women. If you'll pardon the insult. But it's a writer's job to be honest, not candid." "You obviously haven't been laid in years." "My dear, if you're getting a male dog as a companion, I'm betting you haven't either. May I ask you a question?" "PISCES!" Reyes roared, almost losing control of her 4-Runner. "Excuses me?" "I'm a Pisces." Reyes said testily. "Thank you, Agent Reyes. That gives me a great deal of insight into your character." "Oh, so you're into Astrology! Maybe you won't be head lice in your next life after all." "My dear Agent Reyes, don't take this the wrong way, but I don't know whether or not you will be a reliable source of information. You don't seem to have all your...marbles." "I didn't graduate from Brown and last this long in the FBI without all my marbles, Mr. Chung. Just because I may march to the beat of a different drummer doesn't make me totally off my rocker." "Well then, perhaps you can tell me what you know concerning the relationship between Agent Doggett and Agent Starkweather?" "Relationship? It's purely professional," Reyes answered quickly. "Tristy, honey, you're looking a little green. Does mommy need to pull over?" "Surely you've seen...SOMETHING dubious, Agent Reyes. I mean, they've spent all that time together, after all." Saturday, November 10, 2001 The rest of the day at 1013 Productions had been a wash. Neither Doggett or Starkweather met any other celebrities... much to Doggett's relief, he didn't know how he would have reacted if he met his mirror image. But they were not able to speak to any of the producers or directors or anyone else either. And they discovered that snooping was a waste of time, security was tighter at 1013 than at the Pentagon. Eventually, discouraged, they figured out that the tour was just a ruse to placate them, so they gave up, called a cab and headed back to the hotel, with stacks and stacks of tapes that Skip apologized for not being able to deliver to their hotel after all. On the way back, Starkweather's cell phone had whirred. "Agent Starkweather." "Mrs. Starkweather, we have set up meetings with X-Philes for you and Agent Doggett across the country so you can continue your research into Fan Fiction." "Come again?" Starkweather said blankly to Byers. "What?" Doggett asked her. "Byers said he's set up meetings with X-Philes for us across the country and what the hell do you mean ACROSS the country? As in the United States-country? Skinner's going to flip out about our expenditures already. How in the hell do you think he's going to react to a road trip across the States? And anyway where did you guys meet all these people?" Apparently the Lone Gunmen were on speaker phone. "Message boards," Langly said. "Tech conventions," Byers said. "Strip clubs...you know, our usual hangouts," Frohike said. "We couldn't drag Byers to the strip club." "That's not true! I wasn't invited!" Byers countered heatedly. "We didn't want you to scare the girls off," Langly whined. Plus, most of those folks would think you're a narc. I thought you were." Starkweather had handed her phone to Doggett, pleading "Make them go away." Doggett had taken the phone "Guys. Thanks for all your extra efforts. But no thanks. We'd 'preciate it if you'd help by not helping us." Langly spoke as if Doggett hadn't come on the phone. "Your first interview is tomorrow night in San Francisco. We're emailing you the rest of the itinerary." "But-" Frohike had butted in "You wanna do this, trust us." "Why?" "Because your very last interviewee is a lovely lady in Des Moines, Iowa that goes by the handle of Scully3776." Doggett's eyebrows had risen. "How the hell do you know her? Or do I wanna know?" "Trust us," was all that Frohike would say, "She seems to be a fan." So now, instead of trying to get a good night's sleep before a long drive from Los Angeles to San Francisco, Starkweather sat alone in the bar, chewing on a pen lid as she wrote notes on a copy of "Frequency Modulation" she had printed out. For some odd reason she couldn't find "Quanta", the next story in the 'series'. "Ready for another one?" the bartender asked her, noting the empty glass beside the case folders she had brought with her. Starkweather looked up at the bartender and looked at the mirror behind him. Saw a practically deserted bar except for an old couple sitting alone in a corner, drinking wine and holding hands. And her own pale heart-shaped face staring back at her. For some reason, that sight brought tears to unsentimental eyes. "Yeah," Starkweather said, taking the pen lid out of her mouth. Then she started to fiddle with her wedding ring, the diamond sparkling in the minimal light. As the bartender mixed her drink, Starkweather stopped fidgeting with her ring, resting her cheek on her fist, twiddling with her pen instead. She looked up at the bar mirror again and couldn't suppress a smile when she saw the reflection of a tall man enter the bar. She didn't turn around until he was behind her. "This seat taken?" She turned and smiled "It is now, Agent Doggett." She didn't turn around until he was behind her. "This seat taken?" She turned and smiled "It is now, Agent Doggett." "You sure I'm Agent Doggett?" he joked as he sat on the bar stool next to her, putting a file down on the bar in front of him. "Maybe I'm Robert Patrick." She eyed his t-shirt and jeans. "I think Robert Patrick can afford better clothes." "I take it you've recovered from today then?" Doggett asked her after ordering a beer. "I wouldn't say recovered. I would say too drunk to care." "Whatever works," Doggett said, pushing the file towards Starkweather. "The boys sent us our itinerary." "Where do we go from San Francisco," Starkweather asked, flipping open the file, reading the emails. But she didn't get very far because she felt someone tapping her on the shoulder. Warily she turned around. The look on her heart shaped face was classic when she saw the little old man standing behind her. "Can I help you?" "I hope I'm not intruding," he said with an old man's wheeze. "But... well," he smiled sheepishly. "It's our," he tilted his head in the direction of the little old lady still at the table, her lined face softened by the candlelight. "It's our fortieth wedding anniversary." "Um... that's nice," Starkweather was a loss. Doggett was too, although he was politer. "Congratulations." "I was wondering... well, this is a long shot but," he then looked at the piano in the corner of the empty bar. "Do either of you play?" Doggett smiled at Starkweather. "That's your department." Starkweather tried to smile as she slid off the seat. She walked to the piano as if someone had sent to her execution. Doggett frowned as he watched her sit down. ::Too drunk to care, my ass:: he thought as the old man asked his wife to dance. ::Jerilyn, what's wrong?:: "Surely you've seen...SOMETHING dubious, Agent Reyes. I mean, they've spent all that time together, after all." "Mr. Chung, my Assistant Director Walter Skinner and I had to go to Mexico on the spur of the moment to rescue my colleagues from La Luna Blanca. We spent three days in Mexico. The next year when my partner was abducted, we logged a lot of hours investigating his disappearance. But nothing dubious happened then. Just because two people of the opposite sex happen to spend a lot of quality time together doesn't mean they have to hit the sheets." "Oh, I quite agree with you Agent Reyes, the more time I've spent with you makes me wonder if I shouldn't be a homosexual." "Mr. Chung, I swear, if you make one more lewd comment like that, I'll file a sexual harassment charges." "Someone who has slept with both her partner and her boss respectively is going to win by a landslide, no doubt," Chung said with heavy sarcasm. "John and I weren't on the case together when we started dating. As for Brad. Well...he didn't handle my cases." "So, that said. What affections do you think your esteemed colleagues have for each other?" "John has too much baggage to be in any sort of healthy relationship. His son of a previous marriage was killed, and the marriage broke up because of the tragedy. We met because of that case, and after the case was over, I became his rebound girl. Unfortunately, I was still rebounding from Brad at the time. I broke it off with him after he decided his career was more important than me." "People do come to there senses every now and then, Agent Reyes," "Do you just want to make it easier and give me all your money now?" "Don't let my editorial comments stop you. Please continue." Reyes cleared her throat. "Where was I?" "Brad just came to his senses." Reyes shot him a murderous glare and said sweetly, "I am armed you know. Tristan is the only person for miles." "I have just been threatened by someone who has mistaken a four-legged-fiend for a person," he mumbled under his breath. Apropos of nothing, she continued. "We resurrected a friendship of sorts when he called me to assist him on this case he spearheaded. A missing agent. The founder of the division he had just joined. He took over the division after that, and appointed me as junior partner. Then, about a year ago, the caseload just got to be too much. AD Skinner hired Agent Starkweather while I was out with a sprained back, and by the time I recovered, they had already made a strong connection. But since she was married, and he really didn't want to get mixed up in any attachments and it was against FBI regulations, nothing physical ever transpired from that." "So what are you jealous of?" Saturday, November 10, 2001
Starkweather dutifully played "Clair de Lune" as the old couple held each other in the middle of the empty bar. Doggett ordered himself a whiskey on the rocks and had the bartender refill Starkweather's glass. "She's not bad," the bartender said as he took the money from Doggett. "Yeah," Doggett said, raising his glass to his lips. "She's not too bad at all." When Starkweather finished, the old lady approached her and put her hand on her shoulder. "That was beautiful, dearie, thank you so much..." then she leaned down to whisper into Starkweather's ear. "But we're old, not dead. Do you know anything more lively?" Starkweather grinned and ran her fingers across the piano keys. At first Doggett didn't recognize the song at all until she started singing: What's the matter with the clothes I'm wearing?
What's the matter with the car I'm driving?
Oh, it doesn't matter what they say in the papers
How about a pair of pink sidewinders
What's the matter with the crowd I'm seeing?
She finished the song off with a flourish and to Doggett's amazement, a genuine smile. As the old couple applauded, the bartender, shaking his head with a grin said to Doggett "Man, your girl's got a damn fine voice." Doggett opened his mouth to correct the bartender, but closed and grinned sheepishly instead. "Thanks," he said quietly as he watched Starkweather slide off the piano bench to talk to the happy couple. "Lively enough for you?" Starkweather asked the elderly lady. "We saw Billy Joel and Elton John in concert together a few years ago,," the elderly lady gushed. "Elton is so cute." "Honey," the old man said to his wife, rolling his eyes. "He's queerer than a three dollar bill." The old lady only sniffed. "He's still cute." She leaned in and whispered to Starkweather. "He's just cranky because he left the Viagra at home." Starkweather felt her cheeks grow hot. "Um..." "Don't mind her," the old man said. "The Alzheimer's is just kicking in now." "Don't tell people that! They'll think you're serious!" his wife said, putting her fists on her bony hips, glaring at him. "You're right, I'm sorry," he crooned to her. Then turning to Starkweather he said. "She doesn't really have Alzheimer's, she's always just been nuts." His wife smacked him in the arm. "Do you two... always bicker like this?" Starkweather asked. "Yes," the couple replied in unison. "For forty years?" "We would have gotten a divorce about thirty years ago," the old man said. "But it was too expensive," the old woman finished for him. "Why do you ask?" "Oh..." Starkweather said, thinking of Mulder and Scully. "No reason." "Do you and your husband bicker?" the old lady asked slyly. Starkweather suddenly became very interested in her shoes. "No." The old man then looked at Doggett at the bar then up at Starkweather. "Well, every couple is different," he said, taking his wife's hand. "C'mon, let's go." "Thank you again," the old lady said as her husband escorted her out of the bar. When Starkweather returned to the bar and sat down to the left of Doggett, she muttered "Okay, so where were we?" She kept her eyes firmly glued to the papers on the bar. San Francisco, right?" "Doc..." Starkweather ignored him. "What time do you want to leave tomorrow?" "Doc..." "Seven? Or earlier?" Doggett damned propriety, reached across the bar and around her face, touching the right side of her face. He felt her freeze but he gently pressed on the side of her face, right on her jawline, forcing her to look up at him. When her dark eyes were locked on his light ones, he dropped his hand and said "Honey... don't worry if Ben's not calling, alright? Ben's in perfect health. He's not gonna go jump in front of a train. If something bad happened, then someone other than Ben would be calling us. 'Sides, even if something's bad gonna happen, how the hell are we going to change it from here?" "But-" In a softer voice, he said "If someone told me Luke was going to be killed before, hell if I'd let that happen. But sometimes, it just ain't in our reach, and all we got to do is deal with our deck, ya know?" "I know," she said, looking away again. "I..." She crossed her arms and rested them on the bar. "I really believed that I was going to grow old and wrinkled with Ben. I wouldn't have... I wouldn't have changed my last name if I didn't believe that..." Doggett reached over again and lightly took her left hand. Rubbing his thumb over her knuckles and her wedding ring, he said roughly "It'll be okay." "I know." She squeezed his hand back then slid off the bar stool. "Seven-oh-hundred hours then?" "Let's make it six." "I hate you," she grumbled but she surprised him by hugging him. Tight. "Sure you do," Doggett said, awkwardly wrapping an arm around her little waist. "Go to bed." "Tease," she snorted as she released her hold. Impulsively she messed up his hair before leaving the bar. Once out of ear shot, the bartender said "You know it's only a couple hours drive from here to Vegas and she can get a quickie di-" "Shut up." Doggett snarled. "And I need another." He pushed his empty glass towards the bartender. The bartender grinned and set the bottle of Black Velvet next to Doggett's glass. "Holler when you need more ice." "You're a good man," Doggett muttered as he started down the road to complete alcoholic oblivion. . "Just leave a big tip." Sunday, November 11, 2001 Starkweather, dressed in a pair of rumpled black Levi's and a baggy red sweatshirt she had borrowed indefinitely from Ben, sipped at her coffee as Doggett stumbled in. "Jesus," she said, real concern in her voice when she noticed how bloodshot his eyes were. "You look like hell." "Mmmshudupwouldja?" he mumbled, pausing to dig for something in his jeans pockets. Eyeing his untucked shirt and his unshaved face, she asked "Are you all right, Papa John." He fished out the keys to the rental car out of his pocket and said "You're drivin'" as he dropped the keys in her lap. "Oh my God," Starkweather said to herself as she watched Doggett stagger out, dragging his luggage behind him. "He's dying..." February 14, 2003
"It's quite a long car ride from LA to San Francisco, isn't it Mr. Doggett?" Jose Chung asked, steepling his fingers, resting his chin on his middle and ring fingers. "It wasn't a short trip, no," Doggett said nonchalantly. "What did you and Mrs. Starkweather talk about?" Instantly Doggett became defensive. "Why?" "Was curious if you and Mrs. Starkweather made some sort of revelation on the case during the car ride from LA to San Francisco is all," Jose Chung said innocently as he reached for his notebook to write "Dog --> stick up butt. If coal, would come out diamond." "Well, we didn't talk a whole lot. I wasn't feeling very well that morning, so I slept a lot of the way..." Sunday, November 11, 2001 "Doggett..." "ZZZZZ..." Starkweather sighed. She had turned up the radio as loud as it would go and even Saliva's 'Click, Click Boom' couldn't drown out Doggett's snores. She ended up turning down the radio and tried poking him in the shoulder while saying his name. "Doggett... Papa John... Puppy Man..." Exasperated, she muttered "Oh God damn it," before reaching over and giving him a solid thump on the chest with the palm of her hand. Doggett woke up with a start. "Ow! What'n the hell's that for?" "You were snoring loud enough to wake the dead!" "I do not snore, you're the one who snores." "Right and you don't talk in your sleep either." Starkweather said in a huffy voice. "And I do NOT snore." "Doc, I really bleeping don't feel good right now," he whined. "Just don't bug today okay?" February 9, 2003 "So did Mr. Doggett confide to you what he and Mrs. Starkweather discussed during their car trip from Los Angeles to San Francisco?" Jose Chung asked, handkerchief to his nose, eyes watering as strands of dog hair floated around the SUV. Reyes idly petted Tristan who was sleeping in her lap as she drove. "If he confided in me," she said as they entered the Washington DC city limits. "Wouldn't that indicate that he gave me information that he wanted me to keep to myself?" "Didn't anyone tell you it is not good to answer a question with a question?" Jose Chung said right before he sneezed. "And I didn't ask for the details of what Mr. Doggett may have said. I asked if he had confided in you or not?" "No, he didn't." "Did he say anything about the car trip?" "All he said," Reyes said as Tristan began to snore slightly. "Was that he slept most of the way because he wasn't feeling well." "Do you know why he wasn't feeling well?" "I assumed he was still run down from when he had the flu. He said that he was already not feeling well the night before. He went to the bar with Agent Starkweather, had a drink with her and called it a night. Why?" "Because that doesn't match up with what one of my other sources said. I became dear friends with the bartender of the Comfort Inn who said.... Wednesday February 5, 2003
"Man, he got really fucked up that night." Jose Chung wrinkled his nose at the bartender's language. "Well, he did." "What did he say?" Jose Chung got out his pen and paper. "What's in it for me?" Jose Chung pulled out a twenty dollar bill... Saturday, November 10, 2001
"So anyway," Doggett filled his glass as the bartender began to clean up. "This thing comes down from the sky and says to me 'Be thou not afraid! No harm will come unto thee.' So I said, what do you want from me? and the alien says 'Your efforts are needed for the survival of all earthlings.' I asked him how'n the hell am I supposed to do that? Then the alien says 'Come. I shall showeth thee.' And before I knew it, I was aboard the hover vessel and was not heading into outer space, but inner space, heading towards the earth's molten core. For that is the domain of the third alien, whose name, he soon told me... was Lord Kinbote..." Wednesday February 5, 2003 Comfort Inn 1710 West 7th Street Los Angeles, CA 90017 10:12 AM Pacific Time Jose Chung looked at the bartender skeptically. "Uh... okay, maybe that was some other guy... actually, what Agent Doggett said was..." Saturday, November 10, 2001
"I'm the key figure in an on-going government charade, the plot to conceal the truth about the existence of extraterrestrials. It's a global conspiracy, actually, with key players in the highest levels of power, that reaches down into the lives of every man, woman, and child on this planet. So, of course, no one believes me. I'm an annoyance to my superiors, a joke to my peers. They call me Spooky. Spooky Doggett, whose sister was abducted by aliens when he was just a kid and who now chases after little green men with a badge and a gun, shouting to the heavens or to anyone who will listen that the fix is in, that the sky is falling and when it hits it's gonna be the bleepstorm of all time. Wednesday February 5, 2003
Jose Chung put away his money. "Alright, alright! Here's what happened. But it's really not that interesting... he was getting drunk over some girl..." Saturday, November 10, 2001
"You know it's only a couple hours drive from here to Vegas and she can get a quickie di-" "Shut up. And I need another." "Holler when you need more ice." The bartender grinned as he set the bottle of Black Velvet next to Doggett's glass. Doggett muttered "You're a good man," as he started down the road to complete alcoholic oblivion, clumsily pouring himself a double. "Just leave a big tip." "I work for the government, I don't have much to spare," Doggett said as he leaned forward on the bar stool, looking up at one of the TVs above the bar. "You get ESPN?" "We get everything," the bartender grinned as he found the remote control and changed the channel. "Aw man," Doggett complained as ESPN showed replays of the NASCAR race earlier that day "I forgot about the race in Phoenix today." "They'll still be at Phoenix International tomorrow. Winston Cup Series." "What time?" "Uhh, think twelve, no eleven." "Bleep," Doggett muttered. "I'll still be on the road." "Will the blond at least let you listen to the race if you can pull it in on an AM station?" "Only if I stuff her in the trunk first. And I don't think they have NASCAR on the radio. At least I didn't think so." He shook his head as he drained his glass quickly. "I shouldn't be doing this," Doggett muttered as he poured himself another shot. "I've got to get up early..." "Make her drive and sleep off your hangover," the bartender quipped. "She'll think I'm dying if I let her drive," Doggett mumbled, staring up at the TV, elbow on bar, glass to cheek. *** "Will the blond at least let you listen to the race if you can pull it in on an AM station?" "Only if I stuff her in the trunk first. And I don't think they have NASCAR on the radio. At least I didn't think so." He shook his head as he drained his glass quickly. "I shouldn't be doing this," Doggett muttered as he poured himself another shot. "I've got to get up early..." "Make her drive and sleep off your hangover," the bartender quipped. "She'll think I'm dying if I let her drive," Doggett mumbled, staring up at the TV, elbow on bar, glass to cheek. The bartender shook his head. "Women," he snorted. "Tell me 'bout it," he mumbled. "Can't live with 'em..." "Can't stuff 'em in a trunk and forget about 'em either..." Doggett said gloomily, taking a long drink. "I've never been in this kind of situation before..." The bartender, used to being the stand-in-priest for impromptu confessions, continued to wipe down the bar, listening avidly. "I've had female partners before..." "How long you've been in the FBI?" "'Bout six years. My last partner before transferring to DC was a woman. Damn fine investigator." "Was she ugly?" Doggett shook his head. "Nah, she was good-looking. But she was married and had kids and even if she hadn't been, it's against FBI protocol. You don't have relationships with your partners, subordinates or superiors. It's pretty cut and dried right there." "Why?" the bartender said? "What's the big deal?" "Because you can't let personal feelings interfere with the investigation. You have to stay focused. You have to stay professional." "And this chick is bleeping that all up for you, isn't she?" Doggett took another swallow. "She's bleeping up a lot of things for me," he muttered darkly. February 14, 2003
"I DID NOT SAY THAT!" Jose Chung grinned "Care to tell me your version, Mr. Doggett?" "Unfortunately it's not as interesting as the bartender's fabrication," Doggett said with admirable calm. "I had a few drinks and watched TV down at the bar, then went back to my room and tried to get some shut-eye before before leavin' for San Francisco." "Agent Reyes said that you told her you slept most of the way to San Francisco because you weren't feeling well." "That's right," Doggett said tersely. "Which had nothing to do with the quantity you may or may not have had to drink the night before?" Jose Chung asked angelically. Doggett glared at him. "Mr. Chung, could we please stick to the original subject for this meeting? I don't think my drinking habits have a damn thing to do with your book." "It's nothing to be ashamed of," Jose Chung said blithely. "I'm rather a, erm, lightweight myself." Trying to ignore the Artic gaze Doggett gave him, he cleared his throat and said "But yes, yes. Yes it would be prudent to stay on topic. I know you're a busy man... um..." he consulted his sloppy notes. "You slept most of the way to San Francisco while Agent Starkweather drove..." Sunday, November 11, 2001 En route from Los Angeles to San Francisco... "Doc, I really bleeping don't feel good right now," he whined. "Just don't bug today okay?" "Well," Starkweather said testily. "Excuse me all the way to hell. Didn't know I was such a nuisance to you, Agent Doggett." "Don't get your britches in a knot," Doggett grumbled. She sniffed and started to surf through the radio stations. "Let me know if the stations meet your approval," she snarled at him. Before Doggett could retort the car engine began to make a loud banging noise. "Oh bleep," Starkweather said as she pulled the car over. "Oh God," Doggett sighed. Smoke began to seep from underneath the hood. Starkweather got out of the car first. Doggett popped the hood before getting out as Starkweather pulled out her cell phone. "I'm going to try to get a hold of Triple A," Starkweather said. "Ben and I are members." "So'm I," Doggett said, rolling up his shirt sleeves. "First, I wanna see what'n hell's wrong with this." "I'll tell you what's wrong with it," Starkweather said. "It's a Dodge." Doggett said patiently "There's nothing wrong with Dodges. I own one." "So do I and it's the bane of my existence." "Honey, your car is a piece of bleep because it's old. Not because it's a Dodge." "There's no service," Starkweather announced as Doggett stood near the car, waiting for the smoke to dissipate before getting closer to the engine. "Well, I hope you have a pair of tennis shoes in your luggage," Doggett said. "'Cause I have a feelin' we're gonna be walking..." "Walk where?," Starkweather said looking around. "We're in the middle of no where." "How far away are we from San Francisco?" Doggett asked while thinking ::I should have stayed drunk...:: "It's another four hours, driving time," Starkweather said. "Hopefully the engine's just overheated and we can limp it along to the nearest gas station or something," Doggett said. "How much do you know about cars?" Starkweather asked watching Doggett carefully lift up the hood. The smoke had lessened. "Quite a bit, if it's American make and model. My dad had a repair garage. I used to help him out as a kid. Learned a bit through osmosis." Before Doggett could put his knowledge to the test, a vintage Volkswagen van pulled up behind them. "If the Gunmen followed us to LA, I'll kick their asses," Starkweather said through her teeth. "Maybe they wanted to take their act to Leno?" Doggett offered. "How can anyone watch Leno when Letterman is far superior is beyond me," Starkweather said as she watched the driver of the van get out. To her heartfelt relief, it was not one of the Gunmen. But an older gentleman who didn't get the memo about the Sixties being over. "Hi!" he said cheerfully. "Looks like you're having problems. Need a lift?" "God, that would be great," Doggett said. "Where are you heading?" "San Francisco, so I can drop you off anywhere in between." "Actually..." Starkweather said "We're on the way to San Francisco too." "Excellent! It's a great city. My name is Bert," he said. "John," Doggett said, coming around to shake Bert's hand. "And you?" Bert asked, eyeing Jerilyn appreciatively. "Mrs. Starkweather," she said pointedly. "Well, Mr. and Mrs. Starkweather, let me help you get your things out of the car and we'll be on our way. And hey, did you know that Consumer Reports give Dodge Stratuses big thumbs down because of engine problems? Buy American, my butt," Bert said cheerfully as he walked to the car. Doggett looked at Starkweather. "I'm taking a very long nap the rest of the way," he informed her. "Good," She said lightly. "Sleep tight, Mr. Starkweather." Doggett scowled. Doggett would have slept in the back, peacefully, except that animated conversation was taking place in the front seat. Well, at least Bert's side of the conversation was animated. "So what do you and Mr. Starkweather do?" Bert asked politely. "We're both FBI Agents." "Really, in the field or at the desk?" Bert asked eagerly. "Field work. We're on an investigation right now." "Really? Kick-bleep! What are you investigating?" "Well...it's kind of complicated." "Hey, if I can understand X-Files mythology, I can understand anything." "You're an x-files fan?" "The term is x-phile...you know, with the p-h instead of the f." "Just peachy." "Why do you ask?" "Well," Starkweather answered with a fake smile, trying to suppress a groan, "it just so happens, that's what the investigation is all about. You see, we're both on the X-Files unit." "No bleepin' way!" Bert swerved off the road at one point looking at the reflection of Doggett in the rear-view mirror. "You know...he looks like that new guy...the one with the funny accent...So you're really from th X-Files?! The really real ones? Get out of here!" "I wish I could!" Starkweather mumbled. "So what does that have to do with the FBI? Why are they interested in us?" "I'm not at liberty to say." "Understandable!" Bert said. "So how come they didn't use you as a character?" "I've only been in the division for less than a year." "Oh. Well, you'll make a cool character." ." Bert said as he reached around the back of his seat. Nervously Starkweather watched him fumble around until he managed to get the ancient cooler. "Brewsky?" he asked Starkweather, holding out an Old Milwaukee Light. Starkweather's mouth dropped open. "You're driving!" "Naw, I'm not gonna drink and drive. I'm asking if you wanted one." "No!" her mouth said although her brain said "Yes!" "Ya sure?" Bert asked. "I'm a Bud Light girl," Starkweather said, "And anyway, it would still be Open Container in a Moving Vehicle," she finished primly. "Alright, alright," he said, tossing the beer back into his cooler. "So... how long you and Mr. Starkweather been married?" "Two years." Bert whistled through his teeth. "Not long." "Not very." "Looks like it's going good though." "Um..." Starkweather looked over her shoulder at her sleeping partner, sprawled out uncomfortably in the back bench seat. She sighed. "Yeah... it's just peachy." She smiled at Bert, excused herself and crept into the back of the van. Kneeling down, she shook Doggett a little. He blinked his eyes. "What? Are we there yet?" "No, you just look miserable and I'm tired of talking to Bert. I wanna play doctor." Doggett couldn't help but grin "Promises, promises." "Oh, bleep off," she said affectionately. "What's the matter?" "Just didn't sleep worth a damn last night and have a splitting headache," he said pathetically. "Do you have any aspirin?" "Dude, I've been popping aspirin and ibuprofen like candy ever since this case started," she said apologetically. "Here, sit up." Doggett complied and then Starkweather sat where he had been laying. "What are you doing?" Doggett griped. "Lay down," Starkweather said. When Doggett gave her an odd look, she grinned broadly and said "Trust me," as she held her hands up in the air. "I'm a trained professional." "Professional what?" Doggett muttered as he rested his head on her lap. "Close your eyes," she told him as she pressed her fingertips to his temples, massaging his forehead. As the pressure alleviated, Doggett felt himself drifting away. Before he fell completely asleep, he heard Starkweather say "You know, it's a sign of old age if the hangover lasts all day." "Zip it," he mumbled before falling completely asleep. Bert watched them from the rearview mirror. "Aww..." he said to himself. "They're so cute." Then he shook his head. "Damn, I'm getting soft, if I'm thinking like a shipper." Starkweather jerked her head up when she heard the odd term 'shipper' again. ::Memo to me:: she thought as she continued to rub Doggett's temples even though he was sound asleep. ::Email the guys and get an X-Files Net Speak to English Translation List...:: Four and a half hours later... "Here's my stop," Bert said, precariously parallel parking his massive van. "You're on your own from here, I'm afraid. Don't got a phone. Don't want the authorities tapping into it... no offense." "None taken," Doggett and Starkweather droned Bert was nice enough to help Doggett and Starkweather get their luggage out of his van. "Catch ya later!" he said, spreading his fingers like the Vulcans in Star Trek before going up the stairs to one of the old Victorian houses converted into apartments. "Wish the Vulcan death grip was real," Starkweather grumbled. "Thought you were a Star Wars girl," Doggett said as he reached into his coat for his Palm Pilot. "I am. But I'm not oblivious to all pop culture... and since when are you smart enough to run one of those?" "Do me a favor," Doggett said as he consulted the itinerary the Gunmen had emailed them. "And go play in traffic." Starkweather stuck her tongue out at him and sulked when he ignored her. "Alright," Doggett said. "Our first appointment is with a Albert Verlierer." "How far do we have to walk?" Starkweather asked but then noticed looking up at the street numbers on one of the old Victorian houses, then back at his Palm Pilot, then back at the house again. "You have GOT to be bleeping me!" she cried. A few minutes later
"'Twas in another life time,
And if I pass this way again,
"What the hell is that crap?" Doggett complained as the music wailed loudly from behind their first interviewee's door. "Bob Dylan. You should be familiar with that dinosaur, he is of your generation," Starkweather said as she set her luggage down. "At least my generation doesn't have to claim Michael Jackson. Or Devo. Or Debbie Gibson." "Ouch. That hurt." "Or Tiffany." "Alright already..." Doggett also put down his bags as he flashed a quick grin at her. Then both agents re-arranged their faces into serious expressions before knocking on the door. Bert Verlierer, still in his tie-dyed shirt, but now wearing a pair of ugly Bermuda shorts, answered. "Hey, um, I'd let you crash, but my place is only an efficiency so I don't have any room..." "Mr. Verlierer," Starkweather said in the flattest, unhappiest voice possible as she and Doggett showed their FBI IDs. "My name is Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather and this is my partner Special Agent John Doggett. We're here by appointment to ask for your insight into the phenomena of X-Files fanfiction." Bert's jaw opened. "No fricken way." Both Doggett and Starkweather sighed. Bert Verlierer, still in his tie-dyed shirt, but now wearing a pair of ugly Bermuda shorts, answered. "Hey, um, I'd let you crash, but my place is only an efficiency so I don't have any room..." "Mr. Verlierer," Starkweather said in the flattest, unhappiest voice possible as she and Doggett showed their FBI IDs. "My name is Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather and this is my partner Special Agent John Doggett. We're here by appointment to ask for your insight into the phenomena of X-Files fanfiction." Bert's jaw opened. "No fricken way." Both Doggett and Starkweather sighed. "May we come in?" Starkweather asked. "Um, yeah, sure, come in... um, the place is a little bit of a mess," he said as he scooted aside so that the agents could walk in. "It's not much," he said cheerfully as he spread his arms out. "You can say that again," Starkweather mumbled as her witchy eyes flicked here and there, taking in the small room with a kitchen sink, dorm fridge and countertop on one side of the room and the futon crammed on the other side. There was a coffee table littered with take-out containers and half-full Starbucks to-go cups. Pictures and posters, some framed, some not, hung haphazardly throughout the entire apartment. A giant palm tree plant was wilting next to the door that lead to Bert's tiny bathroom. "But it's home," Bert sank down into his futon. As clouds of dust enveloped him, he said apologetically. "I haven't been home in a few days. Want a seat?" "We'll stand," both Doggett and Starkweather declared. "Suit yourself," Bert said watching as Doggett tilted his up to look at the enormous tie-dyed sheet tacked to the ceiling and Starkweather stared enviously at the autographed picture of Rolling Stone hanging above the kitchen sink. "So... you said your name was 'Doggett', just like the TV show?" "Yup," Doggett said. "Neat coincidence," Bert said enthusiastically. "That's what I thought," Doggett said unenthusiastically. "Mr. Verlierer, our sources tell us you can help us understand a certain genre of the fanfiction subculture?" Starkweather said in a wheedling voice. "Oh sure," Bert said happily. "I can tell you anything you need to know about slashfic." Both Doggett and Starkweather cringed. "Slash?" Doggett said weakly. Doggett also put down his bags as he flashed a quick grin at her. Then both agents re-arranged their faces into serious expressions before knocking on the door. Bert Verlierer, still in his tie-dyed shirt, but now wearing a pair of ugly Bermuda shorts, answered. "Hey, um, I'd let you crash, but my place is only an efficiency so I don't have any room..." "Mr. Verlierer," Starkweather said in the flattest, unhappiest voice possible as she and Doggett showed their FBI IDs. "My name is Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather and this is my partner Special Agent John Doggett. We're here by appointment to ask for your insight into the phenomena of X-Files fanfiction." Bert's jaw opened. "No fricken way." Both Doggett and Starkweather sighed. "What can I do you for?" Bert asked. "Tell us what you know about X-Files fanfiction." "Um, well...it all started with this usenet group called X-Files creative. This was about the fourth one of its kind to get any major activity. The first ones were for things like Star Trek and Star Wars, and only the nerds went to those. Then the first one to run on network T.V. and attract a major audience was for Quantum Leap. Back in '92 or so, they started this site called Gossamer, which has a bunch of uploaded stories on it. It was a pretty big deal, 'cause it was the first of its kind. Then from there, a bunch of off-shoot sites started, like the basement and a few others." (see footnote) "What exactly do you get out of stories written by amateurs?" "Mostly? Kinks. Come on, Agent Doggett...haven't you ever wanted to see Reyes and Scully doin' the horizontal polka? Oh yeah, and it's fun to flame the bad ones to hell. And the Mulder-Scully shippers are always fun bait." Doggett and Starkweather gave each other pained expressions. "You do realize that it's against copyright laws and the Decency Act, don't you?" Starkweather said. Bert wore an expression akin to a deer caught in headlights. "Yeah," he said, swallowing hard: "but wasn't J-Lo's dress at the Grammy's last year a violation of the Decency Act, too? She didn't get arrested. Isn't that like a precedent or something? I'm not gettin' arrested here?" When no-one answered him, he squeaked. "Am I?" Starkweather just shook her head. "I mean," he added hastily, "*I* don't write this shit." "Yeah," Doggett said. "But you host a site on it." "So all that bull about you guys watching where we surf is true?" Bert said with an awestruck tone of voice. "Day-um." "Yeah," Starkweather said dryly. "We really have nothing better to do with our lives than watch as you go from porn site to porn site." "Not all slash is porn!" Bert interrupted. "Isn't the whole purpose of slash to...um...get your kinks?" "Well...yeah..." Bert admitted. "But still...I'm a bad apple. Seriously, though, people take their slash seriously. Slash has been around as long as there has been fanfic. Even longer than that. I mean, it doesn't get my bon-bon goin', but didn't you ever since a little something more going on in the subtext in the Lord of the Rings Trilogy--" "It wasn't a Trilogy." Starkweather said. "And PLEASE don't desecrate the greatest book of all time." "L.O.T.R. was boring as hell!" Bert protested, "Douglass' Adams Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy was the greatest book of all-times. Followed closely by Mad Magazine." "That's not even a book!" Starkweather ranted. "I don't understand the people who like cabbage, either." "Look," Bert continued. "to make a long story short--" "Too late." Doggett and Starkweather chorused. "Homosexual overtones in the subtext is nothing new. The Great Gatsby was an overload of male-slash overtones. As was A Separate Peace, Lord of the Flies, and in Hugo's Les Miserables. Again, not that it's exactly my thing...but it's there. Even SHAKESPEARE in Midsummernight's Dream had male-slash overtones throughout the whole play. There were femme-slash overtones all over Little Women. You could also argue that there was even some UST among Tybalt and Romeo. Hell, you can't tell me you didn't think Burt and Ernie didn't share beds every now and then. And Miss Piggie looked more like a drag-queen than anything else...and then there's The Color Purple...with ACTUAL femmeslash..." he looked like he'd just seen an oasis in a dessert. "Hold the boat, Mr. Verlierer," Doggett said. "I can't believe I'm listenin' to a conversation about guys gettin' their groove on with each other throughout literary history...but what's UST?" "Unsettled sexual tension." "My quality of life has just improved tenfold for knowing that." Starkweather said dryly. the history of fanfiction can be found at Writer's University, which can be found here: http://writersu.s5.com/history/history.html **the insights into the slasher's mind are taken directly from threads at "The Harry Potter Slasher's Coven." which can be found here: http://pub152.ezboard.com/btheharrypotterslasherscoven* "Unsettled sexual tension." "My quality of life has just improved tenfold for knowing that." Starkweather said dryly. "Well, it was part of the secret of the X-Files," Bert said. "The UST between Mulder and Scully. But UST can be brought to new levels when the homosexual aspect is brought into it. Especially when you play against a character's natural tendencies. Like a site that I really like to visit called "Skin Me Mulder", archives mostly Mulder-Skinner slash and I'm fascinated at all the fics that plausibly cast Mulder and Skinner in a functioning relationship-" Starkweather interrupted Bert's speech with a giggle she tried to turn into a cough. "Sorry..." she said barely keeping a straight face as Doggett continued to look revolted. "Go on..." she said as her wicked brain conjured ways to torment her big brother when she got home ::Admit it, Mulder, the redhead has been a ruse for all these years...:: "Since Mulder is such a multi-dimensional character, it's easy to find quality, believable Mulder-slash. Now good Doggett-slash is a little harder to come by... um, no pun intended," Bert went on. "I'm leaving," Doggett announced. He turned sharp on his heels and stormed out, slamming the door so hard that the tie-dyed sheet pinned to the ceiling fluttered down on top of Bert and Starkweather. "Good idea, dip-bleep," Starkweather said after pulling the sheet off of her. "Tick off the Terminator." "Huh?" "Oh my God, I've found the one person who has never heard of 'Judgment Day', Doggett will be ecstatic," Starkweather muttered to herself. "Look, idiot. Enough of my time and my life has been wasted on this case. Just answer two questions and I promise I'll find you a nice quiet village with an opening for 'idiot'." "Um... okay." "Where in the HELL do people GET the ideas and information to write fanfic? Including the slash-bleep?" "Well, there are some books published on the X-Files, official and unofficial guides. The 'Net... but mostly, it's from the television show. And the movie." "The movie sucked." "Well, I agree Gary Shandling was totally miscast as Mulder but I was sad that Tea Leoni wasn't cast as Scully on the TV show." "HOW can Tea Leoni play Scully?!?!?! Scully is a shrimp!" "Scully's real?" Bert asked, awestruck. "MORON! THE REAL JOHN DOGGETT WAS JUST RIGHT HERE!" "Oh yeah," Bert mumbled. "Sorry. I did a lot of drugs in the Sixties." "And the Seventies, Eighties, Nineties and Today," Starkweather added snidely. "My other question... WHY do people write fanfic?" "It's fun?" he said lamely. When she glared at him, he added "To show our devotion to the show?" "I like 'The Simpsons' but I'm not writing a story about Homer getting in a threesome with Mr. Burns and Krusty the Klown." "Actually..." "I'm leaving!" Starkweather announced, fleeing the apartment searching for her partner, whom she was convinced, was the last normal person on the planet. "The Gunmen are dead." Doggett grumbled. "Only if I can resurrect them and blow them back to hell," Starkweather said. "It's a deal." Doggett said. "How 'bout we find a hotel? And then grab some chow?" "We also need to find a place to rent electronics," Starkweather reminded him. "What for?" "A VCR to watch Season two tapes with." "Oh fuck no." "I don't want to watch anymore than you do," she said shaking her head. "But it's part of the assignment. If we're going to understand how these people talk, we've got to do our homework. Bert said 'No Frickin' way.' Who else do you know who says that?" "Oh God..." Doggett said. "Monica." Starkweather gave him a knowing nod. "Doc?" Doggett asked her when they got in the car. "What kind of idiotic shit is this? I'm all for giving credibility to the X-Files. I'm in it as deep as you and Scully and Mulder are, but I dunno if this is legit. We're being lead on a bunch of wild-goose chases interviewing people who haven't committed a crime." "Please don't tell me you're going to have a mid-life crisis on me. Coz you're a little too old for a mid-life crisis." "Touche." "I think this case is giving entirely new meaning to Reality TV. I'm never going to be able to look at Skinner with a straight face again." "Feel like Chinese?" Doggett said. "Whatever. So long as I don't have to talk to insane people. Ever again." "I wouldn't suggest having another conversation with Mul-Duh, in that case." "He's just as sane as I am." Starkweather said defensively. "Just find a hotel, would ya?" Later...
Taking the tape labeled 'Sleepless' out of the VCR, Starkweather commented "You know, I didn't know Nicholas Lea was in the X-Files." "Who's he?" "He's the guy that played Krycek. He's in a movie called 'Vertical Limits' that Ben totally digs but I hate. I only allow Ben to watch it because I get to stare at Nicholas Lea shamelessly throughout it. Unfortunately his character gets killed off but whatever. Good eye-candy. Not a bad actor either. And speaking of acting, David Duchovny has Mulder 'down'. Completely. Every irritating, arrogant nuance, down to his facial expressions and tone of voice." "You mean monotone of voice," Doggett quipped as he picked the broccoli out of the stir fry he was spooning out of the greasy box for himself. "I have no idea what you're talking about," Starkweather droned Mulder-like. Then she smiled and reverted to her normal speaking cadence. "And eat your broccoli. It's good for you." "I don't like broccoli," he said like a sullen little kid. "And I'm done growing so I don't need that healthy crap anymore." "Ready for more?" Starkweather held up the next tape, titled 'Duane Barry.' Doggett made a face. "Watchin' these shows gives me constipation." "Well if you ate your broccoli, you wouldn't have that problem." Doggett flipped her off as he walked back to the bed he had been laying on. Starkweather put her hand on her chest. "Be still my beating heart. Did Mr. Straight and Narrow do something inappropriate and juvenile?" Doggett carefully settled down on the bed, stretching out his long legs, balancing the paper plate full of food on his lap. "You make me sound like a stick in the mud." "No, a stick in the mud has more personality." "Gee," Doggett drawled as Starkweather took the video tape out of its cover. "How come you haven't made any friends in D.C. yet?" "I have friends," Starkweather said in a wounded voice although her eyes twinkled mischievously. "Just because they're invisible..." "For a minute I thought you were going to count your cat as your friend." "No. Caesar's my baby, not my cat. Speaking of Caesar... isn't Vegas our next destination?" "Yeah, Vegas is where we go tomorrow. And how did we go from your cat to Vegas?" "Caesar's Palace." "Right," Doggett mumbled as Starkweather put the tape in the VCR. But a traitorous thought entered his mind. "Hey Doc?" "Yeah?" "How are things for you? Here in D.C.?" "Well, you know, except for minor details like myself being almost killed twice, Ben being abducted, finding out Mulder's my half-brother and ... well, what happened to Dad at the Pentagon... it's fine... why?" Doggett shrugged. "Curious, I guess. Wondering if you regret coming to D.C. and joining the X-Files." "Why? Do you regret coming to D.C.?" "Sometimes," he admitted. He was quiet, then nodded his head. "Yeah. Sometimes I really regret it and wish I would have stayed at the Atlanta Field Office." "Well, you know why I transferred." Starkweather sat down on the other bed. She fidgeted with the remote control but did not hit 'play'. "Why did you transfer? Other than the whole "Find Mulder" assignment. That was TDY. What made you decide to leave Atlanta?" He thought about it for a little bit. "I guess there was nothing for me in Atlanta." "Have you found anything in D.C.?" "Well, you know why I transferred." Starkweather sat down on the other bed. She fidgeted with the remote control but did not hit 'play'. "Why did you transfer? Other than the whole "Find Mulder" assignment. That was TDY. What made you decide to leave Atlanta?" He thought about it for a little bit. "I guess there was nothing for me in Atlanta." "Have you found anything in D.C.?" "Well, I was hoping for career advancement when I transferred... as you can see," Doggett rested his head against the ugly bed frame. "That turned out really well." "If your old field office asked for you back, would you go?" Starkweather asked. Doggett's brows furrowed in thought. "I don't know," he said as if he was surprised by his own answer. "After everything I've seen just in the short time with the X-Files..." Starkweather's phone rang. "Hold that thought," she said, taking the phone off her belt clip. "Starkweather." "Jerilyn? Hi honey! It's Meg." "Meg! Hi," Starkweather said "Hold on a minute." She covered up the mouthpiece of her cell phone. "It's my lawyer, Margot Rogeux-Brandybuck. She's working on making me Charlie's legal guardian. I've been waiting for this call." "Want me to go?" Doggett asked, picking up his plate of Chinese as he got ready to get off the bed. "No, it's fine. It shouldn't take long." Starkweather put the phone back to her ear. "Meg? Sorry about that. How are you?" "Fine, just fine. How are you? How's your case treating you?" "Urgh. Don't want to talk about it." Starkweather rolled her eyes. "What's going on?" "Just wanted to give you a quick status on Eve Charlie." "Okay." "Well, she's still nuttier than a jar of peanut butter," Meg said cheerily. "That's great..." Starkweather muttered. "But the paperwork's going through slicker than snot for you to have power of attorney over her. I'm thinking it will be finalized before Thanksgiving." "Meg, you're the best." "We'll need you to sign some forms, I just need to know where to send them. Are you going to be in the same place for a while?" "Actually, no," Starkweather said. "We're on the move a lot. Um... send them to A.D. Skinner with a cover letter what they're for. He'll overnight them to wherever I am and I'll sign and overnight them back to you." "That's what I needed to know." Meg said. "Ben says hi by the way." "Well, that's nice of him," Starkweather said acidically. "Ask him for me if his fingers are broken and that's why he can't pick up the damn phone and call me himself?" "Um..." "Never mind," Starkweather sighed. "I don't want to put you in the middle." "I'll call you when I send the papers to Skinner." "Thanks Meg," Starkweather said. After hanging up the phone, she asked Doggett "Ready to watch 'Duane Barry'? I hear David Duchovny wears a Speedo in that episode." "Thanks Meg," Starkweather said. After hanging up the phone, she asked Doggett "Ready to watch 'Duane Barry'? I hear David Duchovny wears a Speedo in that episode." "What was that all about?" Doggett asked, trying to delay the inevitable. "You're stalling," she accused. "So are you," Doggett answered, sitting on the bed next to the bathroom. "No big," she shrugged, getting the tape out of its jacket and setting up the T.V. "Hell just froze over." "Eminem got an Oscar?" She rolled her eyes at him. "I've just got to stick around here till forms can be overnighted for Power of Attorney over Eve Charlie." "So what's the deal?" "Ben says 'hi,'" she grumbled. "Isn't that nice? I mean, if his fingers are too broken to dial the phone, I could just do him a favor and break them for him." "Look, speakin' as an ex husband, I can fully affirm that he doesn't mean to avoid you." "So you're taking his side? Thanks a lot." She put the tape in and pressed play. "Not takin' his side, honey, just playin' Devil's Advocate. Speakin' as a colleague, it's not gonna do any good for you to stew about this, and it certainly ain't gonna help this already bleeped-up assignment if you're givin' me misplaced bleep. Speakin' as a friend...he's a total piece of bleep and he deserves whatever hell you give him when you get home. But put him out of your head 'til you get home, 'cause letting this bleep fester isn't going to do you a damn bit of good." "Point taken." "So this is Duane Berry" "Supposed to be a famous episode. This is the one where Scully gets abducted." She looked at the jacket for an episode summary. "A former FBI Agent who claims to have been abducted by aliens takes several people hostage." They watched until the opening credits rolled. "How hokey is this bleep?" Doggett said. "And people LIKE it!?" "That's what we're trying to figure out." Fifteen minutes later...** "Is it just me, or is Mul-Duh bein' more of an idiot than usual? So, tell me why I busted my bleep gettin' 'im back. It don't make any more sense than this damn tv-show." "Geez...don't you think that the fact that this mother-bleeper speaks in third person is a good clue that not all the lights are on upstairs." "Bad hygiene is a good tip." "Charlie has good hygiene..." Starkweather snapped. "It was that damn mental hospital that made her so filthy." "Oh yeah...sorry." "Since when does Mul-Duh trust anybody!? I thought Mr. Trust-No-One himself didn't buy anybody's nicklebag of tricks, so why's he takin' up with that bleepin' rat...don't answer that," Doggett said, thinking of those slashsites. "I've got to say that Mulder doesn't have a bad choice in guys, though," Starkweather said. "The speed-o's were just a little more than I wanted to see." "No comment," Starkweather said. Doggett pretended he didn't hear that fifteen minutes later** "WEEEEEE!" Starkweather cried, "It's a bird, it's a plane, wait! It's SuperMulder!" ten minutes later** "Didn't see THAT one coming," Starkweather said. "I still wanna know where these bleepers got all the info on the casefiles. That was exactly how it happened according to the casefile." "Someone's leaking info," Starkweather said, stating the obvious. "Odds are, same people who are leaking info to the execs about the x-files cases are leaking onto the net about me. I wanna know who, and I want them to fry." "If we can just stop the stories about me gettin' busy with Skinner, I'll be happy." Monday, November 12, 2001
"Morning," Doggett mumbled, seeing Starkweather sitting in the lobby, sipping a cup of coffee. She looked up at him wryly. "We've got to stop meeting like this." She yawned. "The cab'll be here to take us to the rental car place. And. We're. Not. Renting. A. Dodge." "We'll rent what the budget allows us to rent," Doggett said primly. "Doggett. Come on," Starkweather stood up, picking up her bags. "We've gone way over budget already from going to Athens to Hollyweird to San Francisco and now Vegas? And God knows where else. How is it going to kill us to rent a reliable vehicle?" "American cars are reliable," Doggett said as the cab pulled up outside. "Oh God, you just jinxed us," Starkweather moaned as she trailed Doggett out the door. After than whiny fit, Doggett was extremely surprised to hear Starkweather request a 2001 Ford Aerostar mini-van to rent when they reached the twenty-four hour car rental. "Why in God's name for?" Doggett said. "Because they have the best toys," Starkweather explained. "And we have a nine hour car ride ahead of us. You're driving." "Oh my God..." Doggett said faintly as the car rental customer service representative lead them to their vehicle. "She's dying..." But then Doggett saw the madness behind her method once the van doors slid open. "Oh Christ..." he groaned upon seeing the television-VCR combination console. "Doc, I am NOT watching nine hours of X-Files episodes!" "Whiner," she said, getting into the passenger side seat and unzipping her carry-on bag and pulling out the X-Files videos. "And you wouldn't be watching, you'd be listening since you're driving." "Jerilyn. No." "It's either this or I play Eminem. All. The. Way. There. Over. And. Over." "Man..." the customer service rep said, putting the keys in Doggett's hand. "Your wife sure as hell wears the pants in your house huh?" "Oh shut up," Doggett grumbled, getting into the van. "So what drek are we gonna start with first?" "Well, we finished up the whole Duane Barry-Ascension-One Breath stuff last night," Starkweather said as Doggett slammed the door and turned the van on. "Let's put in 'Irresistible' - that sounds kind of tame." Eight and a half hours later... "Doc, no," Doggett begged just as Starkweather took a tape labeled 'Anasazi' out of its case. "I've had it with flukemen, vampires, government conspiracies, clones, snakes, moving pig fetuses, rampaging elephants, dead men walking, circus freaks and watching Scully eat bugs. I need a break." Starkweather put the tape back in its case. "Fine by me. We're almost there anyway, aren't we?" "Should be," Doggett said, trying not to sound concerned that for the last four hours there had been nothing but desert as far as the eye could see. The last town, if it could be categorized as that, was almost three hours ago. He thanked God that he had stopped to top of the gas tank and buy provisions, such as bottled water, sodas and snacks. But his nerves tortured his stomach as his stomach tortured him. He wanted something more to eat than stale Doritos and melty Snickers bars but on the other side, he was beginning to wonder if they miscalculated how long of a drive it really was to Vegas from San Francisco... or worse, did he take the wrong exit. Starkweather yawned and stretched, her black t-shirt riding up to reveal more than a sliver of her flat belly. Doggett determinedly kept his eyes on the road. "How much longer than?" Starkweather asked, pulling the scrunchy out of her hair, allowing the slippery locks to fall around her shoulders and down her back. As she bent down to search her bag for a hair brush, Doggett said "Maybe thirty minutes or so." "You know," Starkweather said, sitting back up, disgruntled that she only found a pick and not her brush. Making do, she started to rake through her hair in long sweeping motions, she continued "There is something I have noticed with the Internet fanbase." "What's that?" "The dedication some of the fans have to a particular character or star." Doggett sniffed, thinking of all the anti-Doggett sites that had been created at his expense. "Such as?" "Get this, a devoted Mitch Pileggi fan is known as a Wench." "A who is known as a what?" "Mitch Pileggi is the guy who's playing Skinner. His fans started an online community known as the Wenches. You have to be inducted, swear eternal devotion to Pileggi, otherwise known to the Wenches as the Surly Pectoral God-" "Jesus, don't tell Skinner. His head will explode." "Doubtful. I don't think Skinner comprehends what a sex life is. I think he'd need an instruction manual on what to do next if a naked woman sat on his lap," Starkweather said blandly. "And speaking of sex, then there's the David Duchovny Estrogen Brigade." "Oh God." "Don't worry," Starkweather said, her eyes glinting impishly. "There are fan clubs for Doggett too." "Whatever," Doggett said but he felt his ego swelling back up to normal proportions. "Oh, hey, Doc?" "Yeah?" "I think I was speeding," he said, gesturing towards the windshield. Starkweather turned her head forward and saw the City of Sin looming ahead of them. "Viva Las Vegas," she said. In the rear-view mirror, blue lights flashed in the rear-view. "Goddammit!" Starkweather looked back and saw a patrol car tailing them. "You know, if we didn't have to watch those goddamn videos the whole way there, I wouldn't have been in such a hurry to get to Vegas." A chubby cop rapped his night stick on their windshield. Doggett's eyes widened in recognition. "J.D., that you?" "Stan! I'll be damned! Long time no see." "Hey, saw you on the T.V. with all that 9-1-1 bleep. Musta been some kinda hell, huh?" "Just doin' my job." "Speakin' of jobs...know how fast you were goin' back there?" "Got an idea." Starkweather let out a defeated sigh, and climbed over the front seat to get the registration out of the front. "Thank God it was you! I thought it was gonna be one of them yuppy tourist idiots. Me and Deanie been meanin' to give you a call. She keeps in touch with Barb still. But whatdyaknow...drivin' a Ford with a new ball-and-chain, I see," he said, "ma'am," tipping his police hat to Starkweather. "Still are a yuppy tourist." Starkweather handed him the registration. "I'm not his ball-and-chain." "Damn, J.D. I thought you wouldda trained the spunk outta her by now." "What she meant was, she's not my wife." "Oh! One of those, huh. I always pegged you to be the American Dream kinda guy, but everyone's gotta sow their oats." "We're hear for a case." "Yeah," he snorted. "Right. In The City of Sin for a case. Good to know my tax dollars are spent wisely." "What the hell are you doin' with the cacti?" "Deanie got transferred out here, and I followed her. Haven't trained the spunk outta MY ball-and-chain, either," he said with a wink. "Where are you stayin'?" He finished, and handed the registration forms back to Starkweather, who shoved it back into the glove compartment. "Dunno yet, haven't found a place," Doggett answered. "Look," Starkweather said, "it's nice to meet you, but we've been on the road for nine hours. I'd really like to get back to the hotel." "Honeymoon still ain't over yet, huh?" Stan leered. "I'll give you my cell, and you, your lovely lady-friend, me and Deanie will catch up on old times over dinner, my treat. Oh, one more thing," he said, ripping off a yellow piece of paper. "Your ticket. Have a nice time in Sin City. Lookin' forward to dinner." An hour later...
"With Bureau funds at our fingertips," Starkweather complained as Doggett held her hotel room door open for her, "We couldn't stay at the Mirage or the MGM or Caesar's Palace or Bellagio or even Circus! Circus! We have to stay at the FAB-u-lous, Super 8." She tossed her bags indignantly on the bed. The bed instantly collapsed under the weight of her bags. Starkweather turned and glared at her partner, hands on her hips. "Okay, so this place isn't exactly four stars," Doggett said "But what'n the hell were we supposed to do? Even if we could have gotten away with staying at a nicer place... which we couldn't... hell, how we're getting away with this road trip is beyond me..." "May I remind you it was your idea to go to Hollyweird?" Doggett ignored her. "Almost everything else has been booked up in this city. At least this place is clean." "Doggett. One of the beds just broke when I put my bags on it." "There's another one," Doggett said in what he hoped was a soothing tone. "Now I'll be back in a minute. I just wanna put my stuff in my room and take a quick shower before we go get something to eat." "There's time to get something to eat?" "Yeah, we're not meeting our next interviewee until much later tonight at the Mirage." "Goody. I might get to see the big white kitty cats after all!" Starkweather said gleefully. "I wonder if they would mind if I brought one of them home? Caesar needs a friend." "The tiger might consider Caesar an hors d'eouver," Doggett said. "Be back in a few." He was back less than a few. He was back in a minute, in the same clothes and holding his bags. "You've got to be kidding me." "Doc, someone was in my room," Doggett said. "Well, kick him out!" "Um," Doggett looked at his shoes. "It's not a him. It's a him-and-her. Newlyweds." He blushed to his hairline. "Weren't they smart enough to put the 'Do Not Disturb' sign up? And besides, what the hell are newlyweds doing in a regular room besides the naked pretzel? Wouldn't they have a bridal suite?" "Maybe they couldn't get one." "Bleep. Doggett. Look, I know you're a gentleman and all, but Ben will bleeping kill me if he finds out..." she trailed off. Then she looked him in the eyes. "He wouldn't understand," she said as she thought ::He wouldn't believe me.:: Softly Doggett said "This wouldn't be the first time we shared a hotel room." "That's true," Starkweather said, thinking of La Luna Blanca while Doggett was miserably thinking of New York. "Well, it's not like we have much choice," Starkweather said, moving aside to let Doggett in. "Just make sure that... never mind." Doggett paused right outside the bathroom door. "What now?" "Nothing," she said making sure she had on her poker face. "And don't hog all the hot water." She was going to say "Make sure the hotel doesn't bill us for a room you didn't use." But she didn't. Because if for some wild reason, Ben wanted proof that she and Doggett were 'just friends', she could show him the FBI receipt of where in Las Vegas, at the Super 8, one room was used by Agent Starkweather, JM and one room was used by Agent Doggett, JJ. Sometimes cheating the government just simplified life. Later...
After the hostess seated them, Starkweather, a little bewildered, surveyed the decor of the restaurant. "Wow," she finally said lamely, taking in the living palm trees and the lazy streams flowing just outside of their table inside the decadent hotel. "It reminds me of La Luna Blanca... only without rampaging dinosaurs trying to eat us." "I'm hungry enough to eat a dinosaur," Doggett said, reaching for a menu. She snorted. "Uh, Doggett. We all attempted to eat dinosaur once, remember? And we all upchucked." "Correction. You upchucked. I just had the dry heaves." "Lovely dinner topic," Starkweather said, reaching for her own menus. "You realize that Skinner is going to have a cow if he sees this on our expense report." "Nah, I'll just put it on my personal credit card." Starkweather tucked a long golden lock behind her ear. "Doggett, dammit. You're not paying for mine." "Yes I am, so shut your mouth. Besides. I'm just going to write it off on my taxes as business expense," Doggett said. Before she could protest, he added "Besides, we're going to end up talking shop anyway, right?" She allowed herself a smile. "If you say so." As she scanned the menu for the absolutely cheapest item, she said "Damn, I wish we could indulge in a few drinks before the interview. Maybe I'd understand this damn case better if I was drunk." "The case or the fans?" "Both, since they seem to be interchangeable," she said before taking a sip of water. "We've been on this wild goose chase for almost two weeks now. And we haven't made any ground. We still don't know how the girls are accessing the FBI mainframe to get X-Files information and spin their little stories. I mean, Spookykat and Scully3776 have information about our personal lives that the televised X-Files don't even have. All we really know so far is that the X-Files fan base is totally and completely nuts." "On the other side," Doggett played Devil's Advocate. "Haven't you admired an actor or a singer or a band or movie where you almost obsess over it?" "Not to the degree of the X-Philes," Starkweather said snootily. "Uh-huh," Doggett said. And then he coughed, but the cough suspiciously sounded like 'Dave Matthews Band'. "Alright, alright," she grumbled. "Enough from the peanut gallery." "Besides Doc," Doggett said "This isn't the first time or the last time it will feel like we're chasing our own shadows on a case. When you were still at your Minneapolis Field Office, didn't you have a some cases that no matter what you did, they had to closed and categorized as unsolved?" "Yes," she admitted. "And during your time with the X-Files, you've encountered two cases that we had to close out as unsolved. The downed fighter plan in Scotland and La Luna Blanca." "I know," she said miserably. "But I feel like such a failure when I can't finish what I started." Before Doggett could respond, an elegant server came and asked them if they were ready to place their orders. After forcing Starkweather to order what she wanted instead of what wasn't expensive ("But I like snails, really, I do!") and waiting for the server to leave them in peace, Doggett told her "You'll drive yourself insane if you keep that kind of mentality." "Yes, but I don't want to be a mediocre agent either!" "Did I say that?" "Not in so many words, but-" "But nothing. Jesus, woman," Doggett sighed. Remembering how he felt when he was a rookie, he chose his words carefully. "You went into Quantico knowing that you weren't going to be able to save the world, right?" He waited until she nodded. "Okay then. You just have to learn when to walk away." "How do you do that?" Starkweather asked. Doggett provided a grim smile. "Practice. Lots a practice." Then, spurred by sudden inspiration on how to make her understand the importance of avoiding professional burn out, he steered the conversation to territory familiar to her. "I mean, when you were in med school, didn't you learn that with your patients, there's only so much that can be done? Yeah, they're human, yeah they're suffering... but even though every possibility has been explored, there's just no answer?" Starkweather fidgeted with her necklace, thinking of the case that earned her the medal around her neck. "This belonged to Candi...I want you to have it, Agent Starkweather." "Sandy, I can't... this was your sister's..." "No, seriously, I want you to have it. I think Candi would have wanted you to have it. I think, I think she would have liked you." "Yeah," she finally admitted gruffly. "Something like that." Watching the server bringing their salads, she said, "I don't know... maybe what we're documenting, we can at least give 1013 enough ammo to shut down the fan sites. That's got to be copyright violation..." "Probably is," Doggett said. "But I think they like the free publicity." "So basically, it's just our privacy we're trying to save?" Starkweather asked glumly as her salad plate was placed in front of her. "What I don't understand," Doggett said, spearing several lettuce leaves and slices of tomatoes and cucumbers with his fork. "Is what makes this case considered X-Files worthy. I mean, it's not supernatural or paranormal or any of that BS. There's no aliens involved. So what classified it as an X-File?" "Probably because nobody wanted to touch it with a ten-foot-pole," Starkweather said, playing with her salad instead of eating it. "Doc?" Doggett stopped eating. "This is really getting to you, isn't it?" She nodded. "I didn't want to say anything," she whispered. "But if someone really wanted to bleep up my life, all they have to do is direct Ben to these bleeps' website and he'd be able to read..." "Listen to me, Starkweather," Doggett said. "A, you don't have to do this. If you really want out of this, I can call Skinner and tell him that you need your compassionate leave now. With you and Ben on the rocks and what happened to your dad and now this horsebleep with Charlie... I completely understand if you need to get away from this crap and take time to take care of your family. And B, you're not the only one reading those stories. I've been reading up on them too... and Doc, if Ben DOES read them... he'd know that you... well, he'd see both points of view instead of just his own," Doggett finished lamely. "I don't want off of this case," Starkweather said firmly. "I'm just a little tired, that's all." "You look tired," Doggett agreed just as the server came back with their main course. The steaks and boiled potatoes smelled wonderful and Starkweather was dismayed that she had absolutely no appetite. . "Gee thanks," she said when the server left them alone again. "That means I look old." "You don't look old," Doggett said, shaking his head as he began to cut his New York strip. Women and their obsession about age. "I feel old," she mumbled, knowing she was fishing for a compliment and hated herself for doing so. ::... and I'm fishing from my partner. Jiminy Christmas, how unprofessional...:: "You're still in your twenties," Doggett said. "Still wet behind the ears." "I turned twenty-nine last August, thank you very much." Doggett looked embarrassed. "Your birthday was in August? I missed it?" "No. You were in the hospital during it. I thought it would be kind of rude to mention you forget to send me a birthday card while you had a bullet surgically removed from your shoulder." "How thoughtful of you," Doggett said, rolling his eyes. "And you don't look twenty-nine, if that's what you're wondering. You look like you're about..." He looked at her, with her long hair loose for once and wearing a simple white blouse and a black knee length skirt with the barest traces of makeup on her heart-shaped face. ::Like you're sixteen...:: he thought even though he said "Twenty five." "A *tired* twenty-five," she chuckled, pushing her bangs out of her eyes, revealing the crescent moon shaped scar on her forehead, just for a moment. For some odd reason, that sweeping movement touched Doggett. "You look fine," he said gruffly, averting his eyes. "You look really pretty," he said in a lower voice, half-hoping she didn't hear him but when he dared to look up at her again, he saw her normally pale cheeks turning slightly pink and her mouth in a small Sphinx like smile as she was focusing her attention at the food on her plate. Starkweather's feline eyes looked like liquid gold in the odd lighting of the restaurant as she lifted her eyes from her plate to look at Doggett. "Thanks," she said faintly. "It's been a while since someone noticed..." her shining eyes dropped down again. Doggett didn't know what to say next so perhaps it was fortunate that there was a loud crash from a nearby table as plates and glasses went flying. "What'n the hell?" Doggett said, craning his head around as Starkweather looked over his shoulders. A tiny girl, maybe nineteen or twenty, was screaming at a man who had been enjoying dinner with his wife. "BILL SCULLY YOU UGLY SCUMBUCKET!!!" The man's wife whimpered nervously "Bill..." "It's okay, Tara," the man replied in a cool voice although his body language said that he was anything back calm. Doggett and Starkweather locked eyes again, only this time, the only emotion transferred between them was irritation and exasperation. "What are the names of Scully's siblings again?" Doggett asked wearily. "Bill, Charlie and Melissa," Starkweather replied, equally weary. "Melissa was killed by a hitman. Charlie's in the Navy and is never around and Bill's an ass but has a nice wife named Tara and a nice little boy named Matthew." "Great. I wonder if that's our interviewee chewing out the real Bill Scully," Doggett said, standing up. "Got your badge with you?" "Have ID, will travel," Starkweather said, also standing up. "Although I don't think Mulder would cry too hard if we let Scully's brother get screamed at. He hates him and vice versa." "Hm," Doggett said as they started to walk towards the couple. "Then maybe you should keep your connection to Mul-duh on the down low for the moment." "I'd love to, but Scully probably already told Maggie." "Let's hope that Maggie forgot to relay this information to her son," Doggett said as they approached. Meanwhile the girl was still screaming "JERK! WORM! TOAD! BLEEP! BLEEPING BLEEP! PIECE OF BLEEP! EAT BLEEP AND DIE YOU... BAD OLDER BROTHER YOU! I HATE YOU!!!!" Starkweather stood slightly to the side of Doggett, watching his back and eyeing the raving girl detachedly. Doggett, also putting up a good "cool" front, said in a polite, albeit loud, voice, "Excuse me," he said several times, brandishing his FBI ID until the raving girl stopped yelling and was looking at Doggett. "Is there a problem here," he said, still being extremely courteous. Then both Doggett and Starkweather noticed that the girl had tears streaming down her cheeks in big black rivers. "This jerk was so mean to Scully when she had cancer. And then again when Emily was found." "Excuse me?" Doggett said as Starkweather wondered if she could tackle the nut case and keep her in a submission hold until the friendly LVPD came to bring her loony butt to a lovely holding cell. Then Starkweather wondered if even the holding cells in Vegas had slot machines. Sobbing, the girl appealed to Doggett. "Haven't you ever seen 'Redux'?" "Um..." Doggett searched his memory for the X-Files episode she was referring to. Then when that failed, he searched his mind for the actual X-File, the one he read. "The one where Scully has cancer?" "This is ridiculous!" Bill Scully suddenly snapped. "I did not bring my wife here for a second honeymoon to be harassed by some weirdo obsessed about my sister!" "Bill," Tara said in a nervous voice, "The desk manager did try and warn us about this..." "About what, ma'am?" Doggett said. The Raving Girl suddenly transformed into Perky, Happy Girl. "The Scully Convention, of course. Unofficial, since 1013 refused to sponsor it but..." "Oh God," Starkweather said. "Oh boy," Doggett said. "Ma'am... I have to ask... are you Robin Obsesione by chance?" She shook her head but she still smiled. "Nope. My name is Trinity. Like from the Matrix. Robin's my older brother. Hey! Are you the guys from the FBI that want to interview my brother about the X-Files?" During this time, Bill Scully had been watching Agent Starkweather intently. Something about her hazel eyes and her pouty lips seemed familiar... ... but when Trinity said "X-Files", it clicked. "Are you," Bill said to Starkweather in a hateful voice. "Fox Mulder's long lost little sister?" Trinity turned to gape at Starkweather. "Samantha?" she gasped. "But I thought you were dead and the star light people took you away?" "Star light people?" she said dubiously. "Miss Obsesione," Doggett said hastily, trying to avert disaster. "Could you take us to your brother now?" Starkweather tried to smile at Doggett. "I'll tell the waiter to put everything in doggie bags... no pun intended." "Gee, thanks," Doggett sighed as he guided Trinity away from the Scullys. The girl led Doggett up to her room. "So how did you know who I was?" "Wild guess." "If you're a federal agent, it's your job to make educated guesses, right?" "How would you know anything about that?" "I watched enough X-Files, didn't I?" Doggett had to roll his eyes. "And plus, dad's a retired agent from South Dakota." "I see." "JFKRulz, JRamoneRox and Danasloveslave--" "Who?" "The guys who hooked us up with you--said you knew the real Scully. That is soooo cool! What's she like? Is she that in love with Mulder or is that just an act?" "A lot like she is on the show. They got her pretty much to a T." "Except in Season seven, right? She got kinda soft and weepy last season." Doggett nodded to save himself a headache, and wished fervently that Starkweather would hurry up. "Rob?" She called out. "Robin, you won't BELIEVE who I saw in the lobby." A lanky kid a few year's younger than Trinity emerged from the bathroom. "Elvis?" "Dopey-stupid. Elvis is dead." "Nah, he's not dead, he just went home," Rob said with a wry grin, and held out his hand to Doggett. "You should come up with your own material, Rob. I might actually laugh." "Rob Obsesione," Rob said, ignoring his sister, "and you are?" "Agent John Doggett, FBI." "Someone else with a funny last name, I like him already. I'm not getting arrested, am I?" "Nah, nothing like that." "I almost did," Trinity butt in. "You never did guess who was in this very hotel." "If it was Britney Spears I'm going to kill you for not destroying her voice." "Even if I did destroy her voice, she'd still lip synch." "Oh yeah," Robin said. Doggett tried hard not to laugh. "So who did you see?" Rob asked her. "Bill Scully." "Oh bleep...you mean someone you thought was Bill Scully..." "This kinda thing is in her record?" Doggett blurted out. "No! I'm telling you!" Trinity rambled on, ignoring Doggett, "It was THE Bill Scully. Had a wife named Tara who looked like the REAL Tara, and a kid named Matthew and...and...and EVERYTHING. Even hated MULDER! I could tell! He should die a horrible painful death, you know," she said to Doggett like a normal person would have said 'he should get a haircut.' "I could bring you in for talkin' that way," Doggett said, glaring at her. Trinity let out a funny squeak. Doggett could barely contain the sigh of relief when a knock came to the door. "Agent Jerilyn Starkweather, FBI." "Starkweather--name sounds familiar," Trinity said. "It was a serial killer in the sixties," Rob said with a sense of dread. "I don't like history," Trinity said, frowning. Starkweather brandished her badge. "Woah," Rob said, wearing a bleep-eating grin, "if all FBI agents looked like you and Scully, I would definitely consider a new career path. Rob Obsesione, ma'am," he said, shaking her hand. "But I bet you already knew that." "You don't wanna piss her off, Mr. Obsesione," Doggett said. "She's had a bad day." "Oh yeah," Trinity said. "Speaking of pissing people off, sorry about downstairs. I interrupted your dinner and everything, but if you understood that monster for who he really was, then I wouldn't have acted like that." "She hasn't taken her medication today, Agent Starkweather," Robin said, grinning. "I'd be happy to serve my country in any way possible." Doggett and Starkweather exchanged pained glances. "What brings you to Vegas, Mr. Obsesione?" "The Scully Convention," Rob answered, giving his sister a wary glance. "How come I don't get my own convention?" Starkweather griped. "It's an annual event that isn't sponsored by the production company that is responsible for 1013. Basically, we spend a week watching Scully-centric episodes, talking about The Ice Queen, and the actress who plays her, Gillian Anderson. But that's not all this weekend's about." "How do you spend an entire week going on about Scully?" "Ask your friend Danasloveslave. He'll tell ya, especially if you've got oh, seventy-two hours to kill. He wanted to be here this week, but said something about going on Jerry Springer. Some of these bleepers online are bleepin' insane, you know?" "What makes you so into the character?" Starkweather asked him disinterestedly. "Truthfully? The actress. She's hot. Plus, she's a champion of NF." "Neurofibromatosis," Starkweather said. "Cousin of ours died of it last year, and this week helps raise funds for that. So I figure, we get to worship Gillian Anderson and help to find a cure so that other people don't die like my cousin, it's all good." A very awkward silence ensued. "Look," Rob said. "I'd like to apologize for my sister's behavior earlier tonight. She just gets a bit...obsessive sometimes." "Water under the bridge," Doggett said. "Do you read fanfic?" "Oh yeah...I sponsor a site for the Spooky Awards every year." "Ever hear of Spookykat and Scully3776?" "Yeah, they placed in the Spooky's this year with the...hey...that's where I've heard your name before! Holy bleep! You're real?!" "Apparently," Starkweather said Doggett changed the subject. "Say, Rob, what are the Spooky Awards?" Trinity answered "It's an online contest judging the best of X-Files Fan fiction." Rob scowled at his sister "Is your name Rob?" "Jesus, they have contests for this bleep?" Starkweather said under her breath as Trinity turned beat red and slunk away. "What kind of website do you run?" Doggett asked the young man politely. "It an unofficial Gillian Anderson fan-site. Pictures, articles, you know," he shrugged. "Stuff." "You don't post fanfiction?" Doggett asked. Rob shook his head. "I read fanfic, but truth is, I'm a lousy writer. I have some links to my favorite fanfic sites though." "So you wouldn't have any clue where fanfic writers would get their information," Starkweather said, ready to kill the Gunmen. ::Thanks for two dead-end interviews, boys.:: "Oh sure, that's easy. The episodes themselves," Rob said placidly. "Although there was this one writer that claimed to have access to X-Files scripts before they began production and was posting spoilers on the MB before the eppy ran." "Who might that be?" Starkweather asked. Rob shrugged. "I don't know. He... or she goes by the handle of PORTAL. He *said* he was going to be here tonight for the Scully Convention but he may have had to work. Personally, I think he's full of crap. He's one of those posters who spend hours of their lives finding obscure articles on the actors and posting the articles on the MB. " "Mr. Obsesione, Miss Obsesione," Doggett said gravely. "Thank you for your time." Without a further word of explanation, he guided Starkweather towards the door. "It was nice to meet you Samantha!" Trinity hollered. "What?" Rob said, turning to his sister, who was nearly jumping on the bed. "She didn't give us her first name." "I know! But Bill Scully asked her if she was Mulder's long lost sister! And she DOES look like Mulder! So that means Samantha's alive!" "As much as I hated 'Closure'," Rob sighed. "It's already canon, sis. Samantha's dead. Besides, Samantha's four years younger than Mulder. Agent Starkweather's got to be..." he turned to eye the female agent. "Twenty-five?" "See," Doggett whispered to Starkweather. "I told you so." "Come on," Starkweather said, "I know there's something boiling in that pressure cooker of a brain of yours." "Well, maybe not boiling," Doggett said as he strode towards the elevator. Starkweather had to almost run to keep up with him. "But definitely simmering." "Hey, slow down. Where are we going?" Starkweather said as Doggett hit the 'Down' button. "To the front lobby." "Oh good. Our dinners are waiting there." "No. Not just our food. Listen, Doc, I've been noticing that on these message boards, that some of the posters either manipulate their real name somehow or add other personal information to their handles. How much you want to bet that Spookykat's full name is Carter Kat Lucas, or Carter Katherine Lucas or something like that. And how much you want to bet that March 7, 1976 is Scully3776's birthday?" "Now that I know that, I'll be sure to send her a present, " Starkweather grumbled as they stepped on the elevator. "But I still don't know where you're going with this?" "PORTAL. Obsessed Scully fan. Claims to have inside information on X-Files scripts before they begin shooting. Come on, Doc. You're the one with total recall. I'm just connecting the dots." Starkweather's eyes widened. "You mean to tell me that little bleep lied to us?" "We're about to find out," Doggett said as the elevator doors opened to the ground floor. "How?" Starkweather asked, puzzled as Doggett started to undo his tie. "They won't release the hotel room's occupants to just anybody. And if we tell them we're fibbies, they'll tell us to get a warrant. And by the time we get a warrant, the little bleephole would have skipped town." "Right," Doggett said, putting the tie in his coat pocket and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt. "But like you said. They won't release hotel information to anybody." "Doggett... what are you doing?" "All I ask," Doggett said as he put his arm over Starkweather's shoulders. "Is that you stay quiet and let me do the talking." "You're making me nervous," Starkweather said. "Shh," Doggett said as they approached the opulent front desk. An attractive woman in her late thirties smiled at them. "Hello. How may I help you?" Doggett flashed her a "who loves ya?" smile and said in a conspirator's whisper. "This is kind of embarrassing, but I'm supposed to meet one of my co-worker's here for dinner tonight but I left his room number back at my hotel room. Could you call him for me, please?" "Sure!" The front desk clerk said brightly, pulling the computer keyboard towards her. "And your friend's name?" "Skip Porter," Doggett said. "May I tell him who's calling?" the front desk clerk said. "Robert Patrick." Starkweather felt her mouth dropping open a little but then she shut it and tried to look casual. The front desk clerk frowned as she typed in Skip's name. "I'm sorry, Mr. Patrick, I'm not finding a Skip Porter, but there was one Donald Porter... but he was a no-show, I'm afraid." "Huh," Doggett said thoughtfully. Then he shrugged. "Well, I guess he had to work after all. Thank you for your help, ma'am." "Oh no problem Mr. Patrick!" The front desk clerk chirped. "I was wondering if any of the X-Files alum would show up for the Scully convention. Say, I loved you in 'A Texas Funeral'. Could I have your autograph?" she slid a sheet of paper and a pen towards Doggett. "Sure! What's your name?" "Elizabeth. Elizabeth Johansen. J-O-H-A-N like Nancy, S like Sam, E, N like Nancy." As Doggett forged Robert Patrick's signature, the front desk clerk turned to Starkweather. "And who might you be?" With a dry mouth, Starkweather said "His wife." After Doggett handed the signed sheet of paper back to Elizabeth J-O-H-A-N like Nancy, S like Sam, E, N like Nancy, Starkweather tugged on his arm. "Honey," she said through gritted teeth. "Let's GO." "Thanks again, ma'am," Doggett said with a friendly wave, putting his arm around Starkweather again. Once outside the hotel, Doggett dropped the act. "You never saw that," He scowled at her. "That didn't happen. You tell anyone, you're a dead woman." "I loved you in 'A Texas Funeral'," Starkweather aped the front desk clerk's fawning voice. "Shove it, Jazzy Star," Doggett snarled as he turned to hail a cab. Later still...
"Uh-huh... yeah... well, thought you'd like to know. Right..." Doggett said into the cell phone as he paced back and forth in the cramped hotel room. "Thought you'd like to know. Yes... yes, please keep us updated. Uh-huh, we'll do the same. Thanks, Mr. Follmer. Bye." "What did he say?" Starkweather asked as she sat on the unbroken bed untangling cords from Doggett's laptop computer, swearing under her breath. "He said that he's going to have security check Skip's Internet history address to see if he's dumb enough to post from 1013." "He said his life would be worth bleep if Chris Carter or any of the other 1013 bigwigs knew he was leaking plot information." "Well, maybe he's a good liar too," Doggett said, putting his cell phone on the dresser. "And I wish the pizza guy would hurry up." "Gee, maybe if someone wouldn't have impersonated a celebrity, we could have gotten our to-go boxes from the front desk, now, couldn't we?" Starkweather said. "Anyway, did Carter's assistant-" she couldn't bring herself to say 'Follmer' "say where Skip skipped off to?" "Yeah, he said that he thought Skip went home for the holidays." "Home? Where's home?" "Follmer's emailing the kid's application for internship. It will have all the necessary information. Address, phone number, so on and so forth." Doggett said, pulling out a chair. Sinking down, he said "So hurry up with the computer." "Bleep you. If you had put it away right the first time, I wouldn't have had to uncoil these cords." She finally straightened out the telephone cord and tossed one end to Doggett. "Go. Plug it in." Doggett got up with a groan but then there was a knock on their door. "Priorities," he said with a grin, tossing the cord back at Starkweather. "Jerk," she said, stalking over to the telephone stand in between the broken and unbroken beds. As Doggett laughed and walked to the door, Starkweather pulled the telephone stand away from the wall and unhooked the hotel's telephone from the jack. "You know, this does make sense. Skip creating an online alter-ego, making himself look cooler in Virtual Reality than what he is in Real Life. He could have a whole other persona online, a double life, so to speak. He could have..." she paused as she plugged the telephone cord for the laptop into the jack. "Started an online relationship with the girls. Chatting with them the same way Spookykat and Scully3776 chat without even meeting each other. And he could provide them with the personal information that might have been rejected in the writing meetings. Because from what I'm getting is that the writers deal more with the 'Monster of the Week' or the 'Mytharc' plot lines than the personal lives of the characters..." She stood up to stretch her back and saw Doggett, holding the pizza box, closing the door. Then she saw him lock the door, then double-lock it and slowly step away from the door. "Doggett?" Starkweather said. "What's wrong?" He turned to her, his face white as a sheet. "Our pizza boy looked like Jesse Ventura," he said in a faint voice. February 14, 2003 Assistant Director Walter Skinner’s office FBI Headquarters J. Edgar Hoover Building Washington DC "Wait, wait, wait... wait a minute," Jose Chung spluttered. "Jesse Ventura... the wrestler?" "And former governor of Minnesota," Doggett added calmly. "And I didn't say it was really Jesse Ventura, I said it looked like Jesse Ventura. But that's not what threw me." "Oh?" Jose Chung leaned forward, chewing on his pencil. "No, what threw me was that the guy was totally nuts." "And what did Agent Starkweather think?" "She thought I was totally nuts." November 12, 2001
"Doggett?" Starkweather said. "What's wrong?" He turned to her, his face white as a sheet. "Our pizza boy looked like Jesse Ventura," he said in a faint voice. "Jesse Ventura... the wrestler?" "And former governor of Minnesota." "That doesn't say much for Minnesota," Starkweather said. "Besides, you of all people should know that it is possible for a nobody to look remarkably similar to a celebrity." "That's not what throwing me." "Oh?" "No, what threw me was that the guy was totally nuts." "Why? Doggett? What happened?" "Well..." November 12, 2001
"Bleep you. If you had put it away right the first time, I wouldn't have had to uncoil these cords." She finally straightened out the telephone cord and tossed one end to Doggett. "Go. Plug it in." Doggett got up with a groan but then there was a knock on their door. "Priorities," he said with a grin, tossing the cord back at Starkweather. He clearly heard her call him a jerk and laughed to himself as he opened the door. "Hi, how much do I..." Doggett trailed off as he looked up into the face of a very unhappy man, wearing a black fedora and a black trench coat, holding a large pizza box. "... owe you?" Doggett managed to spit out. In a harsh, angry voice, the Pizza Man in Black said "No other object as been misidentified as a flying saucer more often than the planet Venus." "Um... that's nice," Doggett said. He could hear Starkweather babbling about something or other in the background: "... creating an online alter-ego, making himself look cooler in Virtual Reality than what he is in Real Life. He could have a whole other persona online..." "Doc..." Doggett called out weakly but Starkweather kept talking. "...a double life, so to speak. He could have..." Then the Pizza Man in Black grabbed Doggett by the front of his shirt and pulled him in closer, so close that Doggett could feel the Pizza Man in Black's spittle spraying on his face as he barked: Even the former leader of your United States of America, James Earl Carter Jr., thought he saw a UFO once. But it's been proven he only saw the planet Venus." "Doc..." Doggett said, a little more insistently, but Starkweather was still rambling about her theory that connected Skip Porter to the fanfic girls as she fussed with hooking up the computer. The Pizza Man in Black continued his speech: "Venus was at its peak brilliance last night. You probably thought you saw something up in the sky other than Venus, but I assure you, it was Venus. Your scientists have yet to discover how neural networks create self-consciousness, let alone how the human brain processes two-dimensional retinal images into the three-dimensional phenomenon known as perception. Yet you somehow brazenly declare seeing is believing?" "I didn't see anything in the sky last night," Doggett countered in a weak voice. "Mr. Doggett, your scientific illiteracy makes me shudder, and I wouldn't flaunt your ignorance by telling anyone that you saw anything last night other than the planet Venus, because if you do, you're a dead man." He let Doggett go and shoved the pizza box in his hands. "Enjoy your pizza." Doggett, holding the pizza box, quickly shut the door. Then he locked it and double-locked it, slowly stepping away from the door. "Doggett?" Starkweather said as she stretched her back. "What's wrong?" He turned to her, his face white as a sheet. "Our pizza boy looked like Jesse Ventura," he said in a faint voice. Jesse Ventura... the wrestler?" "And former governor of Minnesota." "That doesn't say much for Minnesota," Starkweather said. "Besides, you of all people should know that it is possible for a nobody to look remarkably similar to a celebrity." "That's not what throwing me." "Oh?" "No, what threw me was that the guy was totally nuts." "Why? Doggett? What happened?" "Well... he said that Venus was at its peak brilliance last night and if I flaunt my ignorance by telling anyone that I saw anything last night other than the planet Venus, I'm a dead man." Starkweather blinked. "Doggett. Have you gone totally nuts?" Doggett put the pizza box on the dresser. "I'm not hungry anymore Doc. I'm going to go to bed." He went into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. When she heard the lock click over, she said. "Oh my God. He's dying." Then she looked over at the pizza box. Flipping open the box she groaned. "And they got our bleeping order wrong." Later still...
"I am not dying," Doggett groused, sitting on the bed in a pair of sweatpants and a hotel towel draped over his shoulders. "You might be sick though, now, shut up," Starkweather said firmly "and let me take pulse. Please? Humor me? You're white as a ghost." When Doggett opened his mouth to complain, she stuck a thermometer in his mouth. Gagged, Doggett had no choice but to offer his left wrist. After an a hour in a hot shower, Doggett had come out of the bathroom still shivering and pale. To his chagrin, Starkweather, naturally, took this opportunity to play doctor. Starkweather placed her two fingers over it and consulted her wristwatch. After a minute, she said "A little high, but still in the region classified as normal." She took the thermometer out of his mouth. "Normal. You may want to lay off the caffeine, though. Other than that, my diagnosis is too much stress, not enough rest." "Gee thanks," Doggett said sourly. "Let me guess, take two aspirin and you'll bill me in the morning?" Feeling like an idiot, he began to rationalize. "Maybe I heard the guy wrong. Maybe there is just a good chance that I'm going nuts." "You know," Starkweather said, still standing in front of him. "I'm not the only one who has to deal with a lot of personal issues crap. I can handle this case by myself if you need to go home." "I'm not leaving you alone on this," Doggett said. "You're just as sleep deprived as I am. And stressed out." He looked up at her. "Maybe we should both call it quits and both go home." "Go home to what?" she said softly, shaking her head as she placed the thermometer on the telephone stand. "Your cat?" "Do me a favor," Starkweather said. "Don't be helpful." Doggett ignored her request. "Starkweather, why don't you leave him?" "I don't know..." she said. "Pride maybe." "Pride? I don't... what do you mean pride." Her eyes were shining with tears. "Because he'll gloat that he was right." "Right? About what?" Doggett started to ask but her hands were already touching his face. "Starkweather..." he managed to get out just before she leaned down and kissed him. He reached around her and guided her towards his lap. As she sat down on him, she pushed the towel off of his shoulders, wrapping her arm around him still kissing him fiercely. Which he reciprocated with equal fervor, fumbling with the tiny buttons of her blouse. When he finally broke apart the kiss, he pushed her heavy hair out of her eyes and panted "There might be a small problem here." She ran circles with her hands across his chest. "What's that?" she asked huskily. "I'm not sure... I'm awake..." "Doggett..." "Dammit, I'm pretty sure I'm not awake." "Doggett..." November 13, 2001 "Doggett!" Doggett jumped awake. "What? Are we there yet?" he blurted out stupidly. Starkweather looked at him for just a second, and then back at the road. "Are you sure you're not dying? I mean, not only were you seeing the Former Governor of Minnesota delivering pizzas to our door, but this is the second time you've let me drive." Doggett rubbed his hand over his face and then looked at his watch. Upon seeing the time, he groaned. "Why did you wake me?" "I told you," Starkweather said smugly. "You talk in your sleep." "I do not," Doggett said slouching down in his seat. "You were mumbling something about pride." "What?" Doggett thought as snatches of his dream came back to him. "Nah. You must have been hearing things," he grumbled. Then he leaned over and pinched her upper arm. "OW!" she yelped and leaned over, punching his upper arm. "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?" "Just wanted to be sure I really was awake this time," Doggett said, rubbing his arm where she had hit him. "Yeah, well, whatever happened to pinching yourself." "That would be cliche and predictable." "Yeah, but you *are* cliche and predictable." "That just boosted my ego ten notches." "Here's something to boost your ego back up." "We're going home?" "This case is really bleeping with you, isn't it?" "I'm not the one who's being bleeped with here. I just don't like tipping reality over. So what's going to boost my ego?" "The email arrived from 1013 Productions with Skip Porter's background check." "How'd you get into my account?" "I didn't, he had my email address somehow already." "He WHAT?!?!?!?!" "I smell a hacker." "How's that supposed to boost my ego?" "You were right. Porter's leaking the information and giving it to the girls. He's obviously hacked into the FBI mainframe, and most likely got my email address from there." "But then he would have sent it to your FBI account, not your home account." Starkweather shook her head. "I have my FBI email all forwarded to my A-O-Hell account so that I don't have to check both accounts everyday." "Anything in the background check?" "Ran a Harry Potter porn fanfiction site, and it got shot down." "Gotta love the first amendment." "So what's our next course of action?" "We should be in Salt Lake City around eight or so. Too bad I'm not mormon." "How far?" "You've been out for about two, so don't panic, we only have four left. We've still got some homework to do." "Oh bleep. No more. I can't take it." "It's either this, or Filter blaring the whole way." "Oh Jesus bleepin' Christ. Alright. Where did we leave off." "Third season, I believe." "So, do we turn our attention to Porter?" "Yeah. I think that's going to spend tax dollars a lot more effectively. My guess is, we start nosin' around about Mr. Porter. When we get to our hotel tonight, we should hit the net and find out what we can so we can nail 'im."
(1)http://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/000653.htm |
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