_Exeunt_

Rating: PG-13
Keywords: Doggettfic.  Doggett!  Doggett!
Doggett!  And a little bit of Mulder and 
Scully, too.
Author: Karen (snarky_freak@hotmail.com)
Spoilers: All of Season 8, with particular 
emphasis on "This Is Not Happening"
Archive: Ephemeral, Gossamer--all others 
are welcome, so long as I'm notified ;0)
Disclaimers: Not mine.  I never assumed 
they were mine, so don't look at me like 
that, okay??
Author's Notes: This story takes place 
immediately and shortly after "TINH".  In 
light of season 8 spoilers, let's just say this 
takes place in alternate/hypothetical universe.  
The title, "Exeunt",  is a stage direction used 
in Shakespeare's plays to indicate when a 
character leaves the stage.  This can be a 
quasi-sequel to "Manent"; both stories can 
also be stand-alones. 

--------------

Strange shapes and void afflict the soul
And shadow to the eye
A world on fire while smoke seas roll
And lightnings rend the sky

The moon shall be as blood the sun
Black as a thunder cloud
The stars shall turn to blue and dun
And heaven by darkness bowed
Shall make sun dark and give no day
When stars like skys shall be
When heaven and earth shall pass away
Wilt thou Remember me

-John Clare

----------------

How long had it been?

It seemed like forever already.

He had called after her.  He knew she 
wouldn't listen.  He knew that she was 
beyond listening.  To anybody.  
Especially to him.

Seconds passed.  Words were spoken.  
Arrangements were made.  Heads shook 
and bowed in pity.  Minutes passed.  
Arms and legs moved.  Bodies moved.  
Bodies were moved by other bodies.  
The wind caressed faces.  Some felt the 
caress and turned away from the breeze.  
Some didn't even know they were being 
caressed. 

He had paced for a few more minutes.  
He had watched *him*.  He had looked 
down at *him*.  He had finally met *him*.  

They weren't pleased to make the 
acquaintance...

How long had it been?

It was becoming forever already.

He hadn't realized that he had stopped pacing
minutes ago, and was now walking briskly, 
purposefully towards the wooded area.  
Towards the makeshift compound.  
Towards her.

He could feel eyes on him.  He could feel 
unspoken questions boring holes through 
his back.

He was here to pick up the pieces, they 
decided.  He was a vulture to them.  He 
refused to stop circling her.

They had no clue how right they were.

The compound looked like a large, awkward 
dot on the field, from where he was right now.
A screaming dot.  A wailing dot.  It would 
take him several more minutes to get there, 
but he could already hear her.

He heard her before she even started screaming.  
Hell, he heard her the second he laid eyes on her 
that fateful night, months ago--sprawled on that 
cold linoleum floor, her hands vainly covering 
the tears streaming down her face.  He heard her 
then--not because he wanted to, but because he 
himself had been screaming for years.

And now they were true partners, in a sense.  
Loss was the bond that strangled them together.  
Loss was the only thing they found in each other.

He could practically feel each tear, as he saw it, 
in his mind's eye, streaming down her face.  
He synchronized his gait with the quivering of 
her shoulders.  He couldn't see her crying.  He 
didn't have to.

He'd been there.  He still was.

'I did my job.  I found him.  But I never said I'd 
find him dead.  That wasn't supposed to happen.  
I promised I'd help you find him.  But not like 
this.'  He ran a hand through his ruffled brown 
hair and shook his head as he weaved his way 
past the tree stumps that marked the clearing 
around the compound.

The campfire had long been put out.  It, too, was 
dead.  Even the ashes were gone; he guessed, that 
the wind had caressed the ashes too much.  Just 
like suffering had caressed *him* too much.  
Beyond repair.  Beyond help.  Beyond her reach.

'Is this where we part company...??'

No.  No.  No.  No.  Please.  No.  No.  No...

It took him a few seconds to adjust to the scornful 
voice that pierced the otherwise soundless night air.  
Her pleas were starting again.  Like a broken record.  
Ruined.  Fixated on only one song.  Mindless of the 
others.  The song begins.  It ends.  The broken record 
skips a beat, jumps ever so slightly--and begins again.  
Just like before.  Like it had never sung that song before.  
But it had.  It just doesn't remember.  The tune, the pitch,
the individual notes--constantly, repetitively the same.  
Such a circular pattern.  Harmonious.  There was 
something awfully cruel about it; that a broken, defective 
record could tirelessly transmit such a dedicated, loyal, 
heartfelt love song.  What the broken record didn't realize 
was that in immortalizing the love song, it was 
contributing--causing--its own slow death.

His moderate gait gradually became an urgent, 
desperate run.  Her screams grew louder.  They 
spewed forth months of unshed tears.  

He pushed his way past the throng of confused, 
but like-minded strangers and followed the 
sound of her voice.  That voice.  

'I think it's... I'm not sure; I don't know...'  That 
voice.  Can he hear it?  Could he hear it?  
'Like a songbird...'  A nightingale.  

It was damn dark in here.  Too dark for the human 
eye, but just right for bats that might just be 'hangin' 
there'...

Do you believe it, Agent Doggett?

I never saw it as an option...

He pulled the small flashlight out of his suit 
jacket and proceeded to look for her.  First he 
looked for *him*...  Now he was looking for 
*her*...  Constantly looking, and always finding 
and reaching the goal a second too late.

The beam from the flashlight sliced the darkness
in half, and he found her moments later, on her
hands and knees and begging for the fulfillment 
of her version of The Second Coming.

He approached her cautiously and knelt down 
on the floor behind her.

She didn't notice him at all.  

He stared at her.  She closed her eyes and 
shook her head convulsively.

'This is not happening...' 

'It is... I'm sorry.'

He swallowed hard and looked down at 
the dirty hardwood floor.  

'She'll get sick if she stays here like this.'

He took a deep, ragged breath and gently 
touched her arm.  He's surprised to feel the 
well-toned muscles under her 
delicate-looking blouse.  A strong woman.  
A tough woman.  A healthy woman.  

A woman who has lost her life.  She is no 
longer strong.  Or tough.  Or healthy.  

She's dying.  She will die.

No.  No.  No.  Please.  No.  No.

His eyes closed of their own accord, and he 
gently grasped her by the shoulders and 
pulled her back against his chest.  

She didn't notice him at all.

Slowly, carefully, he released her 
shoulders and wrapped his arms around 
her slender waist.  Slowly, carefully, he 
hauled her up on her feet and steadied her.

"Let's go," he whispered behind her ear
 when he at last found his voice, gravelly 
and uneven as it was.

She shook her head.  That was the first 
and only indication she had given him 
that she was still aware of what was 
happening around her.

"Come on, Agent Scully.  Let's go."  He 
tried to lead her out the dusty little room 
by gently placing a hand on the small of 
her back, but she stood her ground and 
stepped away from him.

"Go?  There's nowhere else to go, Agent 
Doggett," she breathed hollowly as she 
ran a trembling hand through her 
bedraggled, bright auburn hair and 
looked him in the eye for the first time 
that night.  "Nowhere."  She fixed him 
with an incomprehensible stare before 
she turned her back on him and buried 
her head in her hands.  

'Hey--don't turn your back on me...'

"I..." she began shakily as her voice 
resumed its quivering.  "I don't...  I 
don't want you here right now..."

He could feel his shoulders slumping.  
He could feel his eyes lowering to the 
floor, where his heart had already crumbled 
and dissolved with her tears minutes ago.  
He nodded.  "I'm..."  Sorry?  Sick of all this?  
Not going to let you do this to yourself?  
Okay with that, because I've been there, and 
I know how much it hurts?  No, of course not.  

"I'm gonna be right outside.  If..." he gave her 
a one-shouldered shrug and jerked a thumb in 
the direction of the door.  "If...  You know, if 
you need anything."

He didn't bother to wait for her reply; he simply 
turned on his heels, left the room, and made sure 
he closed the door behind him.

She didn't notice him at all.

---------

2:37 a.m.

One motel room.  One light turned on.  Only one 
of many versions of darkness and gloom.

John Doggett ran a hand down his face and blinked 
several times as he watched her small, tormented 
figure tossing and turning in bed.  She was dreaming, 
he knew.  But deep inside her, he knew too, that she 
was wide awake.  Wide awake and living out a 
dream-filled illusion, where her fear would never be 
realized.  She was protecting herself from that 
Something.  That Something no one ever thought 
would reach her.  Or *him*.  They thought they 
were enough.  They were wrong.

He looked at his watch and ran a hand through 
his sandy brown hair, now standing on end from 
the number of times he had grasped it between 
his tightly clenched fist.  A.D. Skinner would be 
coming over in an hour.  Then Reyes.  Then--

The bedsheets rustled suddenly, and Doggett 
found himself looking right at the woman on 
the bed.  She was awake.  She was sitting up 
now, and staring at him.  He couldn't tell...  No, 
he couldn't _bear to decide_, whether her stare 
was blank, dumbfounded, relieved or accusing.

"Agent Sc--"

"Mulder," she whispered under her breath as she 
slowly, painfully remembered.  Her eyes traced 
the pattern on the carpet absently.  After a few 
seconds of deafening silence, she looked up in 
confusion and practically squinted an unspoken 
question at him.  'Was I just dreaming?'

Doggett straightened up and stood gingerly.  He 
knew he should have taken Monica's shift earlier, 
when Scully was too delirious to notice who in hell 
was caring for her.  He knew he shouldn't have 
insisted on helping.  He knew he wasn't entitled 
to watch over her as she slept.  He knew he didn't 
deserve to be one of the few to see her like this.

"Agent Doggett?" she whispered again, her voice 
this time a little more audible than before.  She kept 
her gaze locked on the carpeted floor.  If she had 
meant to address him intentionally, he sure wasn't 
convinced.  She was miles away, still running 
after *him*.

"What is it, Agent S--"

She looked up at him then, as he stood at the side 
of her bed and towered over her.  His presence in 
her motel room alone confirmed the answer to her 
question.  She wasn't dreaming.  It really was 
all over.

"Nothing.  I..." she averted her eyes from the 
intensity, the concern and the sympathy in his gaze.  
"You didn't have to...  It wasn't necessary for you to...  
I didn't realize... You've been watching over me. You 
didn't have to."

You shouldn't have.  You should never have. 

He couldn't help but smile a little.  How could she 
have known?  She was watching over Mulder.  No, 
that's not quite right; she wasn't watching over Mulder, 
she was still looking for Mulder.  Or looking out for 
him, at least.  He cleared his throat uneasily.

"Do you want something to drink?  Are you hungry?"

She shook her head.  It was a stupid question, one he 
should not have bothered asking.  From his experience...  
Dead people don't get thirsty.  Or hungry.  That was why 
they never tip.

Doggett nodded slightly and raised his eyebrows at her.  
"I'll go.  But if you--" he started to walk towards the door 
when she called after him in a low voice.

"No.  No, don't.  Don't go.  It's alright."

He nodded again before he dragged the chair closer to 
her bed.  They stared at each other.  It wasn't 
uncomfortable, but it wasn't comfortable, either.

He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at 
his lap. He remembered the night he had come home 
from work, smelling like the Fugitive squad room.  He 
had looked in on his son as he slept soundly, safely.  
He had kissed Luke goodnight.  Luke had reached up 
and grabbed a hold of his tie.  'Kiss Mom goodnight, 
too, Daddy.  I know she missed you all day today.'  He 
had grinned down at him and shook his head in 
amusement.  'Sure thing, kiddo.  Thanks for tellin' 
me;  I missed you both all day today, too.'

She grasped the ends of the bedcovers in her hands 
and toyed with her fingers.  She remembered the 
night she had walked into the hospital room, smelling 
like Melissa's favourite shampoo, and looking in on 
him as he sat up and rubbed his swollen cheek and jaw 
with one of his hands.  She had looked at him fondly.  
He had reached out and touched her arm.  'Scully...?  
I love you.'  She had rolled her eyes.  'Oh, brother.'
 
He shouldn't have been so quick to take advantage of 
what little time they had together.

She shouldn't have been so quick to dismiss his words.  
She shouldn't have been so quick to dismiss the 
opportunity they had to spend that small amount 
of time together.

She tilted her head to the side and looked at Doggett.  
He had leaned forward and covered his face with both 
his hands.  He didn't seem to notice her at all.

"He's really gone."

He didn't know what to say.  Luke was gone.  
Mulder was gone.  No one left to look for.  He couldn't 
bear to hurt her anymore than he already had, by 
answering her question.  So he simply rocked his body 
back and forth in the chair.  This was not happening...

"Agent Doggett?"  She leaned forward herself and 
whispered softly against the back of his hands.  "Do 
you believe it?"  Her voice held a hint of something... 
Not of hope, but of expectation...  A demand?  Was 
she truly convinced that she still has a chance?  That 
she deserved another chance?  To find her life?  To 
have it returned to her?  To redeem herself, as well 
as *him*?

And what if she did?  What if she could?  All these 
years, _he_ had held on, believing that someday, he 
would win this one.  That one.  Mulder.  Luke. Agent 
Scully.  His wife.  Maybe, just maybe...

It was time to give up.

"Agent...?"  Her whisper was as distant as those they 
had lost, her voice as empty as the void in their own 
tormented souls.  

He sighed laboriously and waited for her to quiet 
down and turn her head away from him.  He couldn't 
bear to look at her like this--with tears in his eyes, and 
his lips quivering with sorrow for the two people he 
had been stone-certain he would find again.  
Eventually.  Just in time.

She didn't expect this from him.  Never once had
he been silent.  Never once had he ignored her, or 
refused to acknowledge her presence.  But then again, 
there were so many things she didn't know, so many 
things she had been wrong about.  Things she never 
expected.  For one, she didn't even expect him to be 
hanging around her, after the way she had heartlessly 
brushed him off earlier, like the countless times she had 
done so before.  And why was he acting this way?  
He did what he had to, and now he was free to go.  
He was free.  Unlike her, he could walk away right 
now, this very second.  He could walk away from the 
X-Files, from what he'd seen and experienced.  He 
could walk out of her life right now, this very second, 
and leave Mulder behind.

She stared at him again.

He didn't notice her at all.

But he wasn't going anywhere.

That one thought, that one realization caused something 
inside her to give way, to break, to disintegrate.  She 
sighed and threw her head back, as far as it could go.  
The ceiling prevented her from seeing the stars in the 
sky.  Just like the basement prevented her from seeing 
the rest of the world.  But she didn't care.  The small, 
incongruous portion of the world she did have for the 
past seven years had been enough.  And now it was gone.  
It moved on without her; it passed her by.

You should have stopped, Mulder.  You should have 
stopped moving.

"I can't believe he left."  She looked at the figure 
slumped in the chair beside her and swallowed hard.  
"I can't believe he left me," she completed her thought 
slowly and tentatively, as though waiting for 
something--someone--*that someone*--to jump out 
of nowhere and prove her wrong.  In that unthinkingly 
arrogant and narcissistic, self-righteous way of *his*...

He simply stared back at her.  Of all things...  She 
couldn't wrap her mind around that one.  Aliens, 
bounty hunters, government conspiracies, shape-shifting 
killers, but not that one...   "He didn't leave you," he 
mumbled under his breath.  Luke didn't leave me, 
Mulder didn't leave you...  That's all we have left, 
Agent Scully...  It wasn't their fault.

She nodded.  "Doggett...?"

He looked up at her from under his deeply furrowed 
eyebrows.  It took this much for her to drop the 'Agent' 
from his name, huh?

"Why are you still here?"

I never saw it as an option not to be here, *Scully*.  
He closed his eyes.  "What does it matter why?  I'm 
here."

"You didn't know Mulder."

"That's for sure--I don't know him."

"Why--"

He opened his steel blue eyes then and regarded her 
sharply.  "Because I had to.  For you.  For myself."

"Why are you still here?"

"D'you want me to leave?"

"No, I--"

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose slowly.  
"No.  I'll go.  I should go.  You need time alone.  I 
shouldn't have stayed here.  You're right, I shouldn't 
be here."  His loss was not her loss.  Her loss was not 
his.  How dare he assume it could have been--could 
be--otherwise.  They never understood each other...  
Why should now be any different?

It was time to give up.  He knew they would never 
win this one.

She watched silently as he pushed the chair against 
the far wall and grabbed his discarded suit jacket.  He 
looked around once, checking to see if he had left 
anything behind.  After a few seconds, his eyes 
settled on her.  

He wasn't leaving her behind.  He didn't want to.  

His gaze faltered and he swallowed a seemingly 
visible lump in his throat.

So.  Is this where we part company?  

That's your decision, Agent Scully.

What he would give to sit next to her again and 
pretend to be reading something in the file folder 
between his hands.  What he would give to feel the 
ice cold splash on his face again.  What he would 
give to see the fierce determination on her face again.  
To feel her angry glare directed at him as he climbed 
out the helicopter...

What he would give to have never heard of Mulder 
and Scully.  Mulder would be alive, Scully would be 
whole, if he had never heard their names whispered 
contemptuously in his ears.

"J--...  Doggett?"

His hand was on the doorknob.  He turned slightly 
and looked over his shoulder at her.

"Thank you.  For everything you've done for me.  I... 
appreciate it."

He faced her squarely.  He could feel the weight 
pressing down on him, weakening his legs, his knees, 
his heart.  "You shouldn't thank me, Agent Scully.  I 
did nothing for you."  Just like I did nothing for Luke.  
Nothing for my family.  Nothing for Mulder.  "I'll be out 
here if you need anything."

He didn't bother to wait for her reply; he simply turned 
on his heels, left the room, and made sure he closed the 
door behind him.  He had to stop picking up the pieces.  
He had to stop circling her.

Don't you ever give up?

He exhaled silently and looked up at the sky.  The stars 
were out tonight.  Unusually bright.  Luke had loved the 
stars.  Luke had always wanted to be among the stars.  
As an astronaut.  As a space cowboy.  As an alien.  As a 
superhero.  Marvin the Martian.  E.T.  Luke.  The 
Skywalker.

He wondered whether Mulder had found what he was 
looking for.  In the sky.  His beliefs.  His sister.  

Regardless of what he found, he left *her* behind...  

He wondered whether Luke got his wish.  To be among 
the stars.  Playing.  Smiling.  Laughing.

Regardless of what he was doing now, he left *him* 
behind...

It's over, Agent Scully.  We'll never win this one.

He closed his eyes.  He could still see the stars.

Don't go talking to people you don't know, Luke.  
Promise me?  Make sure, when I'm not around, that 
you keep an eye out for them...  The big bad wolves.  
Wherever you are, promise me that, son.  Until I 
find you...  

Luke never liked wolves; he'd always been afraid of 
them.  He loved bears, though...  And foxes.

He opened his eyes and blinked back the tears he 
could feel were threatening to stream down his face.  

If you see him at all, Agent Mulder, tell him...
When you see her again, Agent Doggett, tell her...

I'll never forget.

END

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