Title: Lost Without You
Author: Tracy
Category: Doggett/Reyes, Angst
Summary: Why did John tell Monica to run in 'The Truth? And how did she really feel about that?
Notes: Drippy, sappy, angsty, melodramatic. . . my usual suspects. But I'm having fun. ;) I couldn't think of a title, so I just stuck the name of my favourite song atm up there as a working title. It didn't suck *too* badly, so it stayed. (If anyone's interested, it's by Delta Goodrem, and from her album, 'Innocent Eyes.') Also, thanks to Traci for her quick beta job and for not laughing at me when I couldn't come up with a name of a town for them to stay in. And now, onto the story. . .
XxX
He sat rigidly in the drivers seat with his eyes focused on the road ahead and his jaw set in a stubborn clench. Although fully aware of the woman beside him, he in no way gave any outward indication that he had company at all. He ignored the frowns and scowls that she had been shooting his way since they left the desert. He disregarded the angry breathing and tapping of her foot as inconsequential. And above all, he avoided eye contact lest it draw him into a conversation he was not ready for. He just drove, and tried to sort out the tumultuous thoughts that pummelled his already weary head.
No.
That one little word ran circles through John's mind, teasing him, tantalising him, and confusing him with its simplicity. She'd said no. What the hell was he supposed to make of that? He had tried to do save her life, and she had flat out rejected him. They'd been facing certain death at the hands of a professional killer – a super soldier, for chrissakes. He'd seen a chance for her to escape and offered it to her on a platter. He would have died for her there, willingly sacrificed himself so that she could take those precious few seconds and survive. That's what a good partner does. That's what a *man* does. But she'd flung his offer back in his face with that one word, and he was furious that she'd endangered herself like that for no other reason than to die with him. Any sane person would have taken that out. Any sane person would have been halfway across the country by the time the words had left his mouth. Any sane person would have been far more concerned with his or her own mortality than with making a last, hopeless stand. But Monica. . . she'd stood right there with him, shoulder to shoulder, and faced down Knowle Rohrer with all the defiance and spirit that he admired so much. Correction, that he *used* to admire so much. Pretty hard to admire a quality that almost got her killed. John clenched his jaw again, the rage he felt still cursing through him. She should have ran when she had the chance.
Monica scowled one more time in John's direction before deciding that she'd had enough.
"Where are we going?" she snapped, breaking the silence between them.
His eyes didn't even flicker from the road. "I don't know."
"You're the one who's driving," she pointed out. "You must have some idea."
"Well I don't, okay. I have no clue whatsoever where to go or what to do next. Does that make you happy?"
"Ecstatic," she said sarcastically, and turned her body to look out the window. The miles flew by, and they once again fell into silence.
The weeds by the edge of the road blurred into one as the silent SUV pushed onwards towards an unknown destination. Monica could feel the rage emanating from her partner; it rolled off him like waves and surrounded her with its density. It only made her mouth scowl tighter, and her own blood boil hotter. What right had he to be angry? She was the one who had been insulted.
Run, Monica.
Run? She could barely believe her ears when he said it. *Run*? Flee like a coward and leave him alone to face a super soldier? Who the hell did he think he was talking to? She was his partner. She was not some insipid little wallflower who needed to be protected from the big bad in the world. He had thrown those words over his shoulder, tossed them out negligently and without a second thought to how they would make her feel.
Get out of here.
And go where? Just supposing for one second that she had actually considered his ridiculous proposal, where in all the world would it have *ever* felt right without him? The place did not exist where she could have lived with herself if she'd left him to die, and he didn't even get it. His misguided sense of nobility and honour that had made him yell that one insulting sentence changed everything. It demeaned their whole partnership. It demeaned her. And how noble was it anyway, to die a martyr's death? How would that have made any difference in the grand scheme of things? Knowle Rohrer would have stepped over his dead body and quickly disposed of her before she'd even had a chance to reach the car. He would have known that. In his heart of hearts, he would have known. She knew she wasn't noble, or heroic, or even particularly brave. But she was loyal and true, and for John to tell her to leave, and clearly expect that she do so, was inconceivable. It was only dumb luck that the pueblos were full of magnetite. That's all. Knowle Rohrer was dead, they'd survived, and it was all because of dumb luck.
Breathe. Holding onto her anger was making her head hurt. But she kept hearing it, over and over again.
Run.
(I don't need you.)
Get out. . .
(You're in the way.)
. . .of here.
(It's not your fight.)
Run, Monica. Get out of here.
I don't need you.
You're in the way.
It's not your fight.
She closed her eyes against onslaught of the sun, and tried to push his words and all their meanings, spoken and unspoken, from her mind. Soon the motion of the car lulled her into an exhausted stupor, and she slept.
It was dark when she awoke, and the car was still. She twisted back around so that she was sitting correctly and glanced to John. The seat, however was empty. She forced herself to stay calm as she surveyed her surroundings. John wouldn't be far away. No matter how angry they were with each other, she knew that without a doubt. A gaudy neon sign overhead told her that they were stopped at a motel. It gave no indication of what town they were in, but as she stretched her stiff muscles, she found that she didn't particularly care. All she wanted was to wash the dirt off, fill her stomach, and sleep for a week. Monica settled back into the seat to await John's return. She kept her eyes peeled on the darkness ahead of her, and almost jumped out of her skin when an unseen person opened the driver's door.
"Shit! John, you scared the crap out of me."
"Sorry," he mumbled. "Got us a room. 'S not flash, but we should be safe here."
Monica climbed out of the car and followed him to up a ramshackle path towards a ramshackle building. He opened a paint chipped door and they stepped into a drab and uninspiring room. Her eyes skipped over the smoke stained walls and scuffed furniture, and came to rest on the single bed that took up the majority of space in the small room.
"It's better that the manager only think one person is staying here," John explained. "If I'd asked for a room with two singles –"
"It's okay, John. I get it. It makes sense."
He relaxed his guard slightly as she calmly accepted his reasoning. "Where are we, anyway?" she asked.
"Los Lunas. I wasn't sure where we should go – where we would be safe, so I just drove. I was getting tired so. . ." he shrugged. "Here we are."
Monica felt a stab of guilt that he'd had to deal with this all on his own while she'd been too angry, and then too selfish to share the burden. "I'm sorry, John. I haven't been much help, have I?"
He shrugged again. "You were tired."
"It wasn't so much that I was tired, but more that I was angry and scared, and didn't want to talk to you."
"You hungry?" John asked, changing the subject.
Monica sighed. Why did he always want to dodge personal conversations? "We need to talk about this."
"Yeah, but not now. In the morning, when we're both rested, k?"
"John," she warned.
"In the morning. I promise."
"Okay," she agreed, under her breath. One way or another, they *would* have that conversation. And if John didn't like it, too bad. She had quite a few things that she wanted to get off her chest.
XxX
"John? Where are we going to go from here?" A long hot shower had done wonders for Monica's disposition. She was sitting cross-legged on her side of the bed, eating the last few fries from her dinner.
John was also on his side, sitting with his legs stretched propped up against the wall. "I haven't really thought about it."
"We can't go home, can we?" Monica asked sadly. "We'd be sitting targets for them there."
"I don't know. But I know one thing for sure – if they wanted us dead, we'd be dead by now."
Monica thought this over. "You're right. It doesn't make sense," she finally said. "They were originally after Mulder. They had him, they lost him, and when they had the chance to kill all of us at the pueblos, they didn't. They just blew up the caves and let us go our own way."
"I don't know if they let Mulder and Scully escape – maybe whoever sent the helicopters were unaware that they were there. Maybe they had a different set of orders. But they sure as hell knew we were there. So why did they leave us alive?"
"Maybe . . . maybe we're not important enough to kill."
"Knowle Rohrer sure didn't agree with them," John argued.
"Knowle Rohrer was supposed to kill Mulder and Scully – we weren't even supposed to be there. He had to eliminate us to get to them. But John, we weren't his main objective. His main objective was to kill Mulder, to stop him from telling what he knows. But he failed. Whoever sent him couldn't have known about the magnetite in the rocks, or else they wouldn't have risked him. And the same reasoning goes for whoever sent the helicopters – they obviously *did* know, but didn't pass along that information. We have two different factions here, both working to their own agenda, and both keeping secrets from the other."
"Dissention in your enemies ranks is always a good thing," John smiled wearily.
Monica returned a hesitant smile of her own. "Yeah. But I still want to know which side we're dealing with."
"What does it matter? For the moment, they're not interested in us. Let's just leave well enough alone."
"That's the part that worries me. 'For the moment.' What happens when they decide they are interested in us?"
"It's late, Monica, and I'm too tired to even care right now. We'll figure it out in the morning."
"Along with those other things we need to talk about," she reminded.
John's silence spoke volumes. "You never give up, do you?" he finally asked.
"Nope," she said, placing her rubbish on the nightstand and slipping under the covers. "G'night, John."
He sighed as he turned off the lamp. "Night, Mon."
XxX
The morning dawned bright and new, and yet John woke with trepidation. Crunch time. He knew they wouldn't be going anywhere until they'd had their talk, and he was not looking forward to that at all. Whatever Monica wanted to tell him, he knew for sure that he didn't want to hear it. And the things that had kept him awake all night were definitely not meant for her ears. If he could just get through the morning without betraying himself, things could go back to normal. He flung the blankets off and marched into the bathroom. Maybe things would look better after a shower.
When he came out of the bathroom Monica was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for him with an expectant look on her face. "Morning."
"Morning," he mumbled back.
"Ready?" she asked.
"You don't want to eat first?" he tried to stall.
"No, John, I don't want to eat. I want to talk about what happened yesterday. I want to know why you told me to run."
"I would have thought that was obvious."
Monica's eyes were hard. "Oh, it was. I just want to hear you say it, is all."
"If we both know what I meant then why do we need to re-hash it?"
"Because I want to know if you've felt like this the whole time we've been partners. I want to know why you brought me onto the X Files if you don't respect my capabilities. And I *really* want to know why you'd think I'd ever leave you alone to die."
"I do respect your capabilities," John said, surprised. "Of course I do. And I know you'd always watch my back."
"Then why say it? Why tell me to run?"
"To save you, why else?"
"From a super soldier who would have killed me two seconds after he'd killed you? Smart John, very smart."
"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't think it through. I just . . I saw a chance for you to escape, and I wanted you to take it. I didn't want to watch you die."
"And you think I wanted to see you die? You think that's high on my 'fun things to do' list?"
"You should have run," John said stubbornly. "You should have gone when you had the chance."
"You keep saying that, but let me ask you something. Would you have left me there? If I'd told you to get out of there, would you have run?"
"Of course not. It's not the same thing."
"Why? Because I'm a woman and I need protecting?"
"Because I'd be lost without you, that's why," John yelled at her. "You happy now that you know the truth? I couldn't live with myself if I let anything happen to you. If you could have escaped, it would have been worth it. Don't you understand that?"
"I – " Monica stopped, and started again on a different track. "John, what makes you think that I feel any differently? What makes you think that I could have left you alone any more than you could have left me?"
"Why *didn't* you leave?" he asked suddenly. "Why did you say no?"
"Because my heart wouldn't let me leave you."
John's own heart started thumping for a different reason than it had been before. Maybe, just maybe . . .
"Monica – do you know what you've got yourself into? We could be looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives. We may never be able to go home. Are you ready for that?"
"If I'm with you, then yes. I am ready for that."
"Mon –"
"We're partners, John. We're in this together. Stop beating yourself up with guilt. I'm here because I want to be, it's as simple as that."
"But –"
"Are we clear now? Or do I have to hit you over the head with it?"
John carefully sat down next to her. He lifted her hands from her lap and held them in his. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," she smiled.
A responding smile spread over his face as he looked into her eyes, and then they drew closer as they leant in for that first kiss. It was a gentle kiss – one of exploration and wonder, but one that held a promise of much more.
"I don't want to spoil the mood," John said when they broke apart, "but we really do need to decide where we go from here."
They had somehow shuffled back against the wall, and sat wrapped in each other's arms. "Can't we just sit here for a while?" Monica asked, completely content right where she was.
"This is serious, Mon," he reproved gently. "Do we go home and face the music, or keep running?"
She laid her head on his shoulder and weighed up their options. "The way I see it, they can get at us anywhere they like," she said finally.
"Yeah," John agreed.
"So we can run, and as you said, be looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives. Or we can go home where we might have a better chance of seeing them coming."
"We could also face federal prosecution if we go back," he warned.
"I don't think so, John. They wanted Mulder, and he's gone now. What purpose would it serve to prosecute us? They couldn't get away with another sham of a trial, and they might not want certain things to come to light in a court of public record."
"So we're going home?" he clarified.
She squeezed him tighter. "Yeah, lets go home."
Epilogue
"That wasn't so bad," John volunteered as they walked from the Directors office.
"It definitely could have been worse," Monica agreed. "Suspended with pay until an internal investigation is concluded. We both know how that will shape up."
"Guess you never get rid of all the rats," John said, referring to the people who would be conducting the charade of an investigation, and the fact that both Kersh and the Toothpick Man were conveniently absent. "I don't think anyone would be too happy knowing the truth, anyway."
"Mmmm. What do you think Mulder knew, anyway?"
John draped his arm around her shoulders as they walked towards the elevator. "I think we're better off not knowing."
"John!" Monica exclaimed, shrugging out of his embrace. "Not here."
"You ashamed of me?" he asked, his teasing tone at odds with the intensity in his eyes.
They stepped into the elevator and Monica waited until the door closed before she replied. "No, of course not. But if we give them an opening this blatant, John, they'll separate us."
"Let them. It's just a job, Mon, it's not more important than people - than feelings. So they reassign us. Big deal. As long as I can come home to you every night, it doesn't matter. But ya know what? I don't think they will. I think they want us nice and close and conveniently together, where they can keep their beady eyes on us."
"Maybe," Monica said doubtfully. "But what about the rumours that are bound to start once we come out of the closet?"
"There's always rumours. There were rumours about Mulder and Scully from day one. But the only way rumours can hurt us is if we're trying to hide something. Since we won't be doing that, they won't really matter, will they? People can talk until they're blue in the face and it won't touch us. Besides, hiding their relationship did more harm than good to Mulder and Scully."
"I know you're right, but I'm still worried."
John gathered her in his arms and smiled as her body aligned itself with his. "Mon, I don't want to spend all my time looking over my shoulder, wondering if it's safe to touch you. Curbing my tongue in case eavesdroppers happen to hear me say something incriminating. But if creeping around is what floats your boat..."
Monica grinned and wound her arms around his neck.
"...then I'd be willing to make some concessions. 'Specially if you wanted to go play in the janitors closet sometime. We could have a whole lot of fun sneaking in there."
Monica's eyes twinkled and she let out a throaty laugh. "You, John Doggett, have a very dirty mind."
"Yeah, I do," he agreed, and then tossed down a challenge. "What are you gonna do about it?"
"Absolutely nothing. I kind of like it just the way it is."
"Figures," he sighed sadly.
"What?"
"I was kind of hoping you'd punish me. At the very least, teach me a lesson."
"You want to be punished? I can spend all night punishing you, John. Over and over and over again." Monica's voice dropped a tone until it was what could only be described as husky, and John groaned as she nipped his ear gently. "I can punish you 'til your eyes roll back into your head and you don't know your own name anymore, if that's what you want."
"Er...ah hem...you win, Mon," he said feebly, knowing when he was beaten.
She kissed him for quite a while, and when they finally broke for air she retorted smugly, "I rather thought I would."
He grinned at her and reclaimed her lips, and as the elevator doors opened they walked to their car hand in hand, not caring who, or what, was watching them.
As they pulled away, a small tracking device hidden under the bonnet came to life.
End.
Author: Tracy
Category: Doggett/Reyes, Angst
Summary: Why did John tell Monica to run in 'The Truth? And how did she really feel about that?
Notes: Drippy, sappy, angsty, melodramatic. . . my usual suspects. But I'm having fun. ;) I couldn't think of a title, so I just stuck the name of my favourite song atm up there as a working title. It didn't suck *too* badly, so it stayed. (If anyone's interested, it's by Delta Goodrem, and from her album, 'Innocent Eyes.') Also, thanks to Traci for her quick beta job and for not laughing at me when I couldn't come up with a name of a town for them to stay in. And now, onto the story. . .
XxX
He sat rigidly in the drivers seat with his eyes focused on the road ahead and his jaw set in a stubborn clench. Although fully aware of the woman beside him, he in no way gave any outward indication that he had company at all. He ignored the frowns and scowls that she had been shooting his way since they left the desert. He disregarded the angry breathing and tapping of her foot as inconsequential. And above all, he avoided eye contact lest it draw him into a conversation he was not ready for. He just drove, and tried to sort out the tumultuous thoughts that pummelled his already weary head.
No.
That one little word ran circles through John's mind, teasing him, tantalising him, and confusing him with its simplicity. She'd said no. What the hell was he supposed to make of that? He had tried to do save her life, and she had flat out rejected him. They'd been facing certain death at the hands of a professional killer – a super soldier, for chrissakes. He'd seen a chance for her to escape and offered it to her on a platter. He would have died for her there, willingly sacrificed himself so that she could take those precious few seconds and survive. That's what a good partner does. That's what a *man* does. But she'd flung his offer back in his face with that one word, and he was furious that she'd endangered herself like that for no other reason than to die with him. Any sane person would have taken that out. Any sane person would have been halfway across the country by the time the words had left his mouth. Any sane person would have been far more concerned with his or her own mortality than with making a last, hopeless stand. But Monica. . . she'd stood right there with him, shoulder to shoulder, and faced down Knowle Rohrer with all the defiance and spirit that he admired so much. Correction, that he *used* to admire so much. Pretty hard to admire a quality that almost got her killed. John clenched his jaw again, the rage he felt still cursing through him. She should have ran when she had the chance.
Monica scowled one more time in John's direction before deciding that she'd had enough.
"Where are we going?" she snapped, breaking the silence between them.
His eyes didn't even flicker from the road. "I don't know."
"You're the one who's driving," she pointed out. "You must have some idea."
"Well I don't, okay. I have no clue whatsoever where to go or what to do next. Does that make you happy?"
"Ecstatic," she said sarcastically, and turned her body to look out the window. The miles flew by, and they once again fell into silence.
The weeds by the edge of the road blurred into one as the silent SUV pushed onwards towards an unknown destination. Monica could feel the rage emanating from her partner; it rolled off him like waves and surrounded her with its density. It only made her mouth scowl tighter, and her own blood boil hotter. What right had he to be angry? She was the one who had been insulted.
Run, Monica.
Run? She could barely believe her ears when he said it. *Run*? Flee like a coward and leave him alone to face a super soldier? Who the hell did he think he was talking to? She was his partner. She was not some insipid little wallflower who needed to be protected from the big bad in the world. He had thrown those words over his shoulder, tossed them out negligently and without a second thought to how they would make her feel.
Get out of here.
And go where? Just supposing for one second that she had actually considered his ridiculous proposal, where in all the world would it have *ever* felt right without him? The place did not exist where she could have lived with herself if she'd left him to die, and he didn't even get it. His misguided sense of nobility and honour that had made him yell that one insulting sentence changed everything. It demeaned their whole partnership. It demeaned her. And how noble was it anyway, to die a martyr's death? How would that have made any difference in the grand scheme of things? Knowle Rohrer would have stepped over his dead body and quickly disposed of her before she'd even had a chance to reach the car. He would have known that. In his heart of hearts, he would have known. She knew she wasn't noble, or heroic, or even particularly brave. But she was loyal and true, and for John to tell her to leave, and clearly expect that she do so, was inconceivable. It was only dumb luck that the pueblos were full of magnetite. That's all. Knowle Rohrer was dead, they'd survived, and it was all because of dumb luck.
Breathe. Holding onto her anger was making her head hurt. But she kept hearing it, over and over again.
Run.
(I don't need you.)
Get out. . .
(You're in the way.)
. . .of here.
(It's not your fight.)
Run, Monica. Get out of here.
I don't need you.
You're in the way.
It's not your fight.
She closed her eyes against onslaught of the sun, and tried to push his words and all their meanings, spoken and unspoken, from her mind. Soon the motion of the car lulled her into an exhausted stupor, and she slept.
It was dark when she awoke, and the car was still. She twisted back around so that she was sitting correctly and glanced to John. The seat, however was empty. She forced herself to stay calm as she surveyed her surroundings. John wouldn't be far away. No matter how angry they were with each other, she knew that without a doubt. A gaudy neon sign overhead told her that they were stopped at a motel. It gave no indication of what town they were in, but as she stretched her stiff muscles, she found that she didn't particularly care. All she wanted was to wash the dirt off, fill her stomach, and sleep for a week. Monica settled back into the seat to await John's return. She kept her eyes peeled on the darkness ahead of her, and almost jumped out of her skin when an unseen person opened the driver's door.
"Shit! John, you scared the crap out of me."
"Sorry," he mumbled. "Got us a room. 'S not flash, but we should be safe here."
Monica climbed out of the car and followed him to up a ramshackle path towards a ramshackle building. He opened a paint chipped door and they stepped into a drab and uninspiring room. Her eyes skipped over the smoke stained walls and scuffed furniture, and came to rest on the single bed that took up the majority of space in the small room.
"It's better that the manager only think one person is staying here," John explained. "If I'd asked for a room with two singles –"
"It's okay, John. I get it. It makes sense."
He relaxed his guard slightly as she calmly accepted his reasoning. "Where are we, anyway?" she asked.
"Los Lunas. I wasn't sure where we should go – where we would be safe, so I just drove. I was getting tired so. . ." he shrugged. "Here we are."
Monica felt a stab of guilt that he'd had to deal with this all on his own while she'd been too angry, and then too selfish to share the burden. "I'm sorry, John. I haven't been much help, have I?"
He shrugged again. "You were tired."
"It wasn't so much that I was tired, but more that I was angry and scared, and didn't want to talk to you."
"You hungry?" John asked, changing the subject.
Monica sighed. Why did he always want to dodge personal conversations? "We need to talk about this."
"Yeah, but not now. In the morning, when we're both rested, k?"
"John," she warned.
"In the morning. I promise."
"Okay," she agreed, under her breath. One way or another, they *would* have that conversation. And if John didn't like it, too bad. She had quite a few things that she wanted to get off her chest.
XxX
"John? Where are we going to go from here?" A long hot shower had done wonders for Monica's disposition. She was sitting cross-legged on her side of the bed, eating the last few fries from her dinner.
John was also on his side, sitting with his legs stretched propped up against the wall. "I haven't really thought about it."
"We can't go home, can we?" Monica asked sadly. "We'd be sitting targets for them there."
"I don't know. But I know one thing for sure – if they wanted us dead, we'd be dead by now."
Monica thought this over. "You're right. It doesn't make sense," she finally said. "They were originally after Mulder. They had him, they lost him, and when they had the chance to kill all of us at the pueblos, they didn't. They just blew up the caves and let us go our own way."
"I don't know if they let Mulder and Scully escape – maybe whoever sent the helicopters were unaware that they were there. Maybe they had a different set of orders. But they sure as hell knew we were there. So why did they leave us alive?"
"Maybe . . . maybe we're not important enough to kill."
"Knowle Rohrer sure didn't agree with them," John argued.
"Knowle Rohrer was supposed to kill Mulder and Scully – we weren't even supposed to be there. He had to eliminate us to get to them. But John, we weren't his main objective. His main objective was to kill Mulder, to stop him from telling what he knows. But he failed. Whoever sent him couldn't have known about the magnetite in the rocks, or else they wouldn't have risked him. And the same reasoning goes for whoever sent the helicopters – they obviously *did* know, but didn't pass along that information. We have two different factions here, both working to their own agenda, and both keeping secrets from the other."
"Dissention in your enemies ranks is always a good thing," John smiled wearily.
Monica returned a hesitant smile of her own. "Yeah. But I still want to know which side we're dealing with."
"What does it matter? For the moment, they're not interested in us. Let's just leave well enough alone."
"That's the part that worries me. 'For the moment.' What happens when they decide they are interested in us?"
"It's late, Monica, and I'm too tired to even care right now. We'll figure it out in the morning."
"Along with those other things we need to talk about," she reminded.
John's silence spoke volumes. "You never give up, do you?" he finally asked.
"Nope," she said, placing her rubbish on the nightstand and slipping under the covers. "G'night, John."
He sighed as he turned off the lamp. "Night, Mon."
XxX
The morning dawned bright and new, and yet John woke with trepidation. Crunch time. He knew they wouldn't be going anywhere until they'd had their talk, and he was not looking forward to that at all. Whatever Monica wanted to tell him, he knew for sure that he didn't want to hear it. And the things that had kept him awake all night were definitely not meant for her ears. If he could just get through the morning without betraying himself, things could go back to normal. He flung the blankets off and marched into the bathroom. Maybe things would look better after a shower.
When he came out of the bathroom Monica was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for him with an expectant look on her face. "Morning."
"Morning," he mumbled back.
"Ready?" she asked.
"You don't want to eat first?" he tried to stall.
"No, John, I don't want to eat. I want to talk about what happened yesterday. I want to know why you told me to run."
"I would have thought that was obvious."
Monica's eyes were hard. "Oh, it was. I just want to hear you say it, is all."
"If we both know what I meant then why do we need to re-hash it?"
"Because I want to know if you've felt like this the whole time we've been partners. I want to know why you brought me onto the X Files if you don't respect my capabilities. And I *really* want to know why you'd think I'd ever leave you alone to die."
"I do respect your capabilities," John said, surprised. "Of course I do. And I know you'd always watch my back."
"Then why say it? Why tell me to run?"
"To save you, why else?"
"From a super soldier who would have killed me two seconds after he'd killed you? Smart John, very smart."
"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't think it through. I just . . I saw a chance for you to escape, and I wanted you to take it. I didn't want to watch you die."
"And you think I wanted to see you die? You think that's high on my 'fun things to do' list?"
"You should have run," John said stubbornly. "You should have gone when you had the chance."
"You keep saying that, but let me ask you something. Would you have left me there? If I'd told you to get out of there, would you have run?"
"Of course not. It's not the same thing."
"Why? Because I'm a woman and I need protecting?"
"Because I'd be lost without you, that's why," John yelled at her. "You happy now that you know the truth? I couldn't live with myself if I let anything happen to you. If you could have escaped, it would have been worth it. Don't you understand that?"
"I – " Monica stopped, and started again on a different track. "John, what makes you think that I feel any differently? What makes you think that I could have left you alone any more than you could have left me?"
"Why *didn't* you leave?" he asked suddenly. "Why did you say no?"
"Because my heart wouldn't let me leave you."
John's own heart started thumping for a different reason than it had been before. Maybe, just maybe . . .
"Monica – do you know what you've got yourself into? We could be looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives. We may never be able to go home. Are you ready for that?"
"If I'm with you, then yes. I am ready for that."
"Mon –"
"We're partners, John. We're in this together. Stop beating yourself up with guilt. I'm here because I want to be, it's as simple as that."
"But –"
"Are we clear now? Or do I have to hit you over the head with it?"
John carefully sat down next to her. He lifted her hands from her lap and held them in his. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," she smiled.
A responding smile spread over his face as he looked into her eyes, and then they drew closer as they leant in for that first kiss. It was a gentle kiss – one of exploration and wonder, but one that held a promise of much more.
"I don't want to spoil the mood," John said when they broke apart, "but we really do need to decide where we go from here."
They had somehow shuffled back against the wall, and sat wrapped in each other's arms. "Can't we just sit here for a while?" Monica asked, completely content right where she was.
"This is serious, Mon," he reproved gently. "Do we go home and face the music, or keep running?"
She laid her head on his shoulder and weighed up their options. "The way I see it, they can get at us anywhere they like," she said finally.
"Yeah," John agreed.
"So we can run, and as you said, be looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives. Or we can go home where we might have a better chance of seeing them coming."
"We could also face federal prosecution if we go back," he warned.
"I don't think so, John. They wanted Mulder, and he's gone now. What purpose would it serve to prosecute us? They couldn't get away with another sham of a trial, and they might not want certain things to come to light in a court of public record."
"So we're going home?" he clarified.
She squeezed him tighter. "Yeah, lets go home."
Epilogue
"That wasn't so bad," John volunteered as they walked from the Directors office.
"It definitely could have been worse," Monica agreed. "Suspended with pay until an internal investigation is concluded. We both know how that will shape up."
"Guess you never get rid of all the rats," John said, referring to the people who would be conducting the charade of an investigation, and the fact that both Kersh and the Toothpick Man were conveniently absent. "I don't think anyone would be too happy knowing the truth, anyway."
"Mmmm. What do you think Mulder knew, anyway?"
John draped his arm around her shoulders as they walked towards the elevator. "I think we're better off not knowing."
"John!" Monica exclaimed, shrugging out of his embrace. "Not here."
"You ashamed of me?" he asked, his teasing tone at odds with the intensity in his eyes.
They stepped into the elevator and Monica waited until the door closed before she replied. "No, of course not. But if we give them an opening this blatant, John, they'll separate us."
"Let them. It's just a job, Mon, it's not more important than people - than feelings. So they reassign us. Big deal. As long as I can come home to you every night, it doesn't matter. But ya know what? I don't think they will. I think they want us nice and close and conveniently together, where they can keep their beady eyes on us."
"Maybe," Monica said doubtfully. "But what about the rumours that are bound to start once we come out of the closet?"
"There's always rumours. There were rumours about Mulder and Scully from day one. But the only way rumours can hurt us is if we're trying to hide something. Since we won't be doing that, they won't really matter, will they? People can talk until they're blue in the face and it won't touch us. Besides, hiding their relationship did more harm than good to Mulder and Scully."
"I know you're right, but I'm still worried."
John gathered her in his arms and smiled as her body aligned itself with his. "Mon, I don't want to spend all my time looking over my shoulder, wondering if it's safe to touch you. Curbing my tongue in case eavesdroppers happen to hear me say something incriminating. But if creeping around is what floats your boat..."
Monica grinned and wound her arms around his neck.
"...then I'd be willing to make some concessions. 'Specially if you wanted to go play in the janitors closet sometime. We could have a whole lot of fun sneaking in there."
Monica's eyes twinkled and she let out a throaty laugh. "You, John Doggett, have a very dirty mind."
"Yeah, I do," he agreed, and then tossed down a challenge. "What are you gonna do about it?"
"Absolutely nothing. I kind of like it just the way it is."
"Figures," he sighed sadly.
"What?"
"I was kind of hoping you'd punish me. At the very least, teach me a lesson."
"You want to be punished? I can spend all night punishing you, John. Over and over and over again." Monica's voice dropped a tone until it was what could only be described as husky, and John groaned as she nipped his ear gently. "I can punish you 'til your eyes roll back into your head and you don't know your own name anymore, if that's what you want."
"Er...ah hem...you win, Mon," he said feebly, knowing when he was beaten.
She kissed him for quite a while, and when they finally broke for air she retorted smugly, "I rather thought I would."
He grinned at her and reclaimed her lips, and as the elevator doors opened they walked to their car hand in hand, not caring who, or what, was watching them.
As they pulled away, a small tracking device hidden under the bonnet came to life.
End.