Title: Memorial Day
Author: Mrs. Fish
Fandom: X-Files
Pairing: Doggett/Krycek
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Minor m/m; minor spoilers for Empedocles; language; Doggett angst
Status: Completed
Date: 6/2/01
E-mail address for feedback: mrs_fish@hotmail.com
Summary: The holiday dredges up some painful memories for Doggett.

Disclaimer: This story is written for the private entertainment of fans. No infringement of any copyrights held by Ten Thirteen Productions, Fox, Chris Carter or others is intended. This story is not published for profit, and the author does not give permission for this story to be reproduced for profit. The author makes no claims on the characters or their portrayal by the creation of this story.

Notes: In my universe, Krycek has two arms.

As we make our way along the cemetary path and the wave of humanity here to pay their respects to lost friends and relatives, I'm suddenly transported to another time and place. This has happened to me before, when Agent Scully was in the hospital due to Abruptio Placentae. I walked into her room, it shifted around me, and then I was in an open field—the same field where my son's body was found. As painful as that experience was to relive, this place... God, I'd rather be anywhere but here.

The heat is oppressive, even in the dark of the barracks. I'm lying on my cot, just starin at the ceiling. I know I'm gonna have to get up soon to start my shift, so I raise my arm to check the time. The digital display clicks to 06:22—and my world changes forever.

I'd heard explosions before, but nothin I say can explain just how loud this one was. I don't even have time to react to it. One minute I'm in bed, the next I'm thrown to the floor and fightin for breath as I'm engulfed in a cloud of plaster dust and sand. And the pain... Jesus, I was sure my leg had been cut off. It hadn't, of course, but in my panicked state I wasn't thinking too clearly.

I don't know how long I lay there, but eventually all that Marine training kicked in and I knew I had to get the hell out. I got turned onto my belly and started crawlin whatever way I could, all the while sending up silent prayers to whoever'd listen.

Someone up there must have heard me, because a shaft of light appeared about a foot in front of me. I know I yelled and moved a bit faster. Then there were hands and concerned faces and the welcoming blackness of unconsciousness.

I wake up in the hospital, and eventually learn that 241 of my comrades died in the explosion attributed to a lone terrorist. I'm one of the lucky ones who survived, but my military career is over. That pain in my leg was from a piece of rebar puncturing and shattering my kneecap. They say I'll be able to walk again, but it's going to take time and a lot of rehab, and there's no guarantee.

"John..."

I look around the room, but there's no one here but me. Then I notice the world is graying out around me. Which means...

"John, answer me, dammit!"

Alex is shaking me by the shoulders, a look of terror on his face. I must have been out of it for awhile.

I blink a few times, then tell him softly, "I'm here, Alex. I'm alright."

He gathers me in and wraps me tightly in his arms. "God... I thought you'd had some kind of seizure or something. I was about to call 911."

I wrap my arms around him, comforted by his warmth; his scent. People continue to move around us. Apparently the site of two men hugging is appropriate for this setting, because no one utters a word to us in objection.

We do finally break apart, albeit reluctantly. "Let's get this over with."

Alex nods in agreement, and we merge into the crowd once again.

Section 59
Arlington National Cemetary

A light drizzle has started. It's somehow fitting—you know, symbolic of tears. I haven't shed a lot of them over the years, even after my son was murdered. Men aren't supposed to cry. We're supposed to be strong. Yea, right. Tell that to the people standin over the gravesites here today.

The cedar tree is a fitting symbol, too, I guess, considering it's from Lebanon. Alex places a rose next to the plaque, and I suddenly find a knot in my throat, makin it hard to swallow.

I must have made some kind of noise, because Alex is there with his arms around me again, and I let go. All the pain I've held in for so long falls away along with the tears.

This time when we break apart, I don't lose contact. I clutch Alex's hand like a lifeline. And that's what he's been to me today—a link between the present and the past, and the hope for mankind's future.

I stand at attention and offer a salute to those who didn't make it home from Beirut 18 years ago. Alex does the same. He's a soldier, too, after all.

"Let's go home," I whisper.

As we head back to the truck, I send up a silent prayer for the man at my side. His battle is far from over, and if he loses... well, the world just can't afford that.

The sun breaks through the clouds as we reach the parking lot, and I swear a sunbeam falls directly on Alex. I raise my face and smile and whisper 'thank you' to the heavens. Nice to know someone else will be watchin Alex's back when I can't be there. And, God knows, we need all the help we can get for this fight.

The end.

There are 21 victims of the Beirut bombing buried in Arlington National Cemetary. And, yes, there really is a cedar tree planted there in their honor, along with a plaque with reads:

Let Peace Take Root

This cedar of Lebanon tree grows in living memory of the Americans killed in the Beirut terrorism attack and all victims of terrorism throughout the world.

Dedicated during the first memorial ceremony for these victims.

Given by No Greater Love
October 23, 1984

A Time of Remembrance

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