Title: _By Virtue of Being There_ Author: Karen (snarky_freak@hotmail.com) Rating: PG Keywords: Doggettfic. Doggett! Doggett! Doggett! Summary: ' In those few seconds, she had trusted the man standing uneasily in the hallway to watch me.' Spoilers: Very minor. Alludes to season 8. Disclaimers: They are not mine, and I know it. Author's Notes: Post-"TINH"... that's about all I'll say! ------------------- Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho' We are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are; One equal temper of heroic hearts, Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. -Alfred, Lord Tennyson, "Ulysses" -------------------- I sit alone on the park bench. The sun is beginning to set, and here I am. Watching them. Hand in hand. Warmth against warmth. Eyes on each other. They are having a silent conversation that speaks volumes. No words are spoken between them; but as I sit here, watching them, I can hear what they don't want to say. Apologies. Criticisms. Regrets. Memories. It is almost a ritual for them, this walk. This forward motion towards nowhere in particular. I watch as I sit on the park bench. He used to be an enigma to me. I did not know why he was here. I could not bring myself to ask him. She, however, has never been a puzzle. I know her. I feel her. In a strange way, I am also part of her--of who she is. He senses my stare. He tears his gaze away from her eyes and looks over at me. Yes, I nod to him. I am still here. I am not going to vanish. I am not going to disappear. I am not going to break your heart. She follows his gaze and smiles in spite of herself. She knows I am exasperated with him. She senses my frustration, because she herself was and still is subject to that gripping stare... That look imploring you not to go anywhere... begging you never to leave him behind. He had been wary of me the first time. No, that was not the case; he had been wary of _her_ the first time he laid eyes on me. He had lurked about, in the background, asking questions. Leading questions. Curious questions. He had not dared the first time... With the patience of a rock, he had waited until she gave him permission. To see me. To touch me. To meet me. He knew I was all she had, and he understood. It's hard to share your life when you've lost it so many times before. And so he stayed away. His questions were left unanswered, his sincere gestures left unacknowledged. Deep down, he knew he was angry with her. He didn't deserve this; he suffers as much as she does. Every day of his life was the last. Every day of his life, he died. He understood what she was not telling him. And yet, he refused to understand it, too. By hoping... for me as well as for her... He was consciously refusing to accept the fact that she was walking down the same road. His road. He convinced himself that she still had a chance. That she deserved another chance... because not a shred of what happened was her fault. It took almost forever until she had looked at him differently. Almost forever. But it happened. It came without warning. As with everything else about her, it was unpredictable. Can you do something for me? Anything. What is it? He had looked at her dubiously. She was kidding, right? Why now, after all this time? He had agreed. Not reluctantly, not grudgingly. Nervously, more like it. We both remember the first time. I was sitting on the steps when I saw him. I knew he was coming. He pulled up, removed his sunglasses and looked around. We all looked the same to him. It had been awhile. He was out of practice with this whole thing. He sighed and squinted at the door. He took a few long strides towards the entrance, stepped into the building and disappeared for several minutes. The woman had quirked an intrigued and titillated eyebrow at him the second he looked at her and smiled. She was hoping he was the new-- Good afternoon. I'm here to... Oh, yes, of course. He's out there. Thank you. I `ppreciate it. No problem at all. The woman had walked around the counter and stared after him, somewhat disappointed. I had to laugh at that. She was happily married, and that didn't stop her from staring. He had thought nothing of it. He had his hands full with his so-called mission. Several minutes passed, and I waited for him. Sure enough, the door behind me swung open and a pair of shiny black shoes shuffled around for a few seconds. He was more nervous than I was. He could barely place his identification back inside his coat pocket. His hands were shaking. I looked over my shoulder at him. I saw nothing but two pant-legs. I craned my neck upwards. Um, hi. Are you-- He nodded at the question I had yet to ask and grinned sheepishly. Yeah, I am. You're kinda late. She said you'd be here at-- I know. I'm sorry. Traffic and all--um, but--that's no excuse... He ran a large hand through his short, spiky-looking hair and looked down at me. Do you know my name? Uh-huh. Can I know yours? I should have been baffled then, but I wasn't. I knew she hadn't told him herself. He had asked for *her* son, and he had shown his identification. He had asked if she had called earlier to confirm he was coming for me. They said yes. He knew she trusted no one. But she was taking a giant leap with him this time around. He took it in stride, and that was that. My name. He was asking for my name. It wasn't Mulder; it wasn't Fox. I think he had guessed that much. Billy, I told him. He had swallowed again and nodded silently. The significance of my name was apparently obvious to him. I'm John. I know. He stretched out his hand and offerred it to me. He looked guilty as I grasped it tightly. Nice to meet you, Billy. I nodded. For some reason, as he shook my hand awkwardly, I had the overwhelming urge to correct myself. Luke. Tell him your name's Luke... 'My name's Luke, actually, not Billy.' I had felt then that if I had corrected myself... Somehow, the guilty expression on his face would have disappeared. I shake my head. Seems like a lifetime ago, that first time. He's still the same man, though. He's still nervous around me sometimes. He's never sure of himself when he's alone with me. He's still guilty. He still wishes my name is Luke, and not William. They had walked on. I can see them under the old willow tree, talking. She smiled at something he said; he absently toed the grass before him and nodded. They're friends. They're survivors. They've both lost something. Someone. They're big, gaping wounds. They found solace in the other. They were both looking into a void that once housed hope. Happiness. Life. She lowered her voice. He leaned in closer and turned an ear towards her. He grinned slightly and looked away. She looked up at him, her eyes never wavering. She trusted him with her life; she trusted him with me. She had come a long way. From refusing to talk about me, to asking him to take me home, to exposing the rawest part of her soul to him... It was almost unbelievable. Almost. The genuine trust that developed had been accidental. He had shown up in front of our apartment, unannounced and apologetic, with a large box of file folders in his hands. I had opened the door. She had hastily run after me and pulled me into the living room, out of harm's way. She was always like that; she trusted no one. He apologized. She asked bluntly why he couldn't wait until they were back at the office the next day. Because there wasn't going to be an office the next day, he had said quietly. She blinked and stared at him. Who...? It doesn't matter. I knew this would happen. Really? I didn't think it would. There's no reason for them to-- Mulder... Before he disappeared, he said he knew they were trying to-- Mulder. I had stopped what I was doing in the living room then and listened more intently. My father. Mulder. I wanted to know who he was. And why he never met me. I edged closer to the hallway and listened. What do you have there? Your... stuff. I took everything I could as soon as they-- You mean I can't go back-- There's nothing to go back to. After you left, I was called upstairs. When I came back, they were there--the filing cabinets were gone, and-- What do you have? Just this... and one more box in my truck. I could hear her opening the box. I could hear her sigh. I could sense her relief. Thank you. He didn't say anything. Billy? She paused. Her hesitation, her uneasiness, was practically tangible. John's here, Billy, come and say hello. I stepped cautiously into the hallway. He smiled at me. She continued to stare at something she had pulled out of the box. A nameplate. It still looked brand new. It held her attention. It seemed to put her in a trance, under a spell. It hypnotized her into remembering. Him. Fox Mulder. My father. The man she believed was my father. The man who enabled her to believe that, yes, miracles do happen. The man who told her never to give up. On him. On herself. On me. Fox Mulder should have seen her face as she stood there and thought of him. She had unconsciously forgotten about me, in those few seconds. In those few seconds, she had trusted the man standing uneasily in the hallway to watch me. For her sake... As she stared at the nameplate that meant so much more to her than I can ever understand. They are coming back, to where I am sitting. He has a slightly awkward gait. An injury from the time he served as a Marine; an injury that was never allowed to heal. He has never stopped walking or running. He is still trying to catch up to his son. And to my father. He walks forward, limping slightly, betraying his battle scars. She has an awkward habit. A habit of looking over her shoulder, hoping *he* would emerge from the shadows. She walks forward, but lives her life facing backward, hoping *he* would prove to her that *he* was not simply a nameplate taking up residence inside the top drawer of her nightstand. The past has a strong hold on them. And yet they move on. They stumble forward: blindly, clumsily, uncontrollably. His presence in her life reminds her of my father's absence. Her presence in his life reminds him of everyone he's still looking for. But there's more to it than that. By virtue of being there, for each other, standing in front of the other, beside the other... They find and have hope. That all this will change. That all this will finally be different... That all we need to do is wait it out. Someday, someday-- We won't need to walk anymore, because the time for waiting will be over. END send comments to: snarky_freak@hotmail.com