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Disclaimer: Neither the characters nor the series belong to me. I am just a fan fiction writer, playing nicely in somebody else's sandbox.

Author's note : I blame Kat and her challenge for this dark dark fic. Well, not only, I also blame WH Auden and his a amazingly moving poem.


Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

There was no coffin, but an airtight refrigerated container. And there were no mourners, not even onlookers. Too busy, too scared, too indifferent. Only one man could be seen in the background on the DSA. Old and still he watched on as a team of foreign operatives, heavily escorted by sweepers, manoeuvered the containers into an elevator.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

Broots had never felt so empty in his life. Sitting down at his workstation, he watched the surveillance footage being recorded. So this was how it ended. Not even an end, because he would have bet anything that everything in the container would be recycled eventually. It was so unfair, so wrong on every level.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

Something broke inside him when they made him let go of Jarod's lifeless hand. They firmly pushed him aside, lifted the painfully thin body and dropped it in the container. Bile rose in Sydney throat when they fitted the windowless lid on the container. He hates confined spaces, he's going to be scared! He can't breathe in there! Like a broken puppet he staggered a few steps behind the small army wheeling his pretender away, then he stopped, literally unable to go any further. When the elevator doors shut, he crumpled to the floor and didn't get up again.

It took Miss Parker less than a minute to run from Broots' office to the elevator, her long black coat floating behind her. She shot out as soon as the doors opened and knelt down next to her friend's unmoving frame, checking for a pulse. Finding none, she whipped her phone out and dialed the Centre's emergency unit, but in her heart she knew it was useless. With his only remaining reason to live gone, Sydney had just given up. Through her tears, she saw someone else kneel down on the other side of the psychiatrist's body and realized it was Broots. His cheeks were wet and he had Sydney's hands in his own. Cradling her mentor's heavy head in her lap, Miss Parker's mouth opened wide on a silent scream which ended in a loud sob. Damn you Jarod! Damn you for leaving him.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Damn you for leaving us.

Chapter End Notes:
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