Pairing: Doggett/Scully friendship
Summary: Doggett tells Scully a story.
Notes: Written for the “Heartbreak in 1000 Words” challenge at the Haven.
The car stopped rolling and Doggett opened his eyes. The airbags had deployed, which was good. There was broken glass everywhere, snow blowing in from the storm, and Doggett felt blood on his face. Worse, Scully was twisted in the ruined metal of the door and steering column.
“Scully.” He reached over to touch her shoulder. “Scully, are you okay? Talk to me.”
” . . . cold.”
“Tell me where you hurt.”
“Leg. Knee. Ribs.”
“You’re gonna be okay. I promise.” Doggett searched for his cell phone. Help had to come. He promised her.
No signal, his cell phone read.
Her breathing was speeding up. “Doggett? Tell me—”
“Don’t worry. Someone will come. There’s gotta be a patrol car on this highway.”
“In this weather?” She tried to turn her head towards him and moaned in pain.
“Don’t move, Scully.” The emergency lights were already on: he could hear their steady click-click. His training was kicking in: Scully was in shock, she needed warmth and reassurance. Doggett pushed back the seat so he could move freely. He worked himself out of his overcoat and spread it over Scully.
“You’ll get too cold,” she protested.
“We’ll share, then.” He fitted his body to hers beneath the overcoat. “How’s this?”
He laid his arm gently over her hip. “We’re going to be fine,” he said. “I promise.”
“I can’t die here, Doggett. My baby needs me.”
“You won’t. A patrol car will come soon.” Please, before they froze or she died from her injuries.
“Doggett. Talk to me. If I’m concussed I need to stay awake.”
“Talk to you?” he repeated blankly. “What about?”
“Anything. Tell me a story. Tell me about—about your first kiss.”
“That’s not a good story,” he began, but he felt her deep shivering and heard the small whimpers she couldn’t hold in, so he said, “Okay. My first kiss. Here’s the irony: her name was Juliette. Juliette with two t’s. She was the prettiest girl in school. Brown hair, always in perfect curls. Every boy in our year was in love with her—I was, too.”
He paused, remembering. Pretty didn’t begin to describe her: how she had smelled of some baby-powdery perfume, how she’d always worn a ribbon in her hair, how freckles had decorated her upturned nose.
He said, “We took the same bus to school. I’d sit in the back and she’d sit in the front. We never had much to say to each other. She was a good kid—I was on my way to becoming a delinquent.”
Scully chuckled weakly. “You must’ve stopped that somewhere along the way.”
“That’s another story. Anyway. Last day of school, the summer I was thirteen. We got off the bus at our stop. My little brothers ran on ahead and I started up the road to home. Juliette would walk a little ways with us, then the road forked and she’d go one way while we went the other.
“I never saw her over the summer: our parents belonged to different churches, and she’d go to camps or visit relatives all summer long. I’d spend summers at the swimmin’ hole and helping my dad in the fields.
“Anyway, I said ‘Goodbye, have a good summer’ to her where the road parted and started on the way to our house. She said, ‘John, wait a minute.’ I stopped—she came to me and dropped her bookbag in the grass by the side of the road, put her hands on my shoulders and kissed me.”
“Hm,” Scully murmured, shifting a little.
“It was very innocent. Very sweet. She smelled so good. That’s what I remember most. She always smelled like a clean baby.
“She kissed me, then said, ‘Have a good summer, John,’ picked up her bookbag and ran up the path to her house. I was too shocked to move until my brother yelled at me to catch up.
“All summer I couldn’t wait to see her again. I wanted to marry her when we grew up. I had our entire future worked out. I’d take her away to the city, we’d have four kids—two boys and two girls—and I’d finally figure out why she smelled so good. I couldn’t wait for school to start.”
He felt Scully’s fingers lightly on his, comforting him as if she knew what was coming. He closed his eyes.
“First day of school, we walked out to the bus stop as usual. I was wearing my best t-shirt and jeans, hoping to impress Juliette—though I thought she didn’t need impressing, I’d already won her over.
“Finally she came to the stop—a little taller, a little rounder than she’d been at the beginning of the summer. Just as pretty. Prettier, even.
“I said, ‘Hey, Juliette. How was your summer?’ She looked at me as if I’d kicked her dog. She said, ‘I don’t talk to trash’ and turned away.”
“I’m sorry,” Scully murmured.
“I was so angry that day. So disappointed. Thinking that if all girls were like this I’d never fall in love—I’d rather be alone.
“But there was a new girl at school. Her name was Barbara.”
Scully didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Her shivering had stopped and her hand felt warmer under his. She said, “Juliette . . . she doesn’t sound like she was a good person.”
“You can’t blame her for deciding kissing a bad boy was a bad idea.”
“But treating you like you weren’t good enough for her—that’s not right.”
“We were kids. I’ve gotten over it. How’re you doing?” He smoothed his hand over her hair. “Hanging on?”
“Yeah. I’ll live.” She chuckled dryly.
“Yeah. You will.”
They both were silent. Scully whispered, “I would have kissed you again.”
Doggett started to answer her, but there were blue and red lights approaching in the rear view mirror. It would have to wait.
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