AN: This takes place after The Truth, when Monica and John have decided to run away to Canada together and get married. This story is kind of a sequel to my other fan fic on this site, "Shattered and Scrambled," so you might want to read that first but you definitely don't have to for understanding.

From the Frame

Chapter 1

Monica awoke with a jolt. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she peered through the gloom of the car. When she didn't see John, her muscles tightened and a knot of panic flared up in her stomach. Her sweaty hands closed in on the door handle, and she bolted outside. The light hit her full force, and he was forced to shield her eyes with one hand as she called, "John!" She realized a second after the words had escaped her mouth that maybe that wasn't such a good idea, but she sighed softly as she saw John's familiar silhouette strolling towards her.

"Hey!" He signaled while casually waving.

Monica's heart melted, and it wasn't just the Southwestern heat. She let a rare smile flash across her face and sauntered slowly toward him. He opened his inviting arms once again, and she leaned in to kiss him. She slanted into his arms and he held her as she whispered, "Where've you been?" Just loud enough for the two of them to hear it.

"Nature called," he half-chuckled. Taking her hand, they meandered back to the car, and half sat, half leaned on the dusty hood to discuss what to do.

"I think we both know Canada is the best place," hinted Monica.

John nodded. "We'll start over, totally fresh," he agreed.

"We need ID's, an apartment, food, and jobs."

"So essentially we need money."

"Exactly."

"But if we get cash from an ATM, won't they be able to track us?"

"Yeah, but that's just a risk we must take. Besides, I doubt they're looking too hard for us anyway. It's Mulder they want. We should still be cautious, though. Let's both take all our money out, only once, so they won't have a path to follow, only a stop on the road. And once we get to Toronto and change names, we'll be virtually impossible to find."

"So, what should our names be?" John questioned.

"Well," Monica mused, while biting her lip. "I think it would be wise to just keep our first names, so we don't get confused. They're pretty common. But as for our last name, we should use something common, like Smith or Brown."

"Ok, Mrs. Monica Smith, that has a nice ring to it," chuckled John quietly. "Speaking of rings," he began, "I think it would just be safer if we entered Canada as a married couple, instead of getting married there. Otherwise things could get messy."

"Yeah," Monica sighed. Deep down she had always hoped for a big white wedding, with flowers and long, silky, dresses; the works. But she knew that would never come true. At least she was marrying the best man ever, one she knew she could always trust and count on, and one she knew cared about her, and would forever.

John slid his arm around her shoulder and offered some comforting words, "I know it's not what you wanted, but it is the smartest and safest way. Sometimes things just don't work out the way you want them to, and it seems we get more than our share of that. But I guess that goes with the territory of working on The X-Files. We can never truly escape our past, even when we have too."

Monica nodded slowly as she thought back to her "parents" in Mexico City, and to her real past, her haunted, horrible past. But even though it was more than rough and certainly less than normal, it was hers, and she was glad to know, instead of being left hanging. There were still some gaps, but there would always be. That just went with the territory too.

The couple glanced at each other for a moment, and then, with only a look, Monica convinced him to get back in the car and keep on driving.

"We'll stop and get the cash as soon as possible," she announced while squinting into the sun.

John just nodded.

Within an hour, Monica felt weak with nervousness and fear, and every minute she found her hand instinctively reaching under her seat, just to make sure. Combined, they had about 10,000, which was more than most people would normally lug around. So they stopped only when necessary, being as careful as possible.

But maybe that wasn't careful enough.

AN: Should I keep going?