Title: Esto Perpetua
Author: Karen
Rating: PG
Keywords: Doggett/Scully 
friendship.  MSR. 
Spoilers: Very minor.  Alludes 
to season 8.
Disclaimers: They are not mine, 
and I know it.  The phrase 
"Never...Not Ever" is from 
The God of Small Things by 
Arundhati Roy.  No copyright 
infringement intended.
Author's Notes: In light of 
season 8 spoilers, this story 
takes place in an alternate/
hypothetical universe.  Also 
takes place about 5 to 7 years 
after Within/Without.  
Warning: Character Death.  
If this pains you, please do 
not read any further.  You've been 
warned, 'kay?

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

_Esto Perpetua_
(Latin: "May she endure forever")

And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

-from Sonnet: 'When I have fears...' 
by John Keats

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

I shouldn't be here.

Hell, _she_ shouldn't be here.  Not yet; 
it's too soon.  It's too early.  

So many things to say, and I can't even 
bring myself to look at her.

And so I avoid her gaze.  She's probably 
laughing at me right now; she's probably 
feeling smug, self-righteous, proud.  Just 
like always.  Come to think of it, never 
once has she lost face in front of me.  
Never.  Ever.  Not ever. 

Whatever.

I look down at my immaculately polished 
black shoes.  I can swear I see my own 
eyes staring back at me.  I'll take the 
hint, then; I can't hide anymore.  Not 
from her, not from anybody--and certainly 
not even from myself.  Now's not the time 
to duck, to bury my weary head in the hot 
sand.  Now's the time to think.  About her.  
About him.  About myself.  About what 
happened.  To us.  All of us. 

Now's the time to tell lies.  Lies about 
the truth.  Now's the time to tell the 
truth.  The truth to support the lies.

By coming here, to her, was that what I 
really wanted?  Is that what I want now?  
Do I want that still?  Did I ever want it?  
What was it I _really_ wanted?

The cold and painful truth, then.  No true 
lies, no false truths--no games, no double 
meanings.  Alright, I think I can live 
with that.  No, I _have_ to live with 
that.  I _must_ live with that.  So here 
goes...

I never wanted her to lose face in front 
of me.  I quietly asked that of her; 
demanded that from her.  Granted, I 
tempted her so many times to defy that 
demand, to ignore it...  But still, she 
understood what I wanted her _not_ to do.  
We were on the same wavelength before we 
even knew it.  And now I'm sorry for 
that.  For everything.

"Don't tell me I had nothin' to do with 
this," I whisper under my breath as I 
close my eyes and try to hide from her.  
Big Mistake.  I've always been attracted 
to women with Vengeances that could 
obliterate an elephant with one 
cool stare.  Now isn't any different.  
It shouldn't be any different.  But is it?  

"I let this happen, too," I hear myself say.  
"It's not your fault.  It's mine.  All mine."  
That's the one thing she was blind to, right 
from the start, wasn't it?  I'm just a 
selfish son-of-a-bitch.  Like the person 
we had in common, the incredible miracle 
that we so wanted.  Wanted.  One word with 
two distinct meanings.  To want is to desire.  
To want is to lack.  Wanted.  Desired.  
Lacked.  I was selfish, the bond between us 
was equally selfish.  And so was she.

I can sense her eyes straying across my 
face, even though she's several feet away 
from me, and I have my eyes closed.  She's 
studying me.  She wants to know how much 
I've suffered through all this.  She's 
comparing notes with me, I take it.  

"Did you cry when you heard?"  She asks me 
with her eyes.  She always asks me that 
question.  Or maybe I make her ask me 
that question.  Her eyelids for lips; 
her irises for tongues that speak to 
me simultaneously.  In double meanings.  
Double the amount of pain they're 
inflicting on me.  The eyelids flutter 
with each syllable spoken and 
enunciated.  Did.  You.  Cry?

I nod slightly before I open my own eyes 
and finally manage to look right at her.  
"Yeah, I cried.  That surprises you?"

She looks away.  She purses her lips.  
No, wait--scratch that.  She closes her 
eyes.  

"Why do you think I'm here?  Don't you 
remember?  I came as soon as I heard.  
This--" I gesture shakily with my right 
hand, and I can feel my voice cracking 
and quivering with each word that manages 
to spill out of my mouth.  Out of my 
eyes.  Out of my heart.  "This shouldn't 
have happened.  This wasn't supposed to 
happen.  I _told_ you to let it go.  I 
_told_ you to move on.  Why--"

"So now you're blaming me.  I'm not 
surprised."  She almost smiles.  Almost.  
It hurts to see that look on her face 
again.  The indecision.  It hurts to see 
her standing in that place again, just 
like before.  Between the rock.  And 
the cold hard truth of it all.  

"Did I say that?"  My voice rises a little.  
My temper's getting the better of me these 
days, I know.  Add to that the fact that 
she always gets the better of me.  Got 
the better of me.  Whatever.

"You didn't have to.  I think I know 
you well enough."

"At least one of us can say that about 
the other person, huh?"

She looks away.  She turns her head from 
me and squints at the reflection of the 
sun on the pond nearby.  "I'm sorry."

"God damn it--I don't want that.  I don't
_need_ that.  That's the last thing you 
should be saying to me right now."  
Maybe this was a mistake.  Maybe I 
shouldn't have come after all.  She 
would have been okay if she'd never 
seen me again.  We were both just 
fooling ourselves, weren't we?  Because 
everything between us amounted to nothing.  
One Great Big Nothing.  And no one in their 
right mind would--should--give a damn about 
Nothing.

"What do you want me to say?"  She bows 
her head and lets out a deep breath.  It 
sounds laboured, as if standing here, 
talking to me was the hardest thing she'd 
ever done in her life.  We both know 
that's not true, but somehow I couldn't 
accept--couldn't believe--that.  She 
really seemed like she didn't want to 
see me anymore.  She's tired.  Of me.  
Of herself.  Was that why she was here 
now? 

She shrugs slightly and regards me with 
curiosity.  "Well?  You usually laugh at 
something.  You laugh at me.  At things 
I believe in, things I stand for.  Have--"

I've never cut her off before while she 
was talking to me.  Never.  Ever.  Not 
ever.  Until now. 

"Everything you did...  Everything 
you've done.  You never thought about 
me?"  I swallow hard as I try to quell 
the odd, sickening feeling churning 
inside me.  All this time, and I've 
never brought this up.  Never. Ever.  
Not ever.  I catch my breath and I try 
to continue in a more detached manner.  
"I know where your priorities are--
were--whatever--but...  Never once?  
You never thought...  It never occured 
to you...  That maybe the things you do 
could hurt me?"

"You don't understand.  No, you don't--I 
can't--I need to explain myself.  Wait--" 
She raises a fretful hand to her 
forehead.  She pinches the bridge of her 
nose and shakes her head.  "I _did_ think 
about you.  I _still_ think about you.  I 
wanted to tell you, but I couldn't.  I 
thought...  I felt...  That somehow, 
somehow... You'd try to stop things.  
You'd try to stop things for me."

"And what's wrong with that?"  My hands 
are hanging limply at my sides.  I never 
understood; that was the problem, wasn't 
it?  The answer to my own question hurts 
me more than I ever expected it to.  
Never.  Ever.  Not ever.  I can feel 
something roaring in my ears, something 
banging inside my chest.  My vision is 
getting blurry.  Tears.   Damn these 
tears.  What good were they now?  What 
good were they to her?  For her?  

"You're crying," she observes quietly, 
as though I couldn't feel my own tears 
welling up in my own eyes.  Threatening 
tears that felt like acid water breaking 
down a dam worn with age and neglect.  
The inevitable always happens.  The tears 
always come when the words won't.  
Experience has taught me this lesson.  
But I never could learn things the 
easy way, could I?

"I--"

"You shouldn't have come.  Maybe you 
shouldn't have cared so much.  Maybe--"

I had to stop this.  Going around in 
circles, playing the same game over and 
over again.  Maybe it worked for the 
miracle we shared--the games, I mean.  
Maybe the miracle was happy that way, 
playing games, going around in circles.  
Me?  Well, it was damn infuriating then, 
and it sure as hell's damn infuriating 
now.  I shake my head forcibly, almost 
imitating her.  I sniff away the tears, 
I wipe away the wet streaks on my face 
with the back of my hands.  I look up 
at her.

She stares back at me, patiently, 
indulgently, expectantly.  "I apologize 
for--"

"I've found him."

Her patience, her indulgence, her 
expectations...  Drain away from her 
face.  "You...?"

I nod.  I look down at my shoes again.  
My eyes are looking down at my shoes.  
The eyes on my shoes are looking up 
at the eyes looking down at them.  
"I... Can't really explain it... 
Can't really explain these things...  
You know that--this is, was, 
whatever--it's your ball game, not 
mine, but..."  I run a trembling hand 
through my short hair.  It feels like 
an eternity, though, before my 
fingers are freed from the short 
locks that seem to be standing on 
end at the base of my neck.  "I found 
him.  Yesterday.  Came outta 
nowhere.  He--"

"I--"

I raise my hand slightly, to prevent 
her from saying anymore.  I continue 
to frown at my shoes as I search my 
mind for the right words.  "See, I 
couldn't getcha outta my mind...  Ever 
since...  I mean, I _promised_ I'd 
help you find him.  I _promised_.  
But I knew it was more than that.  
I've broken promises before.  But 
you...  I couldn't let you down.  
I didn't know why, but I couldn't.  
So I went back to the office.  
Your--his--our office, grabbed 
everything I had--leads, notes...  
And I went back.  The desert--remember?  
That place where I found you?  Staring 
up at nothing?  Some reason...  When I 
was thinkin' about you, I kept seein' 
you in my mind, in my head--all alone 
down there.  You were thinkin' I was 
him, coming down for you, with the 
bright light on the helicopter?  You 
were right to look there.  You knew 
where to find him.  You knew where 
he'd be.  I just stopped you.  If I 
hadn't followed you, you would have 
found him then.  And now--"

"You've found him."  Her voice is 
barely an audible whisper.

I nod without looking at her.  "He 
kept saying your name the whole drive 
back.  Kept asking for you.  I--"

"What did you tell him?"  Her voice was 
quivering with emotion, with the 
excitement and anticipation of a child 
waiting to hear how the fairy tale ends.  
Who lives happily ever after...?

'They do.  The two of you.  Prince 
Charming and his strong, intelligent, 
beautiful Bride, Dana...  I wish I 
could tell you that.'

I open my mouth to speak, but no words 
come out.

"John."  Her soft voice draws me closer.  
I walk slowly towards her.  I look into 
her patient, dedicated, loyal, regretful, 
angry, lonely blue eyes.  She looks into 
mine.  She sees the same emotions 
reflected back to her in them.  

I was patient with you, wasn't I, 
Dana?  My eyes ask hers.
>Just like I was with Mulder, 
John.  Her eyes answer back.

I tried to be dedicated, even when I 
couldn't understand or believe what you 
were doing.  My eyes, as blue as hers.
>Yes.  Mulder will laugh when he finds 
out I have my own personal skeptic 
following me around.  Her eyes, as 
blue as mine.

Loyal, too?
>We were _both_ loyal, John.

I'm sorry I didn't believe you soon 
enough.
>I'm sorry I didn't trust you soon 
enough.
Both our eyes falter ever so slightly.  
Timing really _was_ everything, 
wasn't it?

Why didn't you come to me before 
letting all this happen?  Didn't you 
learn that the first time?  Give a 
little, get a little, Agent Scully.
>Why didn't you ask me before I let 
all this happen?  I _did_ learn my 
lesson.  But it was too late.  You're 
not the big bad wolf--I was wrong, Agent 
Doggett.
I should have held her hand then, and 
she should have held mine.  But the 
timing was lousy.

What do I do now?  You're gone.
>I'm not gone.  I'm just not there.  
You should try to keep an open 
mind, John.

Even when it tends to--
>Even then.  Especially then.

They close their eyes.  Amazing.  
Finally--a meaningful, truthful 
conversation between them.  And 
never once did they speak to each 
other.  

"I haven't said anything to him 
yet," he says aloud, his voice 
startling them both.  "He's still 
unconscious.  We had a hell of a 
time getting him to stay down last 
night, that's for sure.  Typical 
of him, huh?"

He could sense her smiling at 
his remark.

He opens his eyes again, and tries 
to memorize every inch of her 
youthful face.  "I should get back 
to the hospital now."  He swallows 
hard and forces himself to watch 
her own eyes flutter open.  "What 
do you want me to tell him?"

She blinks.  He blinks immediately 
after she does.  He's always a 
second behind her.  His timing 
was always lousy.

"Tell him..."

He raises his eyebrows.  His gaze 
is filled with the excitement and 
anticipation of a child waiting to 
hear how the fairy tale ends.  How 
can we live happily ever after?

"I went looking for him."

He lets out the breath he didn't 
realize he'd been holding as he 
stood and waited for her reply.  
He nods slowly and reaches for her 
hand.  She takes it, and through 
their clasped hands they share the 
understanding, the familiarity and 
the trust that they never realized 
they had.  For each other.  
In each other.  
The timing was lousy, they knew.

Give a little, get a little, 
though...right?

You found him.  Thank you.

He's startled by the sudden emptiness 
in her voice.  He jerks his head 
upwards, and finds himself staring 
up at the sky, staring up at 
absolutely nothing.  

He sighs and looks down.  He blinks.  
It takes him a few minutes to convince 
himself that what he sees before him 
is real.

Dana Katherine Scully

Flowers.  Steady order.  From her 
mother.  From A.D. Skinner.  From him.  
And soon, from Fox Mulder.  And the 
child she left behind.  Hers.  
Mulder's.  Theirs.

He knelt down and touched the top 
of the gravestone.  He watched as his 
fingers caressed the hard marble 
corners.  His fingers wanted to tuck 
the stray locks of red hair behind 
her ears.  His hands wanted to stroke 
her back and shoulders as she wept 
desperately.  For the man in the 
hospital bed.  For the man he promised 
her he would find.  For the man he 
found--eventually.  Finally.  But not 
soon enough.  Never before had his 
timing been so lousy.  
Never.  Ever.  Not ever.

It was strange; the cancer returned 
without warning.  Ten.  Thirteen.  
That was when she found out for sure 
that it had returned, that it wasn't 
going anywhere but deeper into her 
body and soul.  October 13th.  Mulder's 
birthday.  She never recovered.  She 
didn't _want_ to recover.  He could 
tell from the way she looked at him, 
from the way she looked away from him 
that she _refused_ to recover.  She 
never told him that herself.  It was 
just good cop work on his part.  She 
never told him that she wanted to look 
for him.  Alone.  By herself.  As was 
customary of their strange, complex 
relationship, he had to find things 
out the hard way.  He was in the dark.  
With The X-Files, with his life, with 
his career, with her.

John Doggett ran a hand through his 
sandy brown hair and looked down at 
the gravestone before him.  'I could 
swear I was just talking to you, 
Agent Scully.  I was talking to you 
with my eyes closed.  My eyes were shut.'

"...But I kept an open mind like you 
told me to."  He said this more to 
himself than to her.  Slowly, he bent 
down and touched the marble for the last 
time before walking back to his pickup 
truck.  For the last time _that_ day.  
He knew he'd be back the next day, 
talking with her--not to her, not to 
her gravestone.
But with her.  Every morning, before 
he drove to work, their work--hers, 
Mulder's, his--he would stop by here.  
To chat.  He would sip his coffee as 
he listened to her voice.  She in turn 
would arch an eyebrow every time he 
laughed at a paranormal [lazy] or 
unexplained [lazy] phenomena he read 
recently while going through the files 
in the cabinet by Mulder's desk.  Her 
desk.  He would grow quiet, tell her 
he misses her.  Her frown.  Her 
hostility towards him.  Her 
exasperation.  She would shake her 
head and roll her eyes in 
exasperation--just to make him feel 
better.  And she would send him away.  
To fight her fight.  To look for the 
man she was fighting for.  He would 
go willingly.  He would put aside his 
disbelief.  He'd suspend it.  Just for 
a day.  Just for one more day.  One 
more day before the man they were 
both looking for returns.  One more 
day before The Miracle takes place.  
One more day before Fox Mulder returns.

Skinner had reached him first.  He 
was on his way out the front door of 
his house, mulling over what kind of 
flowers-and-balloons arrangement to 
buy for her, what kind of "Get Well" 
card he would pick out for her that 
day.  He had been thinking of buying 
her a stuffed animal, but then again, 
her son would get jealous and start 
crying.  He'd only give her a headache 
if he bought her a stuffed animal.  
And besides, cards were easier to 
slip in between a sleeping person's 
hands.  He never bought the card.  
He never bought the flowers.  He 
bought the stuffed animal instead.  
To make her son feel better.  He'd 
lost his child, and now this child 
had lost his parents.  That was an 
uncomfortable symmetry that, by 
merely thinking about it, always 
made him ill at ease.  The boy had 
wriggled away from his grandmother, 
had run up and clung to him tightly 
the moment he walked into the 
soundless vacuum of her hospital room.  
Skinner wasn't too far behind.  

He could see her eyelids fluttering 
weakly.  He called out her name.  No 
more Agent Scullys and Agents, no 
more formalities.  

>Dana.

>John.

>I'm here.  I've got your back.  
It's gonna be okay.

>Promise me.

>No.  Don't.  You'll be alright. 

>You promised.

>I did.

>You'll find him.

>We'll find him.

>John.

>What--Dana--what is it?

Her hand was resting on her son's 
head, stroking his hair, stroking 
Fox Mulder's hair.  

>Never give up on a Miracle.

He nodded dumbly at her.  There was 
nothing to say between them anymore.

She closed her eyes.  He closed his 
eyes immediately after she did.

'Tell him I went looking for him.'

Promise me.

John Doggett opened his eyes and 
stared at his reflection in the 
rearview mirror.  I promise.

He started the car and looked 
across the verdant, well-manicured 
lawn, to where he had stood minutes 
ago, for what seemed like an 
eternity.  An eternity that wasn't 
quite long enough for anybody.

As he drove off, he saw himself 
seated in the basement office, 
his feet propped up on the desk 
she had given him.  She was on 
her way out the door, her jacket 
draped over a slender arm.  He sat 
up and leaned forward, calling 
after her as she crossed the 
threshold and disappeared down 
the dimly lit hallway.

See you tomorrow, Agent Scully.
Bright and early, Agent Doggett.

END

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