Title: The Doggett/Scully Files: Sudden Death
Author: Cerasi J.
Chapter: 3/3
Series: The Doggett/Scully Files
Feedback: Yes! Yes! CerasiJ@for-president.com
Archive: FanFiction.Net, Fan Fiction Online, The Vision
Website: http://www.angelfire.com/journal2/fanfictiononline
Rating: PG-13
Summary: John and Monica have gotten more from the X-Files than they ever bargained for and now they are wanted by the U.S. government, can they match wits with the evil forces working within the system and escape with their lives?
Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Files characters, I'm just borrowing them, I'll put them back when I'm done.
Author's Note: I don't know that much about airplanes or fighter jets, most of this stuff I picked up from my brother who is crazy about World War II and stuff like that. Sorry if I got any of the technical details wrong! –C.J.
---
X-Files Magazine: "What about the Doggett-Reyes relationship? What sort of closure would you like to see there?"
Robert Patrick: "We get married, have children, and live happily ever after."
-Robert Patrick interview with the X-Files Magazine
---
Little Black Peak Airstrip
New Mexico desert
9:06 p.m.
The desert stretched out before him like an endless wasteland. Silver moonlight cut through the bleak night as he ran towards the phantom airstrip in the distance.
For the first time in his life, John Doggett was running. Running from everything he'd ever known.
I shouldn't have left her, I shouldn't have left Monica, his brain screamed these words at him as he ran deeper into the New Mexico desert.
His breath rasped in his throat, and his lungs burned from lack of oxygen. He slowed his pace a notch, he kept forgetting the air was thinner up here.
John's thoughts turned, once again, to Monica and the heartfelt, romantic admission she'd made to him less than a half-hour ago. He did love her, yes, he always had. They both knew that.
He stopped running for a moment and dropped into a crouch, his sharp eyes taking in the details of the airstrip ahead of him.
A few stray people were scattered on the tarmac, walking with large machine guns slung over their shoulders. Not such a good idea to mess with those people.
There was a control tower; it was surrounded by chainlink fence, topped with barbwire. Barbwire was one thing that John did not want to mess with.
John's breathing began to return to normal, his heart thumped quickly in his chest. When I get back, he thought, if I get back, I'm gonna ask Monica to marry me.
Thoughts of a nice house, a dog, and maybe a child or two suddenly popped into his head.
A smile crept across his face at this thought, and that thought is what pushed him to stand up and start running towards that airstrip again.
With each step it seemed he was coming closer to the sudden death round. Whoever scored first, won.
And John had to score first.
John came closer to the control tower, where he saw men taller than himself standing at the top with military issue machine guns slung across their chests like Rambo.
He also decided that the big dudes with machine guns were another thing he did not want to mess with. He crept closer to the tower, keeping close to the chain-link fence surrounding the airstrip.
A very large, very bright, Halogen powered spotlight swept around the perimeter, searching for intruders. Keeping close to the fence, John sneaked towards the control tower, beginning to think that his plan was not a good one.
When the light was away from him, he made his way to the fence that surrounded the control tower. He stopped every so often, when the searchlight would head in his direction.
As the light started to turn away from him again, John began to scramble up the fence. That's when he noticed two young men staring right at him. He froze. Sweat ran down his spine, John knew that he was in for it now.
"Captain Hail?" One man asked, stepping closer to the fence, "Sir… what the hell are you doing?" Both soldiers stared at John as if he was insane.
"Uh," John started, then, taking a different tone of voice he said, "What the hell are you two doing? Standing there like a bunch of morons, I take it. I was conducting a little experiment, I snuck outside, and then I was planning to sneak back inside."
Both young men continued to stare at him with blank expressions, so John elaborated with an annoyed sigh, "I was trying to prove to, uh, General Mackenzie that security on this base is lacking. As you can see, no one saw me sneak out."
"Oh!" The second soldier said, "I see. Very good idea, sir. I don't like the idea of lacking security either, sir." The first solider asked, "Would you like me to let you back in, sir? Because if you snuck out, you probably don't have an I.D. card on you."
What luck! John nodded, "If you don't mind, soldier. This proving lack of security has given me a headache, there any place to get a decent drink around here?"
Both men laughed and lead John around toward the gate, which was in front of the control tower, "No, sir, there isn't a decent bar around here for miles."
John walked through the gate like he owned the place, "Soldiers, follow me, please." John started toward the other side of the compound, where it was very dark.
When all three of the men where buried deep in shadows, John said, "Soldier, can I see your weapon a moment, please?"
Confused, the first man handed over his very large gun. John looked it over and mumbled to himself about not enough bullets in the chamber. Both men looked at each other and shrugged as if to say, "Whatever." In this split second, John dropped the gun, sprang forward and bashed both of their heads together.
Both men were out cold. The head bash wasn't enough to kill them or do any real damage; they would just have headaches when they woke up.
Hurrying to avoid being found, John traded uniforms with one of the men, picked up his gun and wandered back onto the tarmac.
Slinging the gun over his right shoulder, he placed the cap snuggly on his head, the shadow from the bill of the hat shading his eyes.
He looked around. Two black helicopters were parked not far from where John was walking. The same black helicopters that, he was sure, had tried to kill him and Monica earlier. Not to mention Mulder and Scully.
The sight of them made his blood boil, John had served his country faithfully for many years, only to be nearly killed because of something he had accidentally stumbled onto?
Talk about unfair.
John spotted something else that was parked close to the helicopters. Something that would aid his mission greatly. An F-18 fighter plane. Heading in the direction of the iron eagle, he decided it was time for some paybacks.
The plane was parked in the shadows of the compound; this would be the easy part. Glancing around to make sure he wasn't being followed or watched, John climbed up the steep, three-step ladder, shoved the hatch back, dropped his gun inside and hopped into the cockpit.
He closed the hatch and started to fiddle with the controls. It had been a long time since he'd flown one of these… and back in his day they didn't have all these fancy gadgets.
Six young men, obviously part of the nightly patrol, strolled past the F-18 fighter jet. John slid down in his seat to avoid being seen. He held his breath, fearful that if he made one wrong move he'd be caught.
When he was sure they had passed, John let out his breath slowly and peeked out at the tarmac below. All six men were gone. Breathing a sigh of relief, John returned his attention to the buttons and levers spread out before him.
Frowning, he slowly reached towards the computer screen set in the middle of the airplane console.
He fingered a red button to the right of the screen and debated weather or not a plane would be the way to go. There were always trucks at the base, and those would probably be a lot easier to steal.
He shrugged, figuring that the United States Government really owed him one.
He pushed the red button and almost screamed when he heard, "Missile active, missile active. Missile will be deployed in five… four…"
John glanced around at the computer panels frantically; the screen flashed red warnings at him. He pounded a fist on it, "DON'T DEPLOY! DON'T DEPLOY! STOP THAT!"
The computer, however, seemed to ignore John's panicked cries. "…three… two…"
John began pushing every button that was flashing, somehow he got the engine started and the plane in gear, but the computer seemed hell-bent on launching a missile.
Finally deciding that it might be fun to blow up some stuff, John reached down between his feet, picked up the helmet and plopped it on his head to muffle the sound.
"One. Missile deployed."
Cringing, John watched as the missile shot out from one of the plane's wings, flew across the airspace of the tarmac, causing several people to scream, yell, duck and run for cover. The missile came to a stop when it hit one of the black helicopters sitting on the other side of the field.
The chopper exploded into a massive ball of flames, fuel, and parts. Red-orange fire lit up the night sky.
The sudden fireworks caused John to use one of his son's many childish exclamations, "Oh my God, that was so cool!"
As quickly as it had started the fire seemed to be out, doused by the men and women scatted around the tarmac holding firehoses. The people below seemed to notice that John was hiding in the cockpit, because they pointed up at him, raised their large guns and opened fire.
John ducked down and released the brakes, causing the plane to lurch forward at the people with the guns. This seemed to surprise them, because some of them dropped their weapons and made a run for it.
The others, however, weren't going down so easily. They stood their ground and continued to fire at John. The Plexiglas windshield caught the bullets, the glass cracked but it held.
John gunned the engine as high as it would go, he knew he had to get past the men with the machine guns or he'd never get out of here. He was still crouched down low in the seat; it was like driving blind.
The engine that was tucked under the left wing suddenly gave a whine and blood sprayed everywhere.
He grimaced and hoped no one else would get near the turbines. The gunfire stopped and John took the chance and peeked out the windows. He was on the right track; the plane was cruising down the runway at about 80 miles an hour.
John fought to remember what came next, flaps? Or rudder? Flaps came first, right? Or was it the lights?
Flashing blue and red lights chased the plane down the runway. John struggled to sit up in the seat. The plane was beginning to lift itself off the ground; if he didn't hurry he'd lose his chance. He grabbed a lever near his right knee and gave it a yank.
The flaps on the wings folded downward and the plane shot of the ground.
John wasn't ready for the sudden bump; his reflexes kicked in. His arms sprang forward, caught the steering controls and forced the plane back to the ground. The tires smashed into the pavement with a screech.
With a loud bang one of the tires exploded. John shouted very colorfully as he pulled back on the controls and put the plane back in the air.
The G-force shoved him back in his seat; he seemed to be going up like the space shuttle Endeavor. When the plane leveled itself out, a computerized voice said, "Welcome, state your destination, please."
Breathless and wide-eyed, John asked, "Where the hell am I?"
"You're in the air. Ha. Ha," came the response from the computer.
"Oh wonderful," John said sarcastically, "A machine with an attitude, that's just great. I need to get to Oliver Lee State Park."
"There is no airport in Oliver Lee State Park. Please choose another destination."
"No, I will not choose another destination, I need to get to-…"
"State your destination, please."
John glared daggers at the computer screen; he fumbled with a few buttons and figured out how to turn the autopilot off.
He toggled on the GPS mapping system and brought up a map of New Mexico air space. "Monica," he said to the computer screen, "I hope you don't leave without me."
---
Oliver Lee State Park
Alamogorda, New Mexico
9:27 p.m.
---
Monica Reyes sat beside her stolen, black sedan in the overwhelming darkness that seems to cling to forests.
She was waiting in a small clearing, complete with a picnic table and BBQ pit for those random camper families. How she got the car in there was beyond her.
It seemed that waiting for John to come back to her was the hardest thing she had ever done. It was like waiting for lab results after the doctors said, "Hey, we think you've got cancer."
John and Monica had agreed that if he didn't return by a decent time, she was to go on to Mexico City without him. Monica had stubbornly told him no, she'd wait forever if she had to.
After Monica had explained the situation to her parents, they agreed to help her. Her mother was going to be picking up the money; her father was making the airline reservations, and her cousin Enrique Reyes was flying up from Mexico City to a small airport just across the border called Nuevo Casas Grandes.
Her cousin was a small-time pilot, who owned his own plane, but only used it to give tourists an aerial view of Mexico City.
Earlier that evening, Monica's father had hit the streets in search of this Hunter person. It turned out he was an "Engraver", a person capable of hacking computers, erasing data and giving you a new identity, passport, and everything else you could ever need or want. Forged wise, anyway. For a price, of course.
Monica shifted her weight so she was sitting on the ground; it was wet and cold from the settling dew, she clutched the flashlight in her hands and resisted the urge to turn it on, for fear the batteries would die.
Every noise she heard seemed to be magnified by a thousand. And everytime something moved in the woods, she'd jump out of her skin.
Sighing, her wrapped her arms around her knees and hugged them to her chest.
Would this nightmare ever end?
---
Airspace over Mescalero Apache Reservation
New Mexico
9:37 p.m.
---
Flying was the easy part; it was escaping that was a bit tricky. "Pilot, identify yourself. You are trespassing in United States Military airspace, over."
John rolled his eyes; they'd been saying that for the past seven minutes. You'd think that they would have got it by now.
According to the radar system in the cockpit, John was approximately fifty-one miles from the spot where he was supposed to meet Monica. The radar also told him it would take approximately five minutes to get there.
"Pilot, this is Captain Hail of the United States Army, to whom am I speaking? Over." John didn't answer; instead, he just rolled his eyes again. These people had tried to kill him, ruined his life, as it were, as if they didn't know who he was.
"If you do not turn your aircraft around, land, and turn yourself in, we will be forced to take defensive action, over." This got John's attention, he looked at the console. Four minutes and counting, until he reached his destination.
It would take them at least five minutes to scramble fighters—that would give John a head start. Unless, of course, those fighters were already in the air.
"We will give you one minute to decide, if you continue we will be forced to take defensive action, over."
One minute, huh? One minute wasn't a lot, but who cared? He was already wanted dead. John pushed the throttle up to the max, the G-force sending him back into his seat.
"Destination: Sacramento Mountains," the computer quipped. John glanced down at the map and flight information on the screen.
Flight Speed: 653 m.p.h.
Destination: Sacramento Mountains
E.T.A.: 2 Minutes
"Pilot, your time is up, we will give you one last chance to identify yourself, over."
John ignored them again; he was too busy scanning the rugged mountains for a valley or just a flat stretch of ground.
"Pilot, this is your last chance, turn around-…" John reached over and shut off the radio. He glanced at the computer screen again.
Flight Speed: 550 m.p.h.
Destination: Sacramento Mountains
E.T.A.: 30 Seconds
Suddenly something whizzed past on the right, John glanced out the window to see another F-18 fighter jet hovering just past his right wing.
He swore loudly and began to look around. Then he saw it, just out of the corner of his eye. The moonlight glinted off of something metallic.
"Monica," he whispered. Then smiled, she had made it, she was safe. His eyes cut to the left; there was a very small valley that was surrounded by jagged rocks, and beyond the rocks was forest. It reminded him of the Rim Rocks in Billings, Montana.
John dove down with the nose of his plane, the sudden dive taking him off of radar.
Down and down he plummeted. He tried to pull up on the controls, but the plane was going too fast, it had stalled.
Alarms and bells went off in the cockpit. The ground seemed closer every second. The computer console told him he was 5,000 feet from the ground. He couldn't even jump, this would have to be perfect timing, or Monica might have to go to Mexico without him.
3,000 feet. John had heard of people saying that when they had a near-death experience, their life would flash before their eyes. Well, that's what was happening to John. He thought of his wedding day, Luke's first birthday, first baseball game.
2,000 feet. Close enough, John reached under the seat and pulled the Eject lever.
He was flung out of the cockpit with all the force of a freight train. He gasped as his parachute opened and he was yanked back toward the sky.
John watched as gravity kicked in and pulled his plane to earth. He threw up his arm to shield his eyes as the plane hit the ground and exploded.
The parachute floated gently to the ground, where John collapsed beneath the weight of the heavy canvas. He lay on the ground for a moment, panting. He heard the other planes circling the area around the valley.
John struggled to his feet, ripped his knife from his belt and started cutting the lines that held the parachute.
When he found his way out of the white material, he looked up at the sky, where the jets where still circling. He didn't have much time before they found him on radar. Gathering up what remained of the parachute, John walked it over to the heap of twisted metal and burning parts.
He dumped the parachute into the flames and watched the red-orange columns race toward the heavens.
He pulled the helmet off his head, ran a shaking hand through the sweaty, brown-blonde knots, and took a good look at the object he held in his hand.
The handle printed on the front of the helmet read, Sudden Death. He stared at it for a moment, then lobbed it into the rest of the burning wreckage.
"Checkmate," he said, grinning at the sky. He took one last look at what remained of the F-18. Turning on his heel, he fled into the woods to find Monica.
---
Oliver Lee State Park
New Mexico
9:49 p.m.
---
When she heard the explosion, she knew it had to be John. He would be on his way to find her right now, and everything would be okay.
Or, that could have been a miscalculated landing, and John and his plane could be on fire somewhere.
Pushing all the negative thoughts to the back of her mind, Monica stood up and brushed off the bottom of her pants. She was very nervous and scared, what if John never came back? Could she do this on her own?
The people she had been working for all of her adult life had suddenly turned their backs on her, and now she was running for her life.
What about Mulder and Scully? What would happen to them? And to Gibson? And William? All the things she'd worked so hard to protect would be gone.
Somewhere in the distance, she heard a twig snap, and then a rustling sound. She wondered if they had bears in New Mexico. She'd lived in the Southwest for most of her life, but only in the desert areas.
Monica could handle almost every kind of southwestern animal you threw at her, rattlesnake, no problem, fox or any other kind of wild dog, sure, the more the merrier.
But bears? Nuh-uh, no frickin' way.
She glanced at her watch, where was John? Monica walked around in a circle to stretch her legs and tried to calm her frazzled nerves. Another twig snapped; her head shot up and she whispered, "John?"
She heard something fall, not a tree, but it sounded like a person crashing to the ground.
Pushing her fear aside, she called out, "John?" Monica waited, her head cocked to the side, listening for any signs of a person.
"Monica?" A voice called out faintly; Monica almost had a heart attack. It was John! And he was safe!
"John!" She called again, louder this time. She ran toward the woods, but didn't go in them for fear she would never find her way back. "John, I'm here!" She switched on her flashlight.
By now she could hear footsteps pounding on the ground. Just keep calling, she thought, keep calling and he'll find you.
"John!" She turned her head to look over her shoulder for just a minute, when she turned back a figure burst out of the inky blackness of the forest. "Monica!"
Before Monica could protest, John came to a screeching halt, threw his arms around her and kissed her fiercely.
She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back for all she worth, John was safe and alive and in her arms, what more could she ask for?
Breaking off the kiss as suddenly as he started it, John panted, "Let's get married."
Monica blinked up at him, a bewildered expression upon her face. The moonlight showed clearly on John's face. He look tired and worn out, but at the same time, exhilarated.
Seeing that he was serious, her excitement showed through a little too clearly, "Okay!"
John smiled at her and leaned down to kiss her again.
---
Nuevo Casas Grandes Airport
Mexico desert
11:24 p.m.
---
Enrique Reyes, nephew of Dimitri Reyes, paced the runway nervously. How did Monica get herself in these situations? It was that blasted American government, that was what it was.
He always told her they were trouble, and she always laughed when he told her that, she always said they were on her side.
Well, now it was time for Enrique to have the last laugh, but not right now. His cousin needed help. He looked at his glow-in-the-dark watch face and scowled, where was she anyway?
Dimitri, his uncle and Monica's father, had called him less than an hour ago, dragged him out of bed, and the only thing he was told was that Monica was in some sort of a bind. Her and that ex-cop partner of hers.
Enrique scowled again and started to pace faster. The pavement around his airplane would probably catch on fire if he paced any faster. But he couldn't help it, he was mad. He was mad because he was scared. Scared for his cousin.
But he was also mad at his uncle for dragging him out of his nice, warm bed where he was cuddled with his wife, only to tell him, "Monica's in trouble."
And? Enrique wanted to scream, it's not my fault she joined the FBI and got involved with those American pigs.
He had nothing against Americans, because they were actually pretty cool people, but he was mad and ready to take his anger out on anything.
For the third time in five minutes he glanced at his watch, and mumbled a strong curse. He was the only plane waiting at the gate, if she and her pig-headed partner didn't get here soon, the cops might be after him.
Probably for something stupid, too, like accessory to the crime or something like that.
Enrique's cell phone rang, "Bueno?" He paused long enough to answer it, and then resumed pacing. "Enrique," Monica said in English, "We're here, where are you?"
"Where am I?" Enrique spouted in Spanish, "Where have you been, Monica? I've been waiting all night!"
"Ah," she said, "Never mind, I can hear you yelling. We'll be right there."
Within minutes Doggett and Reyes had found their way to her cousin's plane. Enrique looked up and saw her walking towards him, holding hands with a man about the same age as himself. Only taller, and with a lot more hair.
"Enrique!" Monica said, letting go of John's hand and reaching to hug her cousin. Enrique spouted off more stuff in Spanish, all the while embracing Monica like he'd never let her go.
John stood back away from the little man, and watched the family reunion.
Monica finally let go of her cousin, "Enrique, le quisiera para satisfacer mi socio, John Doggett." She smiled at John and he eyed her closely, "What did you say about me?"
Monica laughed and Enrique said, "She said, 'I'd like you to meet my partner, John Doggett.'" Enrique stuck out his hand, his anger controlled now, "Nice to meet you, Monica's Partner, I'm Enrique Reyes, Monica's cousin." Enrique reminded John of Danny Devito for some reason.
Both men shook hands and exchanged hellos as they boarded the small plane. Monica sat behind the pilot's seat and John sat next to her, holding her hand tightly.
She yawned as Enrique started the engines and taxied down the runway, and her eyes drifted shut as the plane took off.
John wrapped one arm around her waist, and the other pulled her head against his shoulder. She was suddenly very sleepy. John bent his head and whispered in her ear, "Your cousin said it's probably a two hour flight, so just go to sleep, I won't let anything happen to 'ya."
Monica smiled and leaned into his strong embrace, "I know, John," she whispered back, "I love you."
He brushed her hair back from her eyes and kissed her cheek, "I love you, too." The last thing she remembered hearing was John asking Enrique what airlines flew from Mexico to Australia?
---
Dimitri and Rosa Reyes residence
Mexico City
1:07a.m.
---
When she awoke, the first thing Monica thought was, God, does my head hurt. The second thing she thought was, Where the hell am I?
She opened one eye and peeked out. She was in a small bedroom painted a mint green color. Her old bedroom.
Monica struggled to sit up. She was in her old room. How did she get here? When she stayed at her parent's house before, she always got the guestroom or the couch. She hadn't stepped foot in her room in years.
She looked around. The wire frame bookshelf was still here, along with all her books. Her favorite paperback spy novels.
Her desk was still here, tucked in the corner between the bookshelf and the closet, old school papers shoved in the drawers of the aged oak.
She brushed her hand over the sheets atop her bed. Soft, worn cotton, the color unknown. It surprised Monica when her hand brushed against another person.
John.
She looked over at him, and smiled when she saw her partner sprawled out on the right side of the bed. His face was buried in the pillows, so she couldn't tell if he was asleep or not.
Hesitant to wake him, but curious as to why they were in her room, she grasped his shoulder and shook firmly.
John mumbled something, then rolled over, his back to Monica. She smiled and shook harder. After a minute he turned to face her. "Yes?" He asked, his eyes still closed.
"John," Monica said, scooting down in bed so that she was resting on her right elbow. "John, how did we get here?"
"Airplane," he mumbled, half asleep. "I know we got here on a plane," Monica said, now she was awake and wanted to talk. "It was Enrique's plane. I mean, how did we get in my room?"
"I carried you," he replied.
"Oh." She wished she had been awake for that.
"Anything else before I go back to sleep?" John asked now opening his eyes and staring at her.
Looking into his eyes reminded her of everything they had been through that night. Suddenly she said, "I'm scared." And she was.
"How come?" He reached up and brushed his fingers against her cheek. "I don't know." Now she felt silly for voicing her fears aloud.
"Your dad got us all of our stuff, new I.D.s, passports, airline tickets and everything. We leave tomorrow afternoon."
"Oh," Monica said again. That soon? It took a plane ride, and a good night's sleep and she was another person? It was really that easy?
"What are you afraid of?" John's words interrupted her thoughts. He traced the outline of her lips with his fingertip.
"I don't know," Monica said again. "I just am."
"You don't have to be afraid anymore, okay?" He said gently. "We're going to get away from all this, we'll be safe."
"I wish I could believe that," she murmured quietly, almost to herself.
"You'd better believe it," John teased, reaching out to give her a hug. She hugged him back, tightly.
"We'd better get some sleep," John whispered, "It's going to be a long day tomorrow."
For the first night, and for many nights to come, they fell asleep in each other's arms.
---
Mexico City International Airport
Mexico City, Mexico
1:05 p.m.
---
"I hate these chairs," John complained, shifting his weight to get comfortable, "I really hate these chairs, can you imagine sleeping in these things? Like when the airports close and things like that. Imagine living in one of these for three or four days."
"I couldn't imagine," Monica said wryly, looking up from the copy of USA Today she had bought. "Look at this."
John leaned over and read the headline: Two FBI Agents Die In Plane Crash
He chuckled, "Wow," His tone matched Monica's, "We made the papers." Monica leaned closer to him and read the article, "Two FBI agents from the Washington D.C. headquarters died in a plane crash late yesterday evening."
She paused and scanned the text on the paper in front of her, "Blah, blah, blah. Well…" her voice dropped to a whisper again, "At least they think we're dead."
"The media does, but what about the Bureau?" John turned to face her, his eyes—now a dark brown thanks to the contact lenses he was wearing—sparkling.
"I don't know," Monica replied, uncomfortably aware that her hair was now dyed blonde. "All I know is, I want to get on that plane and get the hell out of here. This place is starting to give me the creeps for some reason."
"I hear 'ya," John agreed. Shifting in her seat, Monica pulled her new passport from her pocket and read the information. "Zayit? My last name is Zayit now?" She wrinkled her nose in distaste.
John chuckled at her expression, "Better than mine."
"What's yours? I didn't get to see it before."
"Lanskey."
"Hey," she said, a smile growing on her face, "not bad." John grinned at her, "Still wanna be Mrs. Lanskey?"
In answer to his question she leaned over and kissed him soundly. "Well," John said, still grinning, "I'll take that as a yes."
Before Monica could say another word, a voice over the P.A. system said, "United Flight 758 to Sydney, Australia is now boarding. Please present your ticket to the flight attendant on board."
John stood and gathered up the single carry-on bag he had, "Well, that's our flight. Are you ready?" He offered his hand to Monica.
Suddenly, Monica wasn't scared anymore. She would show those people who were after her. She grinned broadly at him, and took his hand, "As I'll ever be."
Hand in hand they walked toward the gate, toward their new life, toward freedom.
Together.
To Be Continued…