DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE By Jhyle meridym@juno.com Distribution: Just ask. Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. Rating: PG Classification: Doggett POV Summary: Where do you go to find redemption? ----------------- John Doggett turned over again in bed, the sheets catching under his body and pulling away from his back. Chilled, he pulled the covers back up and tried to go back to sleep. Again. It was quiet in the dark room, the only sounds the ticking of the clock on the table next to the bed and his own breathing. And the sounds of his restlessness. He rolled over again, squinting at the glowing face of the clock. Christ Almighty: 3:15 a.m. He threw the covers off and rolled out of bed, padded naked across the soft carpeting and into the bathroom. He flipped the light switch, the bright onslaught hurting his eyes. He stood in front of the sink and stared into the mirror. He barely recognized what he saw, the heavy-lidded blue eyes, the high-planed face, the sandy-brown hair that seemed to stand on end no matter how it was cut or combed. He winced at the sight of the still-pink scars that raked across his chest and shoulders and collarbones from whatever the hell that thing had been that he'd tangled with in Idaho, back a bit. The stitches had pulled the scars into neat lines, but it still hurt some, in that weird hybrid of itch and pain. <> Now ain't that just the right word? He ran his hands down his face and then through the wayward hair. He rubbed his eyes, yawning. Jesus Christ. What a couple of months this has been. Where the hell was his life going? He was down the frickin' rabbit hole, that was for sure. He bent over the sink and turned on the cold water tap, ran his hands under it, and splashed the water into his face, once, twice, three times. He looked in the mirror again, the water dripping off his face and running down his neck. <> Yeah, he'd had water dripping off his face then, too. Guess he'd had that coming. Not the swiftest way to start off with the woman who was to become his new partner. Not that he'd had the slightest inkling then that he was going to end up working on the X-Files. <> for Chrissake. It wasn't exactly what you wanted to have on your resume. He grabbed the towel off the rack and scrubbed it across his wet face, then tossed it into the hamper behind the door. He picked up the T-shirt he'd stripped off sometime during the night and snaked it over his head, pulled on the sweats he'd left on the floor beside the bed. He made his way through the dark apartment and ended up in the kitchen. He ran a glass of water and drank half of it quickly, then went into the living room and fell onto the sofa. He tossed one of the pillows away and absently nuzzled the dog that had already laid claim to half the space. Not much sleep tonight. He had a feeling sleep might be a rare commodity for a while. The case in Oklahoma had brought back all the old stuff--the helplessness, the loss, the guilt, the anger. You're the expert, Agent Scully. How the hell do you exorcise <> demons? How do you go about healing the old hurts, the ones that had scarred over without really healing? Where do you go to find redemption? No, that wasn't really fair. It wasn't fair to lay that on her. Despite her own preference, she had proven herself a good and strong partner in their short liaison. Scully herself seemed to have her own fair share of demons that she hadn't been able to shake. Sometimes her quiet sadness permeated the atmosphere between them, and he wished there was some way to reach out to her and soothe the broken heart that she tried to hide behind a crisp and distant facade. Despite her steely toughness, she seemed too brittle, too easily broken. And he had had enough broken in his life. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her further in some way he couldn't begin to understand. But then she had reached out to him instead, extending kindness to him there in those Oklahoma woods where they'd found Billy Underwood's bones, trying to convince him to let go of some of his own feelings of failure, to just accept. . .what he couldn't accept. What she hadn't known--and didn't know now--was what had driven his passion to solve that case. Did she have a clue? Did she care? It seemed they both had plenty of their own secrets and no immediate desire to share them. Doggett sighed, a long outbreath, and shifted his body again restlessly on the sofa. The dog's tail wagged, once, a sleepy acknowledgment, and Doggett smiled in the darkness, just a little bit. Maybe he could learn to accept. Maybe she could learn to trust. Maybe they both could find redemption in their own ways. The sky was lightening outside the window. He shut his eyes. Maybe the rabbit hole has a bottom. And maybe he could find his footing once he landed. Maybe.