Keys:  Yeah, I think it was selective-memory loss.  Anyway, people will be cough over this.  Oh, and who knows?  Maybe another X-files fic isn't too far away…

Thanks everyone for sticking it to the end.

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Epilogue

Marguerite's POV

I could no longer stay away.  That evening I used my connections and a large portion of my gold to charter a helicopter to fly me home to England.  Home to John.

As I set foot on the old, familiar soil I feel choked and shaky.  What if he never forgave me for leaving him abandoned on the shores of the Atlantic?  I know he never married for I had kept loose taps on him over the years.  I know, however, that he had taken over his father's estate, but didn't live in the huge, empty manor.  Instead, he bought a lovely villa in the small town where I had left him all those years ago.  Did he know deep down that I would eventually return?  Was he waiting for me?

No.  I refuse to fall into hope for it will only crush me in the end.  Fear the worst so that I will not be disappointed has always been my stern motto through life.

I hitch a cab to his home.  The streets are wet and I slip as I race through the gate and up the stone walkway to his front door.

Taking a large inhale of the musky ocean air, I knock and wait anxiously.

The red door slowly swings open and an aging woman peers worriedly out.  Her silver hair shimmers in the early dawn's morning light.  She narrows her eyes suspiciously before they widen in surprise.  "Marguerite," she gasps.

"You…you know me?"

"Why, of course I do, child.  John pretends to ignore yer memory, but I've seen yer picture.  I's sorry to tell ya he ain't here, child.  The man took one of his walks last night.  He's about…probably fell asleep at the beach again, I recon."

He talks night walks to the beach and falls asleep?  I can imagine my love curled up on the sand, shivering against the frigid breeze.  It is proof that he has been waiting for me all these years.

"If ya find him, bring him home, lass.  The poor man must be chilled to the bone."

I nod, turning to race down the cobblestone streets toward the beach.  The day is not too bad, surprisingly pleasant.  But the night must've been cold and sleeping out on the beach…he can easily catch pneumonia.

It seems so unreal as I finally make it, running as fast as a late-forties-something woman can possibly run through mud.  I scan my eyes over the water's edge.  Where is he?

And then I see something floating against one of the piers.  My heart clenches in my throat and I rush over.

It's a body.

I quickly wade my way over, noticing that the shirt had gotten caught on one of the hooks along the pier's side.  I disentangle the body and turn it over.

Then I scream.

I yank him out of the water, dragging him up onto the wet sand.

Oh dear God.

Wrecked with sobs, I crumple over his body, shaking from sorrow and rage.  The sun reflects off the water droplets glistening on our skin and I can't help but despise the bright and warm day.  I'd never imagined Lord John Roxton's death, but now being faced with it: I want the skies to turn dark and angry.  I want the sun to shield itself away in mourning.  I want the Heavens to weep and the angels to collapse under their sorrow.  But, most of all, I want him alive.

Yet, I had come too late to save him from the suffering I had caused him.  So now all I can do is hold his lifeless body in my arms and feel the wretched twist of regret piercing my heart.  And all that's left are my memories: the betrayals, the lies, the smiles, the honesties, the kisses, the pain…

And I remember…

End Story

Lucky you, it's over!