Title: Cuffs
Author: sparkle*
Feedback: verdandi_happening@hotmail.com
Rating: PG-13
Category: S
Spoilers: 9th season, Roadrunners, Via Negativa
Keywords: Doggett, Reyes, DRR UST
Summary: She tripped and fell, offsetting his balance and pulling
him down on top of her. He rolled lazily off her back, sprawling
on the floor, looking at the ceiling. "We're doomed," he told
it...
Disclaimer: Not mine, but then again, CC left them stranded in the
desert. At least Mulder and Scully got a motel room...
Author's Note: *This* is the longest fic I have ever written. Or
attempted. And also the most DRR-ish I've written so far. So
PLEASE gimme feedback.
***
It was a Friday like any other Friday. The two agents gathered
their belongings and headed out of the office, later than they
should. But, then, it wasn't as though either of them had
anything to go home to. They enjoyed each other's company.
Especially at the start of what looked to be another long, lonely
weekend.
They were both relatively happy as they got on the elevator to go
up to the parking garage, continuing their earlier conversation
about the cases they'd just received.
"I *really* think we should investigate this crop circle thing,"
Monica stated flatly, although she only half meant it.
He shot her a look. She just laughed.
"C'mon, John, we haven't gotten any interesting cases in *weeks*.
We haven't even been out of the basement in almost two months.
It'll be fun...and you know you want to see an actual, honest-to-
goodness crop circle. They're interesting! They're not...staring
at a desk all day.
"Monica, they're the result of farmers being bored out of their
minds..." he protested.
Before she got a chance to reply, the elevator doors opened and
they both stepped out into the darkened parking garage. It was
almost empty by now, and they headed in the direction of their
cars, which happened to be relatively close to each other.
"C'mon, John. Just *one* crop circle case? Please...?" she
begged.
"Okay, okay, we'll do a crop circle case..." he trailed off, not
really paying attention. But Monica didn't notice at first,
wrapping her arm around his shoulders and squeezing him in a kind
of hug, saying, "John Doggett, you're my hero." He didn't answer.
The parking garage was suddenly full of an eerie silence. Monica
frowned.
"What is it?" she asked quietly.
"See that white van? That...That shouldn't be here," he whispered
vaguely. He couldn't explain it, but something felt very wrong.
His hand moved to the gun on his hip.
Monica followed his lead, drawing her gun from her back. They
both approached the van cautiously. The had nowhere to hide,
seeing as their two cars and the white van were just about the
only vehicles in the garage.
Suddenly, out of nowhere--out of the shadows--jumped six men, two
with very dangerous-looking automatic guns in their hands.
John and Monica started to back away, guns still in hand, but one
of the unidentified men, dressed in a suit--they were all dressed
in black--gestured for them to stop and put their guns down. The
two men with machine guns trained them on the two agents.
"Please just be cooperative," the man-in-charge yelled to them.
But they continued to back away.
"Who are you?" John called out.
"That is not your concern. You have not cooperated," he said
sighing. He motioned at his men, and four of them rushed at the
two agents.
John turned to run, grabbing Monica's wrist as he went, as if to
be sure she wouldn't fall behind or be separated from him. She
had no problem matching his pace, but their flight was stopped
short. More men dressed in black were coming at them from all
sides. They were surrounded.
Within minutes, they were being restrained by four burly men.
They both struggled a little, but after John was gut-punched, and
Monica was shook around, they both relented for the time being.
The man in the suit walked over to them.
"Very good. I see we did not need your cooperation after all."
***
"Take them to the van."
The two agents struggled against their captors until the machine
guns were trained on them again.
The men wrestled them into the back of the van, closing the doors
behind them. They swayed from side to side as the van pulled out
of the parking garage and sped away.
Not five minutes into their ride, one of the men reached into a
case at his feet. He fished around for a minute, and Monica
craned her neck to get a glance at what he was doing. She found
out soon enough. The man produced a syringe which neither of them
thought was a very good idea. Were it not that they were both
still being held still by two men each...
The man moved to John first. Monica watched in horror as they
injected the whole syringe into his arm. She kept her eyes on
John as the man went back for another one.
She felt the needle in her arm and closed her eyes slightly in
defeat. She looked back at John. His eyelids were already
drooping. Then they were closed.
"John. John!" She tried to wake him... "John-" ...and got hit in
the mouth with the butt of one of their guns. She bit her lip and
tasted blood. Her vision swam before her eyes. She tried to
focus on John's face, but she couldn't. And she couldn't stop
blinking. Then her eyes were closed.
***
When she opened her eyes, all she could see was the barely visible
gray walls of an empty room. The only light came from a window
high on the wall behind her.
She closed her eyes again.
She felt rope digging into her wrists and metal handcuffs around
her ankle, pulling her leg crooked. Her other ankle was tied to
the wooden leg of the bench she was sitting on. Another rope dug
painfully into her abdomen. But whatever her back was leaning
against was softer...and was breathing.
"John?" she whispered softly.
He didn't answer.
She leaned back, and then jerked forward suddenly, trying to wake
him up. He grunted.
"John? John, wake up." She raised her voice a little this time.
"Huh?"
"Are you awake?"
"Yeah...I think..."
She tested the rope knotted around her wrists.
"How well are you tied up?" she asked.
"Pretty well."
Her rope was getting a little looser.
"I think I can get my hands free..."
"Hurry up. I can barely breathe with this rope..."
"Don't breathe then," she said as she concentrated on her rope,
twisting her hands, trying to work one through the loop.
"Very funny."
A few minutes later her wrists were nearly raw, but she managed
to get one hand free.
"There." She let the rope fall off her other hand and she tried
to bend to untie the rope around her ankle.
John grunted again.
"Monica," he said. His voice was strained.
"Oh. Sorry," She quickly sat back up. "How are we supposed to
get out of this rope?" She motioned at the one tying them back-
to-back, even though he couldn't see her.
"Untie the knot?" he offered, as if it were obvious.
"Where's the knot?"
"Just slide the rope around until you find it..."
"Good idea...found it." She worked at the knot a few minutes. "I
can't get it John. It's not untying."
"Are you sure? Keep trying."
"Okay...but this is tied really weird..."
"Wait, Monica, get your ankle free first. I got an idea. We lift
the bench, and slide our ropes off the end of the bench legs.
Okay?"
"Okay. Ready? Go."
After a few attempts, they both had one of their ankles free.
Then they realized that their other ankles were both
handcuffed...to each other. Monica sighed.
"This is going to be impossible."
"Don't be so pessimistic," John said. "That's my job.--Okay,
let's try standing up."
"Okay."
They both slid sideways off the bench and leaned back against each
other to stand up. The rope around them seemed to be a little
looser now. That meant the knot was going to be tighter.
"John, do you think if I could untie your hands, you could untie
this other rope?"
"Yeah, but what makes you think you can untie my hands?"
"Hang on. I think I can turn around in this thing..."
John held still, and she twisted around inside the loop of rope
until she was facing John's back, with her ankles crossed, due to
the cuffs. It occurred to her that it might have been more
beneficial to be in front of him where his hands were, but she
wasn't about to try and move again.
She hesitated a moment and then wrapped her arms around him,
reaching for his hands. She craned her neck to see over his
shoulder.
She turned the rope around so that the knot was facing her and
fingered it thoughtfully for a second. No wonder John
couldn't get out of his knot so easily. He had big hands, she
noticed.
-Concentrate, concentrate,- she mentally reprimanded herself. She
set to work on the knot and soon realized it wasn't going to be
any easier than the other one. But then again...
"Here, gimme your hands..." She pulled them up and back, over his
shoulder. He frowned, confused.
"Why--?" Then he felt her breath on his hands as she bit into the
rope, loosening the knot with her teeth. Then she untied it and
threw the rope on the floor, and he retracted his arms.
He immediately set to work on the last rope, and Monica stood
watching him, resting her chin on his shoulder.
His big hands had the knot untied in no time, and they both
started to move away from each other, enjoying their new freedom.
They forgot about the cuffs on their ankles.
John went to put his right foot in front of his left and ended up
knocking Monica to the floor. He, in turn, lost his balance and
fell next to her. He turned to check and see if she was okay.
She was laughing.
He just stared at her. She caught his eye and just started
laughing harder. She rolled away from him, pulling his leg with
her. He pulled it back and she rolled toward him onto her back.
She stared at the ceiling, still laughing.
He kept on staring at her.
She kept laughing.
Then he smiled. He couldn't help it. The whole thing was so
ridiculous, even though it shouldn't normally be even remotely
funny. Besides that, Monica sounded like she'd gone off the deep
end.
Then he realized there was a good chance they were being watched.
But then, why hadn't guards come in to hog-tie them again? The
door had no window, and there didn't look to be any hidden
cameras. -The point being,- he thought to himself, -that they are
*hidden.*- Still, he relaxed a little, but thought they should be
more careful.
"Monica," he hissed.
She'd started to calm down, and now she looked at him quietly, but
with a goofy grin still charming her features. Then she frowned.
John frowned back at her.
"What?" he asked.
She hiccuped. -Oh no.-
"I have the hiccups," she stated, matter-of-factly. Then she
started to giggle again.
"Monica."
"Sorry, John, I-" She hiccuped again. "-I'm sorry..." She was
still smiling. "What?"
"If we're going to get out of here...How are we going to get out
of here?"
She turned her head to look behind her at the solid metal door
that, in all likelihood, was locked.
"I dunno, John." He sighed. She hiccuped.
"I think we should practice walking in these things," he said,
eyeing her suspiciously. She hiccuped again.
"Okay."
"We're gonna hafta run in them if we're gonna get out of here..."
He tried to convey the seriousness of the situation to her.
"We're doomed," she said decisively.
He just looked at her.
"I'm kidding, John. Don't worry. I haven't lost it."
She hiccuped. He gave her a look again.
"I was starting to wonder."
He stood up carefully, and reached down to help Monica up, who was
still sprawled on the floor.
"Okay, now...left first. I mean my left, your right...*outside*
first, then inside."
"Right."
Walking was no problem. Running however...
***
"That's the fiftieth time..." John commented as they both sat on
the floor after tripping, trying to run.
He was answered by silence. He looked at Monica. She was
studying the opposite wall silently.
"Hiccups are gone," she said.
"At least some good has come of all this--"
"Let's go again."
He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off.
"Just one more time."
She stood up, and he followed.
She slipped her hand into his and squeezed.
"We'll get it this time."
"We have to."
"Okay. Ready, set...go!"
They started off a little slow, concentrating on their feet,
running around the perimeter of the room. A lap or two into their
run they hit their stride and sped up, each perfectly synchronized
to the other's movements.
Then they came up on a corner of the room, no problem, they'd
turned every corner many times already. But this time Monica
turned too sharply, in front of John. Before he could stop, she
tripped and fell, offsetting his balance and pulling him down on
top of her.
He didn't move. She squirmed under him.
"John," she grunted, trying to wriggle out from underneath him.
"Get off."
He rolled lazily off her back, sprawling on the floor, looking up
at the ceiling.
"We're doomed," he told it, as if he expected an answer.
"Shhh..."
He looked at Monica. She had her ear to the floor, listening.
"What?" he whispered.
"Someone's coming."
Alarm was written all over his features.
"It sounds like just one person, though."
Now he could hear the footsteps ringing on the tile floor outside
their room. He motioned for her to get up. They both moved to
the door, standing behind it, ready for whoever was coming.
They heard the key turn in the lock, and the door swung slowly
open...
As soon as the man set foot in the room, they were on him. John
grabbed his gun and Monica gave him a right hook to the jaw. She
dodged one of his punches, and then John delivered a blow to the
head that knocked the guy out.
They tied his body to the bench with the rope that had tied them
together, then tied his hands behind him, and gagged him. They
looked for a key to the cuffs, but the only thing he had on him
was the key to the room.
Monica pocketed the key, just in case it should prove useful
later, and John slung the gun over his shoulder. Then they
carefully made their way to the door and out into the empty halls.
John checked the gun, and saw, to his surprise, that it was empty.
There didn't seem to be any surveillance equipment or guards,
though, and they proceeded fairly quickly.
It took them a good fifteen minutes to find a door and get
outside. It was all rather anticlimactic for an escape. Until
they opened the door.
John had barely set one foot outside when an alarm sounded. They
looked at each other and took off running, unsteadily. They ran
across a field and through a thin patch of trees. On the other
side of the tress, they found a busy road with bumper-to-bumper
traffic waiting for a green light. Monica looked back to the
warehouse they'd just escaped from to see a bunch of men getting
in a white van identical to the one that had taken them.
"They're coming," she said to John, who was studying the traffic.
"C'mon. I got us a ride."
She followed beside him as they crossed the road of stopped cars
and walked up the other side. They were approaching a motorcycle,
and Monica was getting a bad feeling.
John walked up to the man sitting on the motorcycle, putting a
hand on his shoulder.
"Excuse me." He punched him and quickly laid the man in the grass
on the side of the road, getting on the bike as they saw the white
van pull onto the street.
"Monica." He motioned at the part of the seat in front of him.
She was going to have to sit backwards, due to the cuffs. "Sit
here, so you won't fall of the back of the bike." She quickly
sat, facing him.
A split second later he took off. The sudden motion sent her into
Doggett, and she was suddenly glad she wasn't on the back, or she
*would* have fallen off by now. She stayed leaning against him
and wrapped her arms around him to steady herself. She looked
over his shoulder at the approaching van.
"They're still coming."
They were on the shoulder of the road and he sped up, bypassing
cars as they went. He ran the red light, narrowly missing an SUV
coming from the other road that was running a yellow one.
The light behind them turned green.
The white van was still coming.
There were cars in front of them, so John had to slow down a
little, weaving in and out of lanes, between cars. Then he took a
side street, and another, and another...
"How's it look back there?" he asked.
"Still coming last time I saw them, but they're a little behind.
I don't see them right now."
He turned a few more corners until he found an alley to hide in.
They waited to see if the white van would pass. Monica scratched
her neck. John looked at her, at her neck. Seeing something, he
looked closer. She backed up, looking back at him.
"John? What?"
"There's this thing..." He brushed his fingers against the side
of her neck where she'd been scratching. It was red, and there
was a bump. A square shaped bump.
"It's just a bug bite..." she was saying.
"No. Feel that? Looks like an implant or something..." He
trailed off, looking at her.
"They're tracking us," she said suddenly. "John, you've got to
get
it out."
"Get it out?" He was having nightmarish flashbacks of Scully in
New Mexico with a worm in her back...
"John, look at me. They're going to find us. It's just under the
skin. Just..." She paused uncomfortably. "use your pocketknife
or something. Or here, give it to me."
He reluctantly reached in his pocket, half-surprised to find it
was still there.
"Don' want you to stab yourself," he said quietly. He tilted her
head a little and made the tiniest little cut near the implant,
and then as gently as possible, he removed it, throwing it back
into the garbage lying in the back of the alley. She looked at
his neck, not finding any evidence of an implant.
"C'mon, let's go."
She gently touched her neck for a second before wrapping her arms
back around him as they took off. They both prayed they wouldn't
be found now.
After winding their way through the city blocks, they found a road
going out of the town and took it. After a while they came to a
small strip mall.
"Stop!" Monica said suddenly. John pulled over. The closest
store was a craft shop and Monica dragged John inside, hoping
their cuffs wouldn't be too noticeable. She quickly found her way
to the marker aisle and took an open marker and a piece of paper.
John looked at her questioningly. She scribbled something on the
paper, put the marker back, and dragged him to the back of the
store.
To a room marked "Ladies." She knocked on the door. No answer.
She wedged her makeshift sign under the plaque marked "Ladies,"
and pushed the door open. Her left foot wouldn't move.
"I ain't goin' in there," John said, standing his ground. She
glared at him, pointing at her sign. 'Out of order.'
"You have nice handwriting," he offered. He still wouldn't budge.
"John!" she hissed, uselessly trying to pull her foot away. She
gave up, quickly walked around him, and shoved him inside.
"No one's coming in. Don't worry."
She cast a sidelong glance at her neck in the mirror. She could
barely even see the tiny cut where the implant had been.
Satisfied, she kept walking toward the stalls.
"You put your foot here and don't move," she directed John.
And she closed the stall door.
***
"I was *not* going to go behind a bush," she said as they left the
store.
John wasn't paying attention. He was watching the silver car
parked on the curb with the keys in the ignition. He would never
cease to be amazed by some people's stupidity.
He walked to the motorcycle, took the empty machine gun out of the
saddle bag, and walked Monica over to the car.
He opened the driver's door for her.
"Scoot over." They both had to get in the same side of the car.
"How come you always get to drive?" she complained mockingly.
"Cuz that's how the cuffs are."
Before the car's owner could come back, he drove the car out of
the lot, back onto the highway.
And so they drove for hours, intent on the road, too troubled to
worry where they were, or where they were going. The sun was
sinking below the horizon behind them.
John looked at the dashboard. They were going to have to stop for
gas soon.
"Might as well look for somewhere to stay the night, too," Monica
said, as though she'd read his mind.
They found a motel a few miles down the road and decided they
should stop for the night. Slightly worried about the fact that
they *were* driving a stolen car, they parked it a mile away in
the woods on the side of the road and walked from there.
"I hope you've got your wallet. And some cash--wouldn't want them
to track your credit card. I would offer to help pay for the
room, but I have nothing," she said as they walked, motioning at
her pocketless dress pants.
He smiled a little and pulled his wallet out, counting his money.
"Yeah, they didn't seem to mess with our--*my* pockets, luckily.
Stupid, but lucky. Should have enough to get a room." He paused,
thinking. "Guess it's gonna hafta be *one* room," he muttered,
glaring at the cuffs around their ankles.
It was dark as they reached the motel parking lot and Monica
walked closer to John. Not because of the dark...
"Hopefully they won't notice the cuffs," she said by way of
explanation.
The actual cuffs were hidden underneath the cuffs of their pants,
but if someone was looking for it, they'd see the chain running
between the two.
They went into the registration building and to the front desk.
"Hello, can I help you?" asked the woman behind the desk.
"Yes, we were wondering if you had a free room?"
They did, and John paid in cash. The woman gave him a key and
directed him towards the room.
"113. Lucky," Monica commented as they found the room.
"Uh-huh." He opened the door and flicked the light switch. They
went inside, closed the door, and surveyed the room. Table,
chairs, couch, TV...and a double bed. Monica started walking and
John quickly caught up to her. She plopped down on the couch,
sighing. He sat next to her.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothin'. What makes you think anythin's wrong?"
"You wouldn't want to hear it. Not that I wouldn't be able to
tell anyway."
"Oh, come on, Monica. Not this again."
"What if I could prove it to you?" she asked, turning her head to
look him in the eye.
"How?"
"Think of something--a person, an event. I'll tell you the
emotions you associate with it. If I'm right...then I'm right.
But you have to be honest with yourself."
"Okay. Fine. Go."
"Okay..." She thought for a minute. "Happiness. Love.
Joy...Pride.....Awe. What was it?"
He paused, thinking. She'd hit the nail on the head. Coincidence
or not? "Luke's birth." He smiled a little, remembering.
She smiled sadly, watching him. Then he looked at her.
"Do it again."
A pause, then: "Pride, patriotism, honor,
worry...accomplishment..."
"Day I became a cop." He paused. "Again."
She sat for a minute, then her brow furrowed. "Oh, no...John, not
that. Don't think about that. Just--" She winced slightly, and
his mind went blank, switching to worry. The black, dark pain of
Luke's death was *not* something either of them needed to dwell
on. Although they both did, at times.
She recovered her composure quickly, looking back up at him.
"Okay, keep going. Now what?" She was actually liking this
little game of theirs. She was curious to know anything he felt
like sharing, and it was insightful for her.
"Confusion and...fear. Fear? John, what was that?"
"Anthony Tipet."
"Oh." She remembered him. She'd been distraught for two whole
days. John just kept entering into her mind--more often than
normal. And this was when she was still in New Orleans.
Suddenly, in the middle of a meeting with her AD and a whole table
of her peers, she had to excuse herself. She'd felt something.
She thought John was in danger--she had nothing to back up her
idea, but she called him on her cell, just to check. That's when
he told her about Anthony Tipet. She'd been amazed at how
confused he was. He was actually buying into Tipet's whole third
eye thing. That only made her worry more--he was not himself.
But when she called back two days later to check on him again, he
was back to normal. And he'd written off the perfect timing of
her call--five minutes after Scully had woken him out of a
nightmare--as a coincidence. -'I believe life is full of them.'-
She shook her head to clear her mind and focused back on John.
"One more," she said.
"Okay. Go."
She paused for a second. "Comfort...dull pain, confusion...
love...friendship...familiarity... Lemme guess--Barbara?"
"No..." he paused, looking at her. She suddenly felt
uncomfortable under his gaze.
Then he sat back, sinking into the couch, and sighed.
"Who, then?" she demanded, suddenly desperately curious.
"Mmmm. Not going to say. You guessed wrong."
"Oh, come on, John You have to tell me!" She swatted him on the
shoulder.
"Nope. Not gonna..."
"John!"
"Okay, okay. Are you sure you want to know?"
"Yes." She laughed. "Just tell me."
"No...no. You already know. Or at least you should."
"No. John! C'mon tell me," she pleaded.
"You."
"You what?"
"You."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
Now she sat back, too, and stared up at the ceiling.
They both sat like that for awhile.
"I really wish I could get a shower," she said finally. "I'm
filthy."
"You don't smell yet. You can wait." He leaned forward, studying
their cuffs, then pulled his Swiss army knife from his pocket and
tried to pick the lock.
He tried for fifteen minutes and got nowhere.
"You know, that would've come in handy when we were tied up," she
commented.
"Uh-huh. Too late. Any good at picking locks?"
"Nope. Certainly not any better than you, anyway."
"Great. First thing in the morning, I'm gonna find a Home Depot."
"Why?"
"Demo hack saw's gonna cut us loose."
"Oh. Sounds like a plan."
"Uh-huh."
There was silence for a few minutes, then:
"John?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you tired yet?"
"Are you?"
"I asked first."
"I paid for the room."
"Okay, yeah, I am. So...?"
"Me too."
She yawned.
"Don't do that. It's contagious."
"Sorry. So can we sleep sometime tonight? I'm tired."
"Yeah. Okay."
He still sat there hunched over, fiddling with the lock. She
could tell he was brooding. She wanted to stretch out flat on a
nice, soft, spacious mattress, but it didn't look likely. She
gave up on trying to get him to sleep, and, still reclining on the
couch, closed her eyes. A split second later she was asleep.
John continued to toy with the lock, but to no avail. He finally
gave up, and looked over at Monica, who was still asleep. He
wasn't about to spend the night on the couch, but he didn't want
to wake Monica, either. Mindful of the cuffs, he picked her up,
letting her chained leg hang down so he could walk. It was very
awkward, to say the least, and he quickly walked over to the bed
and laid her down as gently as possible. She stirred, but didn't
wake. He took off their shoes, keeping his right foot on the bad
so he didn't drag her off it. He wrestled the covers out from
under her without waking her--an accomplishment in and of itself--
and then crawled into his side of the bed, pulling the covers up
over both of them. He faced away from Monica, closed his eyes,
and tried to sleep. It did not come easily. Tomorrow they were
definitely finding a Home Depot.
***
When John woke up, something was wrong. He looked down and
quickly identified the problem. He'd rolled over in his sleep,
and apparently Monica had, too, because she was happily curled up
against his chest, still fast asleep. He simultaneously did and
did not want her to wake up. He ended up just staying exactly
where he was, watching her sleep. Some part of his rational mind
told him to either go back to sleep or wake her up. But he didn't
move. She muttered something unintelligible and he smiled.
Monica Reyes talked in her sleep. He thought it was kind of
funny, actually.
Then she said something he did recognize.
"John..." At first he thought she'd woken up, but when he looked
down at her, she was still asleep.
"What?" He answered her, just to see what would happen.
She didn't answer at first, just squirmed around under the
blanket, repositioning herself against him.
He was on the verge of backing away or waking her when she
frowned. She opened her eyes briefly, staring into John's collar.
She closed her eyes again, as though it was nothing out of the
ordinary. Then her eyes flew open as she realized where she was.
John just watched her silently, a twinkle in his eyes and a wide
smile on his face. He thought her reaction to all this was very
funny.
"John, I-" She stopped, not knowing what to say. A quick glance
behind her told her she was in more trouble than she thought.
John was on his side of the bed, problem was, so was she. She
slowly backed away from him. "I-uh..."
Then she noticed he was silently laughing at her. She was about
to die of embarrassment.
"What's so funny?" she demanded, trying to erase the past two
minutes from her mind.
He tried, and failed, to stop laughing. The incredulous look on
Monica's face wasn't helping.
"Nothin'," he answered, propping himself up with an elbow.
"Uh-huh, thought so." She rolled her eyes.
"You know you talk in your sleep?" he asked, though it was really
more of a statement.
"Do not."
"Do too. I heard you."
"Really?" Her voice was laced with sarcasm.
"How many Johns do you know?"
Her face was a picture of shock and mortification. He just
laughed again.
"Shut up, John." She shoved him slightly.
"Don't push me," he said jokingly. "I might fall off the bed."
"No you won't." She pushed him again, smiling.
He wasn't very far from the edge of the bed, and slid off, just
for reaction's sake. He landed on the floor on his back, dragging
Monica halfway across the bed, and bringing half the covers with
him. His cuffed leg was still on the bed, and he tried to pull it
down. Monica was trying to keep from being pulled any farther,
but...
"John, no..." she said vaguely, but he ignored her. He brought
his leg down and Monica followed, along with the rest of the
blankets. She landed in an odd position, half on him, half
leaning into the bed. He scooted away, and she ended up on the
floor next to him, almost under the bed. They both were tangled
in the bedclothes. John just laughed. She mock-glared at him.
"You did that on purpose!"
"Did what?"
"Oh grow up." She tried to sound annoyed, but failed miserably as
a smile crossed her face and she dissolved into giggles. She
buried her face in his shoulder as she laughed. He just watched
her, and listened to her laugh. He was glad he could make her
happy.
Then he looked across the room where the digital clock glared at
him with glowing red numbers.
"Hey Monica," he said, laying a hand on her shoulder.
She looked up at him.
"We should get going. It's almost nine."
"I don't want to get up," she complained. "Let's just stay here.
They'll never find us. We can hide under the bed." She laughed
again, rolling away from him, under the bed.
"No, come on, we gotta go. They're gonna close the free breakfast
thing in an hour."
The thought of food brought her out from under the bed. They
hadn't eaten since...a long time ago.
John stood up, or tried to, considering he was still tangled in
the covers and Monica wasn't moving.
"I can't get up," she groaned.
He pulled her to her feet and looked her in the eye.
"Think about breakfast."
"Okay, let's go. Now."
John tossed the blankets on the bed and followed Monica out of the
room.
***
After eating their fill at the motel's continental breakfast, they
were back on the road.
"Where are we going?" Monica asked.
"To Home Depot," came the reply. No big plan.
"So," he said, curious. "What was your dream about?"
"Hm? Oh...nothing. I don't always remember what I dream about..."
"But you remember *this* dream...Don't you?" He glanced at her.
She looked away uncomfortably. She couldn't lie to him, but...
"A little, maybe," she allowed.
"So..." he prompted.
She hesitated.
"It was about work. I always dream about work."
She hoped he'd leave it to that.
He didn't.
"What about work? Why d'you always dream about work?"
"Because. I just do." She smiled and shook her head. He knew he
was getting to her.
"Aw, come on, Monica. I wanna hear your metaphysical explanation
of your dreams. Your subconscious and symbolism and stuff."
He *wanted* to hear? "Subconscious?" she said, skeptically.
"Uh-huh."
"Okay. Maybe I dream about work because...I like my job. And my
co-worker.s. Co-worker*s*." She was digging herself a hole.
"So what do *you* dream about, John?"
"I dunno. I don't dream."
"Everybody dreams, John. C'mon, I told you mine..."
"No you didn't. 'Work' doesn't constitute an explanation."
"Well, you were the one listening to me...You should already know
what my dream was about," she teased.
"Me?"
"Wow, *John*. I thought you'd never guess."
"Well, you know. I could just tell. I mean, you know. I just
got this feeling..." He was teasing her.
She laughed, and hit him on the shoulder. "Shut up, John."
He sighed. There were no turnoffs on this road, and he wasn't
seeing any stores either. It was like they were in the middle of
nowhere.
"Do you have any idea where we might be?" he asked.
"No..."
He turned on the radio, hoping to get a clue as to where they
were. No such luck. He couldn't find any channels. Maybe the
radio was broken...he hoped. They couldn't be that far in the
middle of nowhere.
***
It was late afternoon before they found any streets intersecting
theirs. After driving around for awhile, they found a hardware
store. For all intents and purposes, it could be a Home Depot.
This time there was nowhere to hide the car, so they parked it in
the lot, made sure to lock the doors, and headed for the store.
"If anybody asks, we're a happy new couple, looking for a
nice...light. For our new house," said Monica.
"What?"
"If we go in there in black suits looking to buy a hack
saw...we're going to raise a little suspicion."
"Uh-huh." He thought for a second. "Newlyweds?" he asked
skeptically.
She shrugged.
"Isn't that going to raise suspicion by itself?"
"Why would it?"
"Well, people our age aren't exactly in the newlywed category..."
"There's some solid logic. And *that* makes us very suspicious.
Besides, John, people our age get married. Or we-they could if
they want to." She paused, considering her jumbled statement.
She wished she could take it back...she settled on changing the
subject.
"Are you calling me old?"
"No," he said, looking at her. And she got the feeling he was
looking her over. She focused on the cracked asphalt of the
parking lot. Then John started talking again. "But we're not
exactly fresh out of college, either."
They reached the doors thoughtful. Monica slipped her hand into
John's.
"Think happy couple."
"Monica, look at this--lighting's all the way on the other side of
the store."
"So hope we don't run into any friendly associates."
Just then, a young man in a bright blue tool apron approached
them.
"Can I help you two with anything?"
Monica tried to smile and nudged John to do the same.
He just answered, "No, I think we can find it."
"Are you sure? Lemme help. It's my first day on the job and I
actually want to *do* something."
John looked like he was about to strangle the kid, who was
probably not more than eighteen years old.
"No, I really don't think-"
"Oh, no, really. What are you looking for?"
"Uh..."
Monica took over for him.
"We were looking for a light, actually. For our new house," she
added, trying not to enjoy the little scenario she'd made up as
much as she did.
"Oooohh. Just hitched?"
"How'd you guess?" The kid was clueless. But persistent.
John glared at her. She just smiled back.
"Okay, follow me. I'll show you the lighting department."
He turned and started walking away from them. Monica started to
follow, but John wasn't moving. She looked at him. He pointed in
the other direction--towards the saws.
'Freedom,' he mouthed at her.
"John. Come on."
The sales associate had realized by now that they weren't
following him. He turned to look back at them.
"You guys coming or what?"
John set his jaw, not a good sign to Monica, and they followed the
boy to the lighting department.
"Thanks for your help," John said when they got there, trying to
get rid of the guy.
"Sure. You want me to help you look at some of them?"
-Help us look?- John could not believe his ears.
"No, that's okay. I think we'll just browse--"
"Really. I can show you all the best lamps..."
Monica hung on John's arm and gave him a look of desperation.
This was going to be a *long* trip.
***
For over an hour, they'd tried unsuccessfully to get rid of their
new worst nightmare. Nothing worked. Finally, they gave up and
left.
"If you ever decide to come back," he called after them through
the closing doors, "I'll still be here to help."
"Just what I wanted to hear," John muttered as he stalked towards
the car.
Monica was adjusting to his pace when she tripped on an uneven
part of the asphalt and went flying. He caught her arm and
instead of falling flat on her face, she only nearly had her
shoulder dislocated. He helped her regain her balance and let go
of her arm.
"Sorry."
"How was that your fault?" she asked, half-smiling. "I'm just
clumsy."
"Yeah. Well, that and sorry for not gettin' us uncuffed."
"No big deal. We'll get it eventually." She looked at the sky.
The sun was starting to set. "We should find somewhere to eat.
Or I guess get takeout. Can't sit at a table unless we're on one
side of a booth. And that...could work, I guess."
"Takeout's fine. Don't wanna look too suspicious," he added,
giving her a look.
"Point taken."
As they pulled out of the lot, John noticed a black car start up
and follow them out. He didn't say anything though, and a short
time later it disappeared from view. He dismissed it as paranoia.
They got food from a local fast food place and hit the road again.
"Figure we can get a few more hours in before we find another
motel," he said.
"Yeah. John, there's just one thing. Where *are* we going?"
"Home. We're somewhere west. So we're going east."
He took out a map he'd gotten from the restaurant's lobby area.
"Oh. Okay." She settled back into her chair. "I'm going to keep
an eye out for a motel."
Several hours later, she was staring out her window. Her gaze
drifted to the mirror on her side of the car. There were two cars
behind them, but other than that, the road seemed pretty deserted.
Both of the cars looked to be black, maybe even the same kind of
car, but it was dark so she couldn't be sure. Just as she
couldn't be sure they were being followed, though she expected it.
"John, turn on the next street you come to."
"Why?"
"I think we're being followed."
He didn't answer, just took a right on the next side street, then
a left, ending up on a road parallel to the one they'd just been
on. Monica was twisted around uncomfortably in her chair,
watching the twin black cars follow them.
She sighed and turned back around. "I guess if they're not going
to *do* anything to us at the moment..."
"We'll just drive for awhile. See what they do."
Despite John's calm demeanor, Monica could feel the car speed up
as he pushed the accelerator.
***
"John, you're falling asleep."
"No I'm not. I'm fine. We can't stop anyway, with those cars--"
"Okay, but...talk then. It'll help keep you awake."
"Talk about what?"
"How about...What you do, outside of work."
"You don't wanna know. It'll put you to sleep."
"No it won't. I'm a captive audience, John."
"Yeah," he chuckled. "Literally."
"C'mon, John. Unless you have a better idea."
"If I don't talk, you'll never let me alone."
"You're probably right." She smiled.
"Huh. After work. I go home, toss a TV dinner in the microwave,
and fall asleep on the couch. Or if I'm lucky I make it upstairs
to bed. Wake up, shower, dress, eat breakfast, read the
newspaper, drive to work. I don't have a very interesting life,
Monica. Can't say I didn't warn you."
"Oh, come on. Don't you have guys you hang out with? You know,
go to bars, watch football...all that guy stuff. You've been in
DC longer than I have..."
He sighed. "Not anymore. Not with this job."
"What do you mean?"
"Guy's friendships aren't very...strong. That's one thing about
women--they're loyal. I remember Barb and her friends...couldn't
separate them. But that's different. I used to...used to grab a
beer with friends after work every day, watch football at
someone's house. Yeah, stuff like that. But whenever they'd
mention work--after this job, it's just...it definitely limits who
you can be friends with, y'know? And those people who I'd be
limited to...I wouldn't fit in with them, either." He tried to
pick his words carefully. "That just leaves me you and those
spontaneous Friday nights," he said, sounding less subtle and more
desperate than he'd hoped for. He almost regretted the words as
soon as he said them.
She had a huge smile on her face when he dared to look at her,
though, and as they passed under a street light, he could see that
her eyes were wet.
"I'll just have to drag you out of your house more often. That
is, if you think we 'fit' together."
"If I didn't, why do you think I let you drag me out on Friday
nights?"
She laughed. "I don't know John."
Suddenly a light started blinking on the dashboard.
"We're almost out of gas. I've been looking for a gas station for
miles, but I haven't seen any."
"Me neither. What do we do? Wait until it stops running?"
"I guess. Then make a run for it."
"Sounds like a plan to me."
John stepped on the gas pedal, trying to put some distance between
them and the black cars. The black cars sped up as well. Monica
kept her eyes glued to the cars out the back window.
"John, they're gaining on us!"
"Okay. We're going to pull over now."
He veered off the road, slamming on the brakes. They both rushed
to get out of Monica's side of the car as the black cars screeched
to a halt not three yards from them. The man in the black suit
got out of the first car.
They turned and ran towards the slope leading down away from the
road.
"Stop!"
The voice was not that of the man in the suit. It was a voice
they recognized--Skinner's.
"Assistant Director?" John yelled back. He stopped and turned
around, putting his hand on Monica's wrist to be sure she was
still there. As if she could go anywhere else.
"You mind explainin' this?" John asked, squinting in the
brightness of the cars' headlights.
"I'll explain it later, Agent Doggett. Right now, you're both
obviously in no condition to drive. You'll stay the night in a
motel a few miles from here. I'll explain in the morning. You
and Agent Reyes get in the car."
"That man kidnapped us," said Monica, nodding in the direction of
the man in the suit.
"I know."
"*You* know," said John, skeptical.
"Just get in the car."
John eyed him for a minute, then started towards the car.
"Wait," he said suddenly. "What about these?" He motioned at the
cuffs.
"When you get in the car."
John glared at him, and they both got in the back seat. Skinner
got in the driver's seat and handed them back a small key and a
credit card.
"Use that to pay for the motel."
John took it and bent to unlock their cuffs.
***
John sighed as he opened the door to their *one* room.
"Figures they'd have one room left."
"It's not that bad. There's a couch," she said, dropping herself
down on it.
John closed the door and walked over to her.
"Yeah, well, get up."
"Why?"
"I wanna go to sleep. You got the bed."
"No, you're more tired than I am. You drove the whole way.
Besides, I got here first." She lay down, facing the back of the
couch.
"Monica," he started.
"Don't bother me, John, I'm trying to sleep," she said with a
smile.
Oh, he was going to get her for this. He sat on the corner of the
bed and waited, trying desperately not to fall asleep. After what
had to be at least half an hour, maybe more, he quietly walked
over to her, listening. He could tell from her slow, rhythmic
breathing that she was asleep.
He gently picked her up, smiling involuntarily as her hand closed
around his wrist. He carried her over to the bed as he had done
the night before, though this time without the impediment of the
cuffs. He slowly pried her fingers loose from around his wrist
and let her arm fall back to her side. He pulled the covers over
her, and just stood there watching her for a moment. He was
tempted to talk to her while she was asleep, just to see if she
would answer. He decided against it, though; he wouldn't want her
to wake up and see him standing there staring at her.
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, letting his hand rest
against her face for a second as he had done when she was in the
hospital not too long ago. He saw a smile tug at the corners of
her mouth, and smiled back.
"'Night, Monica," he whispered, and walked back over to the couch,
lowering himself onto it with a sigh. He was asleep before he
knew it.
***
Monica woke up sprawled out on a bed. A bed? She looked up to
see John lying on the couch, watching her. He almost looked
guilty for a second when he met her gaze, but then his eyes were
full of mischief.
"Whatever you're thinking, I *do not* sleepwalk!"
That wasn't what he expected to hear, but he'd take what he could
get.
"Are you sure?" He smiled.
"Come on, John. You know I don't sleepwalk..."
"*I* know?"
She laughed. "You just won't lose, will you?"
"No." He stood up. "Come on, let's go see if we can hunt down
Skinner. I wanna know what all this is about."
She got up, enjoying the fact that she didn't have to synchronize
her steps anymore.
To their surprise, they found him sitting in a parked car right
outside their room. They both felt slightly uncomfortable with
the idea that he'd been sitting right outside their room all
night.
He and the man in the black suit got out of opposite sides of the
black car and approached them. The other black car and the silver
one they'd stolen were nowhere in sight. John mentally heaved a
sigh at the thought that they were both going to be relegated to
the back seat of the small car. Again.
"Agent Doggett; Agent Reyes," Skinner said by way of a greeting.
"Assistant Director," John said back. Monica just gave a weak
smile. John continued. "You gonna explain all this now?"
"Yes. But not here," he said, and turned around.
John sighed and they followed the two men back to the car.
-It's the small things that count- Monica thought as she and John
got in on opposite sides of the car.
Skinner started talking.
"This whole thing...has been staged. Your abduction," John
cringed at the word, "the people following you..."
The man in the suit took over.
"It was part of a test. And I must say, you performed fairly
well, although you caused some difficulty with stealing a
motorcycle and a vehicle. The respective owners were rather
unhappy."
"Glad to hear it," John grumbled. "You still haven't told us
why."
"We wanted it to look like a kidnapping so your absence would not
look suspicious, and we wanted to test you to see how well you
worked together. Hence the cuffs. They also provided a
convenient place for a back-up transmitter after you found and
removed the other one."
"So...What is this all about? Why go to all this trouble?" asked
Monica.
"We have a job for you."
~fin.
A/N: There is probably a sequel coming. Maybe. And this is one
of those 'suspend your disbelief' things (for anything that makes
absolutely no sense—-like why they are rolling around on the floor
of their cell laughing their heads off. or the weird dialogue.
all I can say is, I wrote the fic. if you think you can help me
not be so bad-maybe in need a beta. (maybe not.) email me.). I
think this ended up as more of a series of vignettes stretched
across something pretending to be a plot...so...feedback?
last thing: the whole two people tied together part was semi-
stolen from an Enterprise episode—'Shadows of P'Jem'. Just
covering all my bases.
Feedback: verdandi_happening@hotmail.com
Author: sparkle*
Feedback: verdandi_happening@hotmail.com
Rating: PG-13
Category: S
Spoilers: 9th season, Roadrunners, Via Negativa
Keywords: Doggett, Reyes, DRR UST
Summary: She tripped and fell, offsetting his balance and pulling
him down on top of her. He rolled lazily off her back, sprawling
on the floor, looking at the ceiling. "We're doomed," he told
it...
Disclaimer: Not mine, but then again, CC left them stranded in the
desert. At least Mulder and Scully got a motel room...
Author's Note: *This* is the longest fic I have ever written. Or
attempted. And also the most DRR-ish I've written so far. So
PLEASE gimme feedback.
***
It was a Friday like any other Friday. The two agents gathered
their belongings and headed out of the office, later than they
should. But, then, it wasn't as though either of them had
anything to go home to. They enjoyed each other's company.
Especially at the start of what looked to be another long, lonely
weekend.
They were both relatively happy as they got on the elevator to go
up to the parking garage, continuing their earlier conversation
about the cases they'd just received.
"I *really* think we should investigate this crop circle thing,"
Monica stated flatly, although she only half meant it.
He shot her a look. She just laughed.
"C'mon, John, we haven't gotten any interesting cases in *weeks*.
We haven't even been out of the basement in almost two months.
It'll be fun...and you know you want to see an actual, honest-to-
goodness crop circle. They're interesting! They're not...staring
at a desk all day.
"Monica, they're the result of farmers being bored out of their
minds..." he protested.
Before she got a chance to reply, the elevator doors opened and
they both stepped out into the darkened parking garage. It was
almost empty by now, and they headed in the direction of their
cars, which happened to be relatively close to each other.
"C'mon, John. Just *one* crop circle case? Please...?" she
begged.
"Okay, okay, we'll do a crop circle case..." he trailed off, not
really paying attention. But Monica didn't notice at first,
wrapping her arm around his shoulders and squeezing him in a kind
of hug, saying, "John Doggett, you're my hero." He didn't answer.
The parking garage was suddenly full of an eerie silence. Monica
frowned.
"What is it?" she asked quietly.
"See that white van? That...That shouldn't be here," he whispered
vaguely. He couldn't explain it, but something felt very wrong.
His hand moved to the gun on his hip.
Monica followed his lead, drawing her gun from her back. They
both approached the van cautiously. The had nowhere to hide,
seeing as their two cars and the white van were just about the
only vehicles in the garage.
Suddenly, out of nowhere--out of the shadows--jumped six men, two
with very dangerous-looking automatic guns in their hands.
John and Monica started to back away, guns still in hand, but one
of the unidentified men, dressed in a suit--they were all dressed
in black--gestured for them to stop and put their guns down. The
two men with machine guns trained them on the two agents.
"Please just be cooperative," the man-in-charge yelled to them.
But they continued to back away.
"Who are you?" John called out.
"That is not your concern. You have not cooperated," he said
sighing. He motioned at his men, and four of them rushed at the
two agents.
John turned to run, grabbing Monica's wrist as he went, as if to
be sure she wouldn't fall behind or be separated from him. She
had no problem matching his pace, but their flight was stopped
short. More men dressed in black were coming at them from all
sides. They were surrounded.
Within minutes, they were being restrained by four burly men.
They both struggled a little, but after John was gut-punched, and
Monica was shook around, they both relented for the time being.
The man in the suit walked over to them.
"Very good. I see we did not need your cooperation after all."
***
"Take them to the van."
The two agents struggled against their captors until the machine
guns were trained on them again.
The men wrestled them into the back of the van, closing the doors
behind them. They swayed from side to side as the van pulled out
of the parking garage and sped away.
Not five minutes into their ride, one of the men reached into a
case at his feet. He fished around for a minute, and Monica
craned her neck to get a glance at what he was doing. She found
out soon enough. The man produced a syringe which neither of them
thought was a very good idea. Were it not that they were both
still being held still by two men each...
The man moved to John first. Monica watched in horror as they
injected the whole syringe into his arm. She kept her eyes on
John as the man went back for another one.
She felt the needle in her arm and closed her eyes slightly in
defeat. She looked back at John. His eyelids were already
drooping. Then they were closed.
"John. John!" She tried to wake him... "John-" ...and got hit in
the mouth with the butt of one of their guns. She bit her lip and
tasted blood. Her vision swam before her eyes. She tried to
focus on John's face, but she couldn't. And she couldn't stop
blinking. Then her eyes were closed.
***
When she opened her eyes, all she could see was the barely visible
gray walls of an empty room. The only light came from a window
high on the wall behind her.
She closed her eyes again.
She felt rope digging into her wrists and metal handcuffs around
her ankle, pulling her leg crooked. Her other ankle was tied to
the wooden leg of the bench she was sitting on. Another rope dug
painfully into her abdomen. But whatever her back was leaning
against was softer...and was breathing.
"John?" she whispered softly.
He didn't answer.
She leaned back, and then jerked forward suddenly, trying to wake
him up. He grunted.
"John? John, wake up." She raised her voice a little this time.
"Huh?"
"Are you awake?"
"Yeah...I think..."
She tested the rope knotted around her wrists.
"How well are you tied up?" she asked.
"Pretty well."
Her rope was getting a little looser.
"I think I can get my hands free..."
"Hurry up. I can barely breathe with this rope..."
"Don't breathe then," she said as she concentrated on her rope,
twisting her hands, trying to work one through the loop.
"Very funny."
A few minutes later her wrists were nearly raw, but she managed
to get one hand free.
"There." She let the rope fall off her other hand and she tried
to bend to untie the rope around her ankle.
John grunted again.
"Monica," he said. His voice was strained.
"Oh. Sorry," She quickly sat back up. "How are we supposed to
get out of this rope?" She motioned at the one tying them back-
to-back, even though he couldn't see her.
"Untie the knot?" he offered, as if it were obvious.
"Where's the knot?"
"Just slide the rope around until you find it..."
"Good idea...found it." She worked at the knot a few minutes. "I
can't get it John. It's not untying."
"Are you sure? Keep trying."
"Okay...but this is tied really weird..."
"Wait, Monica, get your ankle free first. I got an idea. We lift
the bench, and slide our ropes off the end of the bench legs.
Okay?"
"Okay. Ready? Go."
After a few attempts, they both had one of their ankles free.
Then they realized that their other ankles were both
handcuffed...to each other. Monica sighed.
"This is going to be impossible."
"Don't be so pessimistic," John said. "That's my job.--Okay,
let's try standing up."
"Okay."
They both slid sideways off the bench and leaned back against each
other to stand up. The rope around them seemed to be a little
looser now. That meant the knot was going to be tighter.
"John, do you think if I could untie your hands, you could untie
this other rope?"
"Yeah, but what makes you think you can untie my hands?"
"Hang on. I think I can turn around in this thing..."
John held still, and she twisted around inside the loop of rope
until she was facing John's back, with her ankles crossed, due to
the cuffs. It occurred to her that it might have been more
beneficial to be in front of him where his hands were, but she
wasn't about to try and move again.
She hesitated a moment and then wrapped her arms around him,
reaching for his hands. She craned her neck to see over his
shoulder.
She turned the rope around so that the knot was facing her and
fingered it thoughtfully for a second. No wonder John
couldn't get out of his knot so easily. He had big hands, she
noticed.
-Concentrate, concentrate,- she mentally reprimanded herself. She
set to work on the knot and soon realized it wasn't going to be
any easier than the other one. But then again...
"Here, gimme your hands..." She pulled them up and back, over his
shoulder. He frowned, confused.
"Why--?" Then he felt her breath on his hands as she bit into the
rope, loosening the knot with her teeth. Then she untied it and
threw the rope on the floor, and he retracted his arms.
He immediately set to work on the last rope, and Monica stood
watching him, resting her chin on his shoulder.
His big hands had the knot untied in no time, and they both
started to move away from each other, enjoying their new freedom.
They forgot about the cuffs on their ankles.
John went to put his right foot in front of his left and ended up
knocking Monica to the floor. He, in turn, lost his balance and
fell next to her. He turned to check and see if she was okay.
She was laughing.
He just stared at her. She caught his eye and just started
laughing harder. She rolled away from him, pulling his leg with
her. He pulled it back and she rolled toward him onto her back.
She stared at the ceiling, still laughing.
He kept on staring at her.
She kept laughing.
Then he smiled. He couldn't help it. The whole thing was so
ridiculous, even though it shouldn't normally be even remotely
funny. Besides that, Monica sounded like she'd gone off the deep
end.
Then he realized there was a good chance they were being watched.
But then, why hadn't guards come in to hog-tie them again? The
door had no window, and there didn't look to be any hidden
cameras. -The point being,- he thought to himself, -that they are
*hidden.*- Still, he relaxed a little, but thought they should be
more careful.
"Monica," he hissed.
She'd started to calm down, and now she looked at him quietly, but
with a goofy grin still charming her features. Then she frowned.
John frowned back at her.
"What?" he asked.
She hiccuped. -Oh no.-
"I have the hiccups," she stated, matter-of-factly. Then she
started to giggle again.
"Monica."
"Sorry, John, I-" She hiccuped again. "-I'm sorry..." She was
still smiling. "What?"
"If we're going to get out of here...How are we going to get out
of here?"
She turned her head to look behind her at the solid metal door
that, in all likelihood, was locked.
"I dunno, John." He sighed. She hiccuped.
"I think we should practice walking in these things," he said,
eyeing her suspiciously. She hiccuped again.
"Okay."
"We're gonna hafta run in them if we're gonna get out of here..."
He tried to convey the seriousness of the situation to her.
"We're doomed," she said decisively.
He just looked at her.
"I'm kidding, John. Don't worry. I haven't lost it."
She hiccuped. He gave her a look again.
"I was starting to wonder."
He stood up carefully, and reached down to help Monica up, who was
still sprawled on the floor.
"Okay, now...left first. I mean my left, your right...*outside*
first, then inside."
"Right."
Walking was no problem. Running however...
***
"That's the fiftieth time..." John commented as they both sat on
the floor after tripping, trying to run.
He was answered by silence. He looked at Monica. She was
studying the opposite wall silently.
"Hiccups are gone," she said.
"At least some good has come of all this--"
"Let's go again."
He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off.
"Just one more time."
She stood up, and he followed.
She slipped her hand into his and squeezed.
"We'll get it this time."
"We have to."
"Okay. Ready, set...go!"
They started off a little slow, concentrating on their feet,
running around the perimeter of the room. A lap or two into their
run they hit their stride and sped up, each perfectly synchronized
to the other's movements.
Then they came up on a corner of the room, no problem, they'd
turned every corner many times already. But this time Monica
turned too sharply, in front of John. Before he could stop, she
tripped and fell, offsetting his balance and pulling him down on
top of her.
He didn't move. She squirmed under him.
"John," she grunted, trying to wriggle out from underneath him.
"Get off."
He rolled lazily off her back, sprawling on the floor, looking up
at the ceiling.
"We're doomed," he told it, as if he expected an answer.
"Shhh..."
He looked at Monica. She had her ear to the floor, listening.
"What?" he whispered.
"Someone's coming."
Alarm was written all over his features.
"It sounds like just one person, though."
Now he could hear the footsteps ringing on the tile floor outside
their room. He motioned for her to get up. They both moved to
the door, standing behind it, ready for whoever was coming.
They heard the key turn in the lock, and the door swung slowly
open...
As soon as the man set foot in the room, they were on him. John
grabbed his gun and Monica gave him a right hook to the jaw. She
dodged one of his punches, and then John delivered a blow to the
head that knocked the guy out.
They tied his body to the bench with the rope that had tied them
together, then tied his hands behind him, and gagged him. They
looked for a key to the cuffs, but the only thing he had on him
was the key to the room.
Monica pocketed the key, just in case it should prove useful
later, and John slung the gun over his shoulder. Then they
carefully made their way to the door and out into the empty halls.
John checked the gun, and saw, to his surprise, that it was empty.
There didn't seem to be any surveillance equipment or guards,
though, and they proceeded fairly quickly.
It took them a good fifteen minutes to find a door and get
outside. It was all rather anticlimactic for an escape. Until
they opened the door.
John had barely set one foot outside when an alarm sounded. They
looked at each other and took off running, unsteadily. They ran
across a field and through a thin patch of trees. On the other
side of the tress, they found a busy road with bumper-to-bumper
traffic waiting for a green light. Monica looked back to the
warehouse they'd just escaped from to see a bunch of men getting
in a white van identical to the one that had taken them.
"They're coming," she said to John, who was studying the traffic.
"C'mon. I got us a ride."
She followed beside him as they crossed the road of stopped cars
and walked up the other side. They were approaching a motorcycle,
and Monica was getting a bad feeling.
John walked up to the man sitting on the motorcycle, putting a
hand on his shoulder.
"Excuse me." He punched him and quickly laid the man in the grass
on the side of the road, getting on the bike as they saw the white
van pull onto the street.
"Monica." He motioned at the part of the seat in front of him.
She was going to have to sit backwards, due to the cuffs. "Sit
here, so you won't fall of the back of the bike." She quickly
sat, facing him.
A split second later he took off. The sudden motion sent her into
Doggett, and she was suddenly glad she wasn't on the back, or she
*would* have fallen off by now. She stayed leaning against him
and wrapped her arms around him to steady herself. She looked
over his shoulder at the approaching van.
"They're still coming."
They were on the shoulder of the road and he sped up, bypassing
cars as they went. He ran the red light, narrowly missing an SUV
coming from the other road that was running a yellow one.
The light behind them turned green.
The white van was still coming.
There were cars in front of them, so John had to slow down a
little, weaving in and out of lanes, between cars. Then he took a
side street, and another, and another...
"How's it look back there?" he asked.
"Still coming last time I saw them, but they're a little behind.
I don't see them right now."
He turned a few more corners until he found an alley to hide in.
They waited to see if the white van would pass. Monica scratched
her neck. John looked at her, at her neck. Seeing something, he
looked closer. She backed up, looking back at him.
"John? What?"
"There's this thing..." He brushed his fingers against the side
of her neck where she'd been scratching. It was red, and there
was a bump. A square shaped bump.
"It's just a bug bite..." she was saying.
"No. Feel that? Looks like an implant or something..." He
trailed off, looking at her.
"They're tracking us," she said suddenly. "John, you've got to
get
it out."
"Get it out?" He was having nightmarish flashbacks of Scully in
New Mexico with a worm in her back...
"John, look at me. They're going to find us. It's just under the
skin. Just..." She paused uncomfortably. "use your pocketknife
or something. Or here, give it to me."
He reluctantly reached in his pocket, half-surprised to find it
was still there.
"Don' want you to stab yourself," he said quietly. He tilted her
head a little and made the tiniest little cut near the implant,
and then as gently as possible, he removed it, throwing it back
into the garbage lying in the back of the alley. She looked at
his neck, not finding any evidence of an implant.
"C'mon, let's go."
She gently touched her neck for a second before wrapping her arms
back around him as they took off. They both prayed they wouldn't
be found now.
After winding their way through the city blocks, they found a road
going out of the town and took it. After a while they came to a
small strip mall.
"Stop!" Monica said suddenly. John pulled over. The closest
store was a craft shop and Monica dragged John inside, hoping
their cuffs wouldn't be too noticeable. She quickly found her way
to the marker aisle and took an open marker and a piece of paper.
John looked at her questioningly. She scribbled something on the
paper, put the marker back, and dragged him to the back of the
store.
To a room marked "Ladies." She knocked on the door. No answer.
She wedged her makeshift sign under the plaque marked "Ladies,"
and pushed the door open. Her left foot wouldn't move.
"I ain't goin' in there," John said, standing his ground. She
glared at him, pointing at her sign. 'Out of order.'
"You have nice handwriting," he offered. He still wouldn't budge.
"John!" she hissed, uselessly trying to pull her foot away. She
gave up, quickly walked around him, and shoved him inside.
"No one's coming in. Don't worry."
She cast a sidelong glance at her neck in the mirror. She could
barely even see the tiny cut where the implant had been.
Satisfied, she kept walking toward the stalls.
"You put your foot here and don't move," she directed John.
And she closed the stall door.
***
"I was *not* going to go behind a bush," she said as they left the
store.
John wasn't paying attention. He was watching the silver car
parked on the curb with the keys in the ignition. He would never
cease to be amazed by some people's stupidity.
He walked to the motorcycle, took the empty machine gun out of the
saddle bag, and walked Monica over to the car.
He opened the driver's door for her.
"Scoot over." They both had to get in the same side of the car.
"How come you always get to drive?" she complained mockingly.
"Cuz that's how the cuffs are."
Before the car's owner could come back, he drove the car out of
the lot, back onto the highway.
And so they drove for hours, intent on the road, too troubled to
worry where they were, or where they were going. The sun was
sinking below the horizon behind them.
John looked at the dashboard. They were going to have to stop for
gas soon.
"Might as well look for somewhere to stay the night, too," Monica
said, as though she'd read his mind.
They found a motel a few miles down the road and decided they
should stop for the night. Slightly worried about the fact that
they *were* driving a stolen car, they parked it a mile away in
the woods on the side of the road and walked from there.
"I hope you've got your wallet. And some cash--wouldn't want them
to track your credit card. I would offer to help pay for the
room, but I have nothing," she said as they walked, motioning at
her pocketless dress pants.
He smiled a little and pulled his wallet out, counting his money.
"Yeah, they didn't seem to mess with our--*my* pockets, luckily.
Stupid, but lucky. Should have enough to get a room." He paused,
thinking. "Guess it's gonna hafta be *one* room," he muttered,
glaring at the cuffs around their ankles.
It was dark as they reached the motel parking lot and Monica
walked closer to John. Not because of the dark...
"Hopefully they won't notice the cuffs," she said by way of
explanation.
The actual cuffs were hidden underneath the cuffs of their pants,
but if someone was looking for it, they'd see the chain running
between the two.
They went into the registration building and to the front desk.
"Hello, can I help you?" asked the woman behind the desk.
"Yes, we were wondering if you had a free room?"
They did, and John paid in cash. The woman gave him a key and
directed him towards the room.
"113. Lucky," Monica commented as they found the room.
"Uh-huh." He opened the door and flicked the light switch. They
went inside, closed the door, and surveyed the room. Table,
chairs, couch, TV...and a double bed. Monica started walking and
John quickly caught up to her. She plopped down on the couch,
sighing. He sat next to her.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothin'. What makes you think anythin's wrong?"
"You wouldn't want to hear it. Not that I wouldn't be able to
tell anyway."
"Oh, come on, Monica. Not this again."
"What if I could prove it to you?" she asked, turning her head to
look him in the eye.
"How?"
"Think of something--a person, an event. I'll tell you the
emotions you associate with it. If I'm right...then I'm right.
But you have to be honest with yourself."
"Okay. Fine. Go."
"Okay..." She thought for a minute. "Happiness. Love.
Joy...Pride.....Awe. What was it?"
He paused, thinking. She'd hit the nail on the head. Coincidence
or not? "Luke's birth." He smiled a little, remembering.
She smiled sadly, watching him. Then he looked at her.
"Do it again."
A pause, then: "Pride, patriotism, honor,
worry...accomplishment..."
"Day I became a cop." He paused. "Again."
She sat for a minute, then her brow furrowed. "Oh, no...John, not
that. Don't think about that. Just--" She winced slightly, and
his mind went blank, switching to worry. The black, dark pain of
Luke's death was *not* something either of them needed to dwell
on. Although they both did, at times.
She recovered her composure quickly, looking back up at him.
"Okay, keep going. Now what?" She was actually liking this
little game of theirs. She was curious to know anything he felt
like sharing, and it was insightful for her.
"Confusion and...fear. Fear? John, what was that?"
"Anthony Tipet."
"Oh." She remembered him. She'd been distraught for two whole
days. John just kept entering into her mind--more often than
normal. And this was when she was still in New Orleans.
Suddenly, in the middle of a meeting with her AD and a whole table
of her peers, she had to excuse herself. She'd felt something.
She thought John was in danger--she had nothing to back up her
idea, but she called him on her cell, just to check. That's when
he told her about Anthony Tipet. She'd been amazed at how
confused he was. He was actually buying into Tipet's whole third
eye thing. That only made her worry more--he was not himself.
But when she called back two days later to check on him again, he
was back to normal. And he'd written off the perfect timing of
her call--five minutes after Scully had woken him out of a
nightmare--as a coincidence. -'I believe life is full of them.'-
She shook her head to clear her mind and focused back on John.
"One more," she said.
"Okay. Go."
She paused for a second. "Comfort...dull pain, confusion...
love...friendship...familiarity... Lemme guess--Barbara?"
"No..." he paused, looking at her. She suddenly felt
uncomfortable under his gaze.
Then he sat back, sinking into the couch, and sighed.
"Who, then?" she demanded, suddenly desperately curious.
"Mmmm. Not going to say. You guessed wrong."
"Oh, come on, John You have to tell me!" She swatted him on the
shoulder.
"Nope. Not gonna..."
"John!"
"Okay, okay. Are you sure you want to know?"
"Yes." She laughed. "Just tell me."
"No...no. You already know. Or at least you should."
"No. John! C'mon tell me," she pleaded.
"You."
"You what?"
"You."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
Now she sat back, too, and stared up at the ceiling.
They both sat like that for awhile.
"I really wish I could get a shower," she said finally. "I'm
filthy."
"You don't smell yet. You can wait." He leaned forward, studying
their cuffs, then pulled his Swiss army knife from his pocket and
tried to pick the lock.
He tried for fifteen minutes and got nowhere.
"You know, that would've come in handy when we were tied up," she
commented.
"Uh-huh. Too late. Any good at picking locks?"
"Nope. Certainly not any better than you, anyway."
"Great. First thing in the morning, I'm gonna find a Home Depot."
"Why?"
"Demo hack saw's gonna cut us loose."
"Oh. Sounds like a plan."
"Uh-huh."
There was silence for a few minutes, then:
"John?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you tired yet?"
"Are you?"
"I asked first."
"I paid for the room."
"Okay, yeah, I am. So...?"
"Me too."
She yawned.
"Don't do that. It's contagious."
"Sorry. So can we sleep sometime tonight? I'm tired."
"Yeah. Okay."
He still sat there hunched over, fiddling with the lock. She
could tell he was brooding. She wanted to stretch out flat on a
nice, soft, spacious mattress, but it didn't look likely. She
gave up on trying to get him to sleep, and, still reclining on the
couch, closed her eyes. A split second later she was asleep.
John continued to toy with the lock, but to no avail. He finally
gave up, and looked over at Monica, who was still asleep. He
wasn't about to spend the night on the couch, but he didn't want
to wake Monica, either. Mindful of the cuffs, he picked her up,
letting her chained leg hang down so he could walk. It was very
awkward, to say the least, and he quickly walked over to the bed
and laid her down as gently as possible. She stirred, but didn't
wake. He took off their shoes, keeping his right foot on the bad
so he didn't drag her off it. He wrestled the covers out from
under her without waking her--an accomplishment in and of itself--
and then crawled into his side of the bed, pulling the covers up
over both of them. He faced away from Monica, closed his eyes,
and tried to sleep. It did not come easily. Tomorrow they were
definitely finding a Home Depot.
***
When John woke up, something was wrong. He looked down and
quickly identified the problem. He'd rolled over in his sleep,
and apparently Monica had, too, because she was happily curled up
against his chest, still fast asleep. He simultaneously did and
did not want her to wake up. He ended up just staying exactly
where he was, watching her sleep. Some part of his rational mind
told him to either go back to sleep or wake her up. But he didn't
move. She muttered something unintelligible and he smiled.
Monica Reyes talked in her sleep. He thought it was kind of
funny, actually.
Then she said something he did recognize.
"John..." At first he thought she'd woken up, but when he looked
down at her, she was still asleep.
"What?" He answered her, just to see what would happen.
She didn't answer at first, just squirmed around under the
blanket, repositioning herself against him.
He was on the verge of backing away or waking her when she
frowned. She opened her eyes briefly, staring into John's collar.
She closed her eyes again, as though it was nothing out of the
ordinary. Then her eyes flew open as she realized where she was.
John just watched her silently, a twinkle in his eyes and a wide
smile on his face. He thought her reaction to all this was very
funny.
"John, I-" She stopped, not knowing what to say. A quick glance
behind her told her she was in more trouble than she thought.
John was on his side of the bed, problem was, so was she. She
slowly backed away from him. "I-uh..."
Then she noticed he was silently laughing at her. She was about
to die of embarrassment.
"What's so funny?" she demanded, trying to erase the past two
minutes from her mind.
He tried, and failed, to stop laughing. The incredulous look on
Monica's face wasn't helping.
"Nothin'," he answered, propping himself up with an elbow.
"Uh-huh, thought so." She rolled her eyes.
"You know you talk in your sleep?" he asked, though it was really
more of a statement.
"Do not."
"Do too. I heard you."
"Really?" Her voice was laced with sarcasm.
"How many Johns do you know?"
Her face was a picture of shock and mortification. He just
laughed again.
"Shut up, John." She shoved him slightly.
"Don't push me," he said jokingly. "I might fall off the bed."
"No you won't." She pushed him again, smiling.
He wasn't very far from the edge of the bed, and slid off, just
for reaction's sake. He landed on the floor on his back, dragging
Monica halfway across the bed, and bringing half the covers with
him. His cuffed leg was still on the bed, and he tried to pull it
down. Monica was trying to keep from being pulled any farther,
but...
"John, no..." she said vaguely, but he ignored her. He brought
his leg down and Monica followed, along with the rest of the
blankets. She landed in an odd position, half on him, half
leaning into the bed. He scooted away, and she ended up on the
floor next to him, almost under the bed. They both were tangled
in the bedclothes. John just laughed. She mock-glared at him.
"You did that on purpose!"
"Did what?"
"Oh grow up." She tried to sound annoyed, but failed miserably as
a smile crossed her face and she dissolved into giggles. She
buried her face in his shoulder as she laughed. He just watched
her, and listened to her laugh. He was glad he could make her
happy.
Then he looked across the room where the digital clock glared at
him with glowing red numbers.
"Hey Monica," he said, laying a hand on her shoulder.
She looked up at him.
"We should get going. It's almost nine."
"I don't want to get up," she complained. "Let's just stay here.
They'll never find us. We can hide under the bed." She laughed
again, rolling away from him, under the bed.
"No, come on, we gotta go. They're gonna close the free breakfast
thing in an hour."
The thought of food brought her out from under the bed. They
hadn't eaten since...a long time ago.
John stood up, or tried to, considering he was still tangled in
the covers and Monica wasn't moving.
"I can't get up," she groaned.
He pulled her to her feet and looked her in the eye.
"Think about breakfast."
"Okay, let's go. Now."
John tossed the blankets on the bed and followed Monica out of the
room.
***
After eating their fill at the motel's continental breakfast, they
were back on the road.
"Where are we going?" Monica asked.
"To Home Depot," came the reply. No big plan.
"So," he said, curious. "What was your dream about?"
"Hm? Oh...nothing. I don't always remember what I dream about..."
"But you remember *this* dream...Don't you?" He glanced at her.
She looked away uncomfortably. She couldn't lie to him, but...
"A little, maybe," she allowed.
"So..." he prompted.
She hesitated.
"It was about work. I always dream about work."
She hoped he'd leave it to that.
He didn't.
"What about work? Why d'you always dream about work?"
"Because. I just do." She smiled and shook her head. He knew he
was getting to her.
"Aw, come on, Monica. I wanna hear your metaphysical explanation
of your dreams. Your subconscious and symbolism and stuff."
He *wanted* to hear? "Subconscious?" she said, skeptically.
"Uh-huh."
"Okay. Maybe I dream about work because...I like my job. And my
co-worker.s. Co-worker*s*." She was digging herself a hole.
"So what do *you* dream about, John?"
"I dunno. I don't dream."
"Everybody dreams, John. C'mon, I told you mine..."
"No you didn't. 'Work' doesn't constitute an explanation."
"Well, you were the one listening to me...You should already know
what my dream was about," she teased.
"Me?"
"Wow, *John*. I thought you'd never guess."
"Well, you know. I could just tell. I mean, you know. I just
got this feeling..." He was teasing her.
She laughed, and hit him on the shoulder. "Shut up, John."
He sighed. There were no turnoffs on this road, and he wasn't
seeing any stores either. It was like they were in the middle of
nowhere.
"Do you have any idea where we might be?" he asked.
"No..."
He turned on the radio, hoping to get a clue as to where they
were. No such luck. He couldn't find any channels. Maybe the
radio was broken...he hoped. They couldn't be that far in the
middle of nowhere.
***
It was late afternoon before they found any streets intersecting
theirs. After driving around for awhile, they found a hardware
store. For all intents and purposes, it could be a Home Depot.
This time there was nowhere to hide the car, so they parked it in
the lot, made sure to lock the doors, and headed for the store.
"If anybody asks, we're a happy new couple, looking for a
nice...light. For our new house," said Monica.
"What?"
"If we go in there in black suits looking to buy a hack
saw...we're going to raise a little suspicion."
"Uh-huh." He thought for a second. "Newlyweds?" he asked
skeptically.
She shrugged.
"Isn't that going to raise suspicion by itself?"
"Why would it?"
"Well, people our age aren't exactly in the newlywed category..."
"There's some solid logic. And *that* makes us very suspicious.
Besides, John, people our age get married. Or we-they could if
they want to." She paused, considering her jumbled statement.
She wished she could take it back...she settled on changing the
subject.
"Are you calling me old?"
"No," he said, looking at her. And she got the feeling he was
looking her over. She focused on the cracked asphalt of the
parking lot. Then John started talking again. "But we're not
exactly fresh out of college, either."
They reached the doors thoughtful. Monica slipped her hand into
John's.
"Think happy couple."
"Monica, look at this--lighting's all the way on the other side of
the store."
"So hope we don't run into any friendly associates."
Just then, a young man in a bright blue tool apron approached
them.
"Can I help you two with anything?"
Monica tried to smile and nudged John to do the same.
He just answered, "No, I think we can find it."
"Are you sure? Lemme help. It's my first day on the job and I
actually want to *do* something."
John looked like he was about to strangle the kid, who was
probably not more than eighteen years old.
"No, I really don't think-"
"Oh, no, really. What are you looking for?"
"Uh..."
Monica took over for him.
"We were looking for a light, actually. For our new house," she
added, trying not to enjoy the little scenario she'd made up as
much as she did.
"Oooohh. Just hitched?"
"How'd you guess?" The kid was clueless. But persistent.
John glared at her. She just smiled back.
"Okay, follow me. I'll show you the lighting department."
He turned and started walking away from them. Monica started to
follow, but John wasn't moving. She looked at him. He pointed in
the other direction--towards the saws.
'Freedom,' he mouthed at her.
"John. Come on."
The sales associate had realized by now that they weren't
following him. He turned to look back at them.
"You guys coming or what?"
John set his jaw, not a good sign to Monica, and they followed the
boy to the lighting department.
"Thanks for your help," John said when they got there, trying to
get rid of the guy.
"Sure. You want me to help you look at some of them?"
-Help us look?- John could not believe his ears.
"No, that's okay. I think we'll just browse--"
"Really. I can show you all the best lamps..."
Monica hung on John's arm and gave him a look of desperation.
This was going to be a *long* trip.
***
For over an hour, they'd tried unsuccessfully to get rid of their
new worst nightmare. Nothing worked. Finally, they gave up and
left.
"If you ever decide to come back," he called after them through
the closing doors, "I'll still be here to help."
"Just what I wanted to hear," John muttered as he stalked towards
the car.
Monica was adjusting to his pace when she tripped on an uneven
part of the asphalt and went flying. He caught her arm and
instead of falling flat on her face, she only nearly had her
shoulder dislocated. He helped her regain her balance and let go
of her arm.
"Sorry."
"How was that your fault?" she asked, half-smiling. "I'm just
clumsy."
"Yeah. Well, that and sorry for not gettin' us uncuffed."
"No big deal. We'll get it eventually." She looked at the sky.
The sun was starting to set. "We should find somewhere to eat.
Or I guess get takeout. Can't sit at a table unless we're on one
side of a booth. And that...could work, I guess."
"Takeout's fine. Don't wanna look too suspicious," he added,
giving her a look.
"Point taken."
As they pulled out of the lot, John noticed a black car start up
and follow them out. He didn't say anything though, and a short
time later it disappeared from view. He dismissed it as paranoia.
They got food from a local fast food place and hit the road again.
"Figure we can get a few more hours in before we find another
motel," he said.
"Yeah. John, there's just one thing. Where *are* we going?"
"Home. We're somewhere west. So we're going east."
He took out a map he'd gotten from the restaurant's lobby area.
"Oh. Okay." She settled back into her chair. "I'm going to keep
an eye out for a motel."
Several hours later, she was staring out her window. Her gaze
drifted to the mirror on her side of the car. There were two cars
behind them, but other than that, the road seemed pretty deserted.
Both of the cars looked to be black, maybe even the same kind of
car, but it was dark so she couldn't be sure. Just as she
couldn't be sure they were being followed, though she expected it.
"John, turn on the next street you come to."
"Why?"
"I think we're being followed."
He didn't answer, just took a right on the next side street, then
a left, ending up on a road parallel to the one they'd just been
on. Monica was twisted around uncomfortably in her chair,
watching the twin black cars follow them.
She sighed and turned back around. "I guess if they're not going
to *do* anything to us at the moment..."
"We'll just drive for awhile. See what they do."
Despite John's calm demeanor, Monica could feel the car speed up
as he pushed the accelerator.
***
"John, you're falling asleep."
"No I'm not. I'm fine. We can't stop anyway, with those cars--"
"Okay, but...talk then. It'll help keep you awake."
"Talk about what?"
"How about...What you do, outside of work."
"You don't wanna know. It'll put you to sleep."
"No it won't. I'm a captive audience, John."
"Yeah," he chuckled. "Literally."
"C'mon, John. Unless you have a better idea."
"If I don't talk, you'll never let me alone."
"You're probably right." She smiled.
"Huh. After work. I go home, toss a TV dinner in the microwave,
and fall asleep on the couch. Or if I'm lucky I make it upstairs
to bed. Wake up, shower, dress, eat breakfast, read the
newspaper, drive to work. I don't have a very interesting life,
Monica. Can't say I didn't warn you."
"Oh, come on. Don't you have guys you hang out with? You know,
go to bars, watch football...all that guy stuff. You've been in
DC longer than I have..."
He sighed. "Not anymore. Not with this job."
"What do you mean?"
"Guy's friendships aren't very...strong. That's one thing about
women--they're loyal. I remember Barb and her friends...couldn't
separate them. But that's different. I used to...used to grab a
beer with friends after work every day, watch football at
someone's house. Yeah, stuff like that. But whenever they'd
mention work--after this job, it's just...it definitely limits who
you can be friends with, y'know? And those people who I'd be
limited to...I wouldn't fit in with them, either." He tried to
pick his words carefully. "That just leaves me you and those
spontaneous Friday nights," he said, sounding less subtle and more
desperate than he'd hoped for. He almost regretted the words as
soon as he said them.
She had a huge smile on her face when he dared to look at her,
though, and as they passed under a street light, he could see that
her eyes were wet.
"I'll just have to drag you out of your house more often. That
is, if you think we 'fit' together."
"If I didn't, why do you think I let you drag me out on Friday
nights?"
She laughed. "I don't know John."
Suddenly a light started blinking on the dashboard.
"We're almost out of gas. I've been looking for a gas station for
miles, but I haven't seen any."
"Me neither. What do we do? Wait until it stops running?"
"I guess. Then make a run for it."
"Sounds like a plan to me."
John stepped on the gas pedal, trying to put some distance between
them and the black cars. The black cars sped up as well. Monica
kept her eyes glued to the cars out the back window.
"John, they're gaining on us!"
"Okay. We're going to pull over now."
He veered off the road, slamming on the brakes. They both rushed
to get out of Monica's side of the car as the black cars screeched
to a halt not three yards from them. The man in the black suit
got out of the first car.
They turned and ran towards the slope leading down away from the
road.
"Stop!"
The voice was not that of the man in the suit. It was a voice
they recognized--Skinner's.
"Assistant Director?" John yelled back. He stopped and turned
around, putting his hand on Monica's wrist to be sure she was
still there. As if she could go anywhere else.
"You mind explainin' this?" John asked, squinting in the
brightness of the cars' headlights.
"I'll explain it later, Agent Doggett. Right now, you're both
obviously in no condition to drive. You'll stay the night in a
motel a few miles from here. I'll explain in the morning. You
and Agent Reyes get in the car."
"That man kidnapped us," said Monica, nodding in the direction of
the man in the suit.
"I know."
"*You* know," said John, skeptical.
"Just get in the car."
John eyed him for a minute, then started towards the car.
"Wait," he said suddenly. "What about these?" He motioned at the
cuffs.
"When you get in the car."
John glared at him, and they both got in the back seat. Skinner
got in the driver's seat and handed them back a small key and a
credit card.
"Use that to pay for the motel."
John took it and bent to unlock their cuffs.
***
John sighed as he opened the door to their *one* room.
"Figures they'd have one room left."
"It's not that bad. There's a couch," she said, dropping herself
down on it.
John closed the door and walked over to her.
"Yeah, well, get up."
"Why?"
"I wanna go to sleep. You got the bed."
"No, you're more tired than I am. You drove the whole way.
Besides, I got here first." She lay down, facing the back of the
couch.
"Monica," he started.
"Don't bother me, John, I'm trying to sleep," she said with a
smile.
Oh, he was going to get her for this. He sat on the corner of the
bed and waited, trying desperately not to fall asleep. After what
had to be at least half an hour, maybe more, he quietly walked
over to her, listening. He could tell from her slow, rhythmic
breathing that she was asleep.
He gently picked her up, smiling involuntarily as her hand closed
around his wrist. He carried her over to the bed as he had done
the night before, though this time without the impediment of the
cuffs. He slowly pried her fingers loose from around his wrist
and let her arm fall back to her side. He pulled the covers over
her, and just stood there watching her for a moment. He was
tempted to talk to her while she was asleep, just to see if she
would answer. He decided against it, though; he wouldn't want her
to wake up and see him standing there staring at her.
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, letting his hand rest
against her face for a second as he had done when she was in the
hospital not too long ago. He saw a smile tug at the corners of
her mouth, and smiled back.
"'Night, Monica," he whispered, and walked back over to the couch,
lowering himself onto it with a sigh. He was asleep before he
knew it.
***
Monica woke up sprawled out on a bed. A bed? She looked up to
see John lying on the couch, watching her. He almost looked
guilty for a second when he met her gaze, but then his eyes were
full of mischief.
"Whatever you're thinking, I *do not* sleepwalk!"
That wasn't what he expected to hear, but he'd take what he could
get.
"Are you sure?" He smiled.
"Come on, John. You know I don't sleepwalk..."
"*I* know?"
She laughed. "You just won't lose, will you?"
"No." He stood up. "Come on, let's go see if we can hunt down
Skinner. I wanna know what all this is about."
She got up, enjoying the fact that she didn't have to synchronize
her steps anymore.
To their surprise, they found him sitting in a parked car right
outside their room. They both felt slightly uncomfortable with
the idea that he'd been sitting right outside their room all
night.
He and the man in the black suit got out of opposite sides of the
black car and approached them. The other black car and the silver
one they'd stolen were nowhere in sight. John mentally heaved a
sigh at the thought that they were both going to be relegated to
the back seat of the small car. Again.
"Agent Doggett; Agent Reyes," Skinner said by way of a greeting.
"Assistant Director," John said back. Monica just gave a weak
smile. John continued. "You gonna explain all this now?"
"Yes. But not here," he said, and turned around.
John sighed and they followed the two men back to the car.
-It's the small things that count- Monica thought as she and John
got in on opposite sides of the car.
Skinner started talking.
"This whole thing...has been staged. Your abduction," John
cringed at the word, "the people following you..."
The man in the suit took over.
"It was part of a test. And I must say, you performed fairly
well, although you caused some difficulty with stealing a
motorcycle and a vehicle. The respective owners were rather
unhappy."
"Glad to hear it," John grumbled. "You still haven't told us
why."
"We wanted it to look like a kidnapping so your absence would not
look suspicious, and we wanted to test you to see how well you
worked together. Hence the cuffs. They also provided a
convenient place for a back-up transmitter after you found and
removed the other one."
"So...What is this all about? Why go to all this trouble?" asked
Monica.
"We have a job for you."
~fin.
A/N: There is probably a sequel coming. Maybe. And this is one
of those 'suspend your disbelief' things (for anything that makes
absolutely no sense—-like why they are rolling around on the floor
of their cell laughing their heads off. or the weird dialogue.
all I can say is, I wrote the fic. if you think you can help me
not be so bad-maybe in need a beta. (maybe not.) email me.). I
think this ended up as more of a series of vignettes stretched
across something pretending to be a plot...so...feedback?
last thing: the whole two people tied together part was semi-
stolen from an Enterprise episode—'Shadows of P'Jem'. Just
covering all my bases.
Feedback: verdandi_happening@hotmail.com