Title: Is it over yet? Author: Agent Myers Rating: PG Summary: We both knew this day would come. Keywords: V, A, Doggett, Pre-XF Spoilers: None Archive: Sure, just let me know where they're going! Disclaimer: They're not mine. Duh. Feedback: Always welcome! and encouraged! Author's Notes: What can I say, I'm on a Doggett kick! Since we don't know much about his backstory, there's endless possibility! This story is another take on what might have happened between John Doggett and his wife. Set years before XF, and before Luke Doggett's death. You guys are lucky though...I almost made this a Mulder/Scully story. I can only imagine the flames! *** Tell me when I can open my eyes I don't want to watch you walk out that door There's no easy way to get through goodbye I'd probably try and talk you into staying once more Or I'd lie and say it's all for the best Wish you luck and say I have no regrets But I'm not up to being strong So I'll wait until you're gone Is it over yet? Is it over yet? A taxi's waiting in the driveway for you You call my name, I guess your ready to leave I'd like to help you with a suitcase or two But I'm afraid I'm gonna wind up down on my knees I should tell you that I want you to go I really need to spend some time on my own Smile and say goodbye So you don't see me dying inside Is it over yet, is it over yet? ~ Wynonna "Is It Over Yet?" *** Is It Over Yet? by agent myers We both knew this day would come. Eventually, we'd be standing here, nothing left to say. No more shouting, no more accusations. Just silence. It's not like we didn't try. We talked things over, but it always led to fighting. We went to church together, we even prayed. The marriage counselors spent hours trying to help us. We thought it was helping, but as soon as we got home, the fighting would start again. And then came the silence, which was worse. We were stuck in a never-ending loop. I bring one of your suitcases down the stairs. With each step I take, it starts to hurt more and more. You meet me at the bottom of the stairs. "Thanks." You say, attempting a smile. You take the bag from me, and put it with the others beside the door. I close my eyes for a moment, and then open them. Your eyes are red and puffy; I know you've been crying. Why do you hide it from me? We both know this is hard. "I'll call." You say. I look out the window and see that a taxi has pulled in the drive. Waiting for you. Fear rushes through me. This can't really be happening, can it? You're not really leaving...are you? Panic sets in as I watch you reach for your bag. "Wait." You look up at me. "This is ridiculous." I say, the panic evident in my voice. "We can work this out." You look sadly at me, the tears welling up in your eyes. You shake your head. "No, John. We can't. We've tried." I swallow, hard. The taxi honks it's horn once. I take your hand as you reach for the doorknob. "Don't...please." You stop and look up at me, putting your suitcase back down on the ground slowly. Then you smile, sadly, and put your arms around me. I hold you tightly. I don't want to let go. "I love you, John." My heart feels like it's collapsing within my chest when you pull away. You pick up your bags, all of them, and open the door. Giving me one last look and a smile, you shut the door behind you. I stand in shock, looking at the door. I hear the taxi pulling out of the drive a few minutes later, and I can't believe it. This time, you're really gone. You've left me. Still, I don't cry. I walk around the house, aimless, like a zombie. Everything reminds me of you. I don't want to be here, but yet, I have nowhere to go. I find a bottle of scotch and sit at the kitchen table. The house feels empty, and this silence is the loudest noise I've ever heard. I begin to drink myself into oblivion, hoping that it will dull the pain. I find a pack of cigarettes that I've kept hidden. I smoke one after the other, after the other, and take large drinks of the scotch at the same time. The harsh liquor burns my throat but I keep swallowing it. It feels better than this aching in my chest. Hours go by, and I'm still sitting at the table. The scotch is gone, so I resort to another bottle...tequila. Your favorite drink. I'm so drunk that I can barely hang on to this cigarette in my hand. I know I'll survive. I'll get over you. But it won't be tonight...it won't be tomorrow. It won't be next week. For the last two years I have asked the same question. Is it over yet? Yes, it is. Finally. And though it is hard, deep inside I know it's for the best. Love left us long ago. At last I cannot hold my head up, and I pass out at the table. And I wonder if tomorrow will be this hard. I know I have to be strong...I wrote the book on being strong. But tonight, I'm just not up to it. **** I should lie and say it's all for the best Wish you luck and say I have no regrets But I'm not up to being strong So I'll wait until your gone Is it over yet, is it over yet? **** ~F~