Title: Manent Author: Karen (snarky_freak@hotmail.com) Rating: PG-13 Keywords: Doggettfic Spoilers: Very minor. Within/Without and Invocation Disclaimers: They're not mine,and I sure know it! Author's Notes: The title, Manent, refers to a stage direction often used in Shakespeare's plays. It instructs an actor/actress to remain or stay behind on stage, while everyone else leaves (exeunt). ---------- _Mane(n)t_ Only one ship is seeking us, a black- Sailed unfamiliar, towing at her back A huge and birdless silence. In her wake No waters breed or break. -"Next, Please" by Philip Larkin ---------- It always started like this. Her long, slender arm snaking across his bare chest on its journey to the antique nightstand, where his silver watch ticked away indifferently. Soft fingertips would fumble for something...something it could never reach. The lamp. His pack of cigarettes. His watch. Their alarm clock. The silver picture frame showing off their happiness. Their life. He would sigh, shift slightly on the warm bed and turn towards her with a sleepy smirk on his face. A ritual. A habit, borne out of years of being together. Neither of them knew how it had begun. And yet... It always started like this. "Mornin' already, huh?" the gruffness in his voice could never mask the fact that he'd been awake for hours, staring unseeingly at the ceiling, one arm cradling the back of his head, the other cradling her. He always had to look down at her; not because she was shorter than he, but because she was a burrower. She had a way of transforming his body into her den as she slept. Protecting her. Hiding her. Keeping her warm. Again--habit, they supposed. She always woke up curled in a tight ball, as though protecting herself from something. Doubly protected, then. A defensive knot burrowed in a protective den. He never found out until it was too late what exactly she was protecting herself from. The Something that would change things forever. The Something he neither expected nor thought would ever reach her. Or him. He thought he was enough. To protect her from That Something. And yet... "Get up. Weather's supposed to be bad this morning. Get a head start. I'll be up in a bit." Again, the smirk. Playing across the sharp features on his face. Creating an almost imperceptible dimple on his left cheek. Brightening the vibrant spark in his steely blue eyes. "Yeah, right," he muttered sarcastically before he leaned closer and traced the curve of her cheek and the line of her neck with his index finger. He was teasing her. He loved doing that. He always knew the effect he had on her. "You're _makin'_ me go to work? That's a first, y'know." "I'm serious." She pulled back from the gentleness of his wandering hands and stretched languidly. "And besides--" "It's cold outside. Best I keep myself warm..." he mumbled against her right temple, his soft mouth brushing lightly against her skin. Despite her protests, and the way she rhythmically pried his hands off her body, she laughed and smiled up at him indulgently. "Don't you ever give up?" she whispered in his ear as she finally gave in and allowed him to slide his hands beneath the shirt she had pulled on the previous night. "Only when I know I won't win..." He awoke with a start and sat bolt upright in bed. His own voice had awoken him. Again. Just like the night before. Just like all the other nights... He shook his head and ran both his hands through his dishevelled, sandy, light brown hair. This wasn't healthy. Hell, maybe that was why he was letting it happen. Letting it eat away at him, take him apart, bit by bit. 'It always hurts less when you rip the bandaid off real quick...' Fuck the bandaid. Fuck the advice his kid brother keeps offering him. What the hell does Ray know? Ray's still a kid. Ray will always be a kid--in his eyes. Ray's never experienced anything worse than being dumped by his girlfriends... Ray's not you. Ray would never want to be you. Hell, no one would want to be you. He shook his head again, looked around his dark bedroom and sighed. He hadn't even gotten around to finding the wound yet. Bleeding all over and he didn't even know where to start. And so he gritted his teeth and made his quiet suffering a virtue to be admired. To be proud of. It looks good on you. Wear it well; it gives you an air of distinction. Give it time. It'll heal. Just leave it alone. Yeah, right. Frickin' leave it alone. Should be easy. You've left so many things alone your whole life; now shouldn't be any different. He shifted his weight on the bed and leaned against the headboard. A solitary ray of moonlight illuminated the sheets that were tangled around his lower body. He tilted his head sideways, averting his gaze from the sharpness of the moonlight and found himself staring at the half-empty pack of cigarettes on his nightstand. He reached for it, shook the box once and pulled out a cigarette. What are you doing, Daddy? I'm killing myself slowly, son. I'm smoking a cigarette instead of kissing your Mother, son. I'm trying to move on. Without you, son. I want to forget you, son. You and everything that reminds me of you, son. I don't love you anymore, son. Don't ever come back to me, son. I never deserved. You. Son. Congratulations, Detective Doggett. You and your wife have a healthy boy--a beautiful son. _Our_ son, John. Don't ever forget. He is _our_ son. _Was_ our son. Past tense. Where have you been? We've found his body. Nothing can change that, no matter how hard you try to convince yourself. Please don't do this to me. Someone's gotta. Or else you'll drive us both over the edge. What the hell's the matter with you? You're his father! Don't you even care? He's dead. He's been dead for years now. What good will caring do? I'm so sorry about your son, John. I mean, I have kids of my own, and if anything like this ever happened to them, I would... Feel the same way. Kill myself. Never forgive myself. Feel the same way. And how do you feel about all this, Detective? It's been several years now... How do you feel? You wanna know how I feel? Yes, I'm here to help you. Heal. I'm here to help you heal. Then I should stop coming then, Doctor. I shouldn't see you anymore. Don't be so quick to decide that. Just because you've found your son, and he's been buried and you've let a few years pass--that doesn't mean everything's alright. Doesn't mean that-- You want to help me heal--you said so yourself. Yes. No. What? I don't quite understand... I don't need you anymore. But your son. What happened to him. Your wife. What's going to, I mean, you need-- I don't ever want to heal. Please don't say that. Ever. He lit the cigarette, allowing it to dangle carelessly between his lips. He stared at the lighter, and squinted at the bright flame. You did this to yourself. He closed his eyes. Five, four, three, two... One. The alarm clock that shared the space on the nightstand with his cigarettes beeped steadily, unaware of the fact that its master was only waiting for it to wake up. So he could kill it. So he could shut it up. Mornin' already, huh? He smirked The Ritual Smirk... or was the smirking a habit borne out of several years of torture? He didn't know anymore, and frankly, didn't even care to know. He just smirked to himself...no one else...'cause she was definitely not here with him anymore... The dimple in his left cheek was almost imperceptible in the darkness of his bedroom. Slowly pulling the covers back, he swung his long, hair-roughened legs onto the floor and fumbled around for his faded USMC T-shirt. I'll tell them my dad's a sailor. No, he's not. Don't you go lying to your friends about me, Luke. So what do I tell them, Daddy? Brian said his dad was a mad scientist who invented stuff that made people glow... Made people _glow_, huh? I don't think we can beat Brian with that, but maybe you can tell them I'm... A failure. A man who can't understand the meaning of closure and forgetting. A man who can't even earn the trust of his new partner. A failure. He got up slowly, put out his cigarette and lofted the discarded shirt onto a nearby chair before heading to the bathroom. The bathroom. The shithole. The basement. Your new office, John. With The Ice Queen--Mrs. Spooky--for a partner. Great. Frozen yogurt for everyone. Dollars to donuts you'll never find Fox Mulder. The whole thing's just damn weird. You're just along for the bumpy ride. He stopped his sarcastic musings then, and stared reproachfully at his reflection in the mirror. Stop. You don't mean that. Whatever this is... This business with Mulder and Scully and aliens and I-saw-its and You-still-don't-believe-mes and You-think-I'm-the-big-bad-wolfs and Nice-to-meet-you-Agent-Doggetts with ice cold spring water fresh from the cooler dripping down your face... This business with "Get Well!" Cards and giving a little and hopefully getting a little... In spite of all that... You really believe her, don't you? You believe in her faith in Mulder. You trust her instincts. Even when you don't trust the words coming out of her mouth. The crazy stuff she says sometimes that just leaves you blinking and frowning, long after she's shaken her head, mentally told herself 'why do you bother with this guy? He's useless; he can't help you...' Long after she gives you that accusing look. That look sharpened with blame. Blame that you're not the man she's looking for. That you're not the man she should be sharing that dreary basement office with. You blink. You frown. You shake your head. And yet... You still follow her around. You still watch her back. Long after everyone else has packed up the circus tents, the freak shows, the clowns, the performers, the lions and the elephants... Long after the cheering and jeering of the audience is gone--the audience you used to be a part of, with Luke (where is he now? Not his body but Luke himself--where is he?) and your wife (where is she now? Not who she was after Luke was gone, but where was the woman he loved? The woman he adored? The mother of his child. _Their_ child? He had trouble believing that sometimes. _Our_ child, John. Don't ever forget that)... That woman who looks at you but doesn't see you. She's like you, you know. She's lost her family. She's lost her life. Only a person who's experienced the same kind of pain and loss can understand and feel the weight and the sorrow and the horror of her sobs. You understood her well. You held her the way you held the mother of your child, when she couldn't take it anymore. When even your presence was enough to ruin her. Your wife--the mother of your child... The day Luke was born, she saw you in him. And when he was gone, you disappeared, too. She saw him in you. You reminded her of him. Of what she lost. Of what she could never have again. That woman you're working with now. She sees you in this light, too. But you won't let her. You're stone-certain you'll find her life again. If not for her sake, then for yours. Because this has got to stop. That woman lying in that bed that wasn't hers, clutching a shirt that wasn't hers, trying to make herself become the person that wasn't her... There's something in her eyes that's telling you there's still a chance. Hope. Of finding people. Of finding your life again, no matter how ridiculous...or hopeless it seems. Luke's gone, Johnny. Maybe you should take some time off from work. Stay here with me. Stay with Mom or Dad, if you need to. He's not gone, Ray. He's not. Missing. Until he turns up, there's nothing-- Turns up? Like a stiff floating in the river? You see my son that way, Ray? He's your nephew for Christ's sake--you were playing catch with him last weekend! No. Listen, that's not what I meant... Just that your wife needs you, too. And we-- My son needs me. My son needs both of us. His parents. Leave me alone, Ray. I'm fine. No, you're not. I will find him. Whatever it takes, Ray--I'll find him. Is this your son, Detective Doggett? Yes. No. I think so. I'm not sure anymore. (What do you think? I don't want him to be, but I think he is.) John, let's go. I don't want to see him like this anymore. I want to remember him when he was ours. He's still ours. He always will be. Let's go, John. No more forensics, no more questions. We've found him. Let's go. No. Don't you ever give up? He's ours. What happened to him is also ours. Don't ever forget that he's ours. You'll never win this one, John. Give up. Leave me alone, Ray. Maybe you should do something else for a change. Like what? Splash cold water on my face so I just might wake up from this nightmare? Nice to meet you, Agent Doggett. He blinked. Nice to meet you, too, Agent Scully. I will find him. Don't you ever give up? Only when I know I won't win. Agent Scully? Agent Doggett? I don't think I've lost yet. I'm still fighting. I won't ever heal until I'm sure. I don't ever want to heal until I know for sure that I won't win this one. Neither will you. Neither do you. Can you be my hero, Daddy? He bent down and splashed ice cold water on his face. He straightened up and allowed the water to drip down his nose, his chin, his neck. He shivered slightly as the water slowly made its way down his bare chest. His wife would smile and hand him a towel. He would smirk and pull her against him. He blinked. I can be anything you want me to be, son. END