Title: Terra Firma
Author: Carolina
Category: D/R UST, DSF
Author's notes: I'm sorry this part took so long. I was in New York for a week, not to mention I'm in an abusive relationship with my muse. He left me and my kids and disappeared somewhere in Mexico. Thanks again to Nicole for being a smashing beta!



-TERRA FIRMA 4-



"Monica?"

"Hmm?"

"Your two hours off started twenty minutes ago."

She let out a sigh, turning on her seat again to face him. "I can't sleep."

He didn't reply and so she watched the side of his face intensely as he stared at a building not too far form the car. A bright, neon sign reading "Live Nudes" illuminated his face every two seconds as the lights flashed, but he seemed oblivious to it.

She looked at the building and the few men standing in front of it and let out a sigh. "John, let's go home. This guy's innocent."

"How d'you know?"

"I just know," she said.

"Is he giving you a vibe?" he smiled at her, trying to turn the statement into a joke.

She sensed a hint of sarcasm, and trying to stop the usual upcoming remark about how crazy she was, she decided to divert the subject slightly. "No, I just don't like this neighborhood."

"We're armed," he said as he continued to watch the building.

"That won't help us much if someone just jumps in front of the car and starts shooting," Monica replied.

"You're not scared of a stake out. Are you, Agent Reyes??"

She smiled despite her best efforts not to. "You can never be too cautious, Agent Doggett."

"Okay, McGruff, where were you last week when that big fat guy came after me?"

"I was probably too busy shooting him down, John," Monica said a little loudly with a chuckle, which was followed by one of his. "Besides, I've saved your tushie more than you've saved mine."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You keepin' count now?" he asked as he looked briefly at her and then at the building.

"Let's just say at this point I can walk off with you in my arms while The Bodyguard soundtrack plays on the background."

He let out a hearty chuckle which gradually disappeared. Then he shook his head and continued his watch. "You're puttin' a cape over your shoulders, Monica."

"Am I?"

"You're too peaceful to do stuff like that."

"I'm an FBI agent," she replied.

"That's different."

"How?" she asked.

"You don't know what you're talkin' about."

She shook her head. "I always know what I'm talking about, John."

He gave her a questioning look; one that almost meant business but that deep down they both knew was just all bark and no bite. "Would you take a bullet for me?"

He expected her to laugh and make a joke, but instead she remained serious and nodded slightly. "In a heartbeat."

"John?"

The memory was quickly scared away.

John looked up to see Scully standing by his hospital room, staring at him with that trademark reluctant-worried look he had come to know so well.

She walked over to stand in front of the blue bed he sat on and smiled just slightly. "Good news, you don't have any broken bones. But you're gonna have to wear a bandage for a while."

He didn't say anything as she reached for a tray, sat in front of him in a stool and began to bandage his hand and wrist carefully.

Scully looked up at him and saw him staring at his hand, watching how the bandage made circles around his wrist and wrapped it securely. A couple of minutes passed and he remained oblivious to the casual glances she kept throwing up at him, until she finally let out a small sigh and without looking up this time asked, "Are you okay?"

John seemed to consider that for two seconds and then scoffed almost inaudibly, shaking his head slightly. "Tonight I'm gonna have to write a report for Skinner sayin' that my partner was taken away by little green men and all we have to prove for it is a weird pattern in the middle of a crop field."

Scully finally finished bandaging his arm and pressed her lips together to try to form a smile, but it didn't work very well. "I think given the evidence-"

"Given what evidence?" he interrupted her harshly.

"John, please," she pleaded. "Don't make this harder than it already is. This isn't just happening to you, Monica is my friend too."

John looked to the side for a second, and suddenly realized she was right. Defeated, he let his head drop, and brought his free arm up to rub the side of his face.

Scully witnessed the internal struggle and then stood up, putting the stool away. "I'll write the report, but you haven't slept in days. So I think we should take a break for now."

He talked himself into giving up, into stopping these absurd attempts to push her away. His father once told him that if he ever got lost at sea, all he had to do was sail towards the lighthouse. He realized now that Scully was probably the only light shining in his direction.

So he decided to hang on to that little piece of sanity he had left. Grabbing his coat, he followed her out of the hospital room, and half an hour later, he found himself in her apartment.

"I'm sorry about the mess," she said as she turned on the lights and let her purse rest in a small table next to the door.

By mess, she meant a couple of files thrown over the coffee table in the living room. He noticed how different the apartment looked now, how after just a couple of weeks all the toys were gone, and most of the pictures that rested on the table behind her couch were nowhere to be found. He knew that this was her way of trying to forget and move on. He knew, from experience, that it wouldn't work that way.

"Why don't you take a shower, I'll find you some clothes."

He frowned and thought that over until he realized she was probably talking about Mulder's clothes. And so without protesting, he walked into the bathroom and turned the hot water on.

The entire bathroom was quickly filled with fog, and when he put his finger under the water, it immediately turned red.

But he didn't seem to mind. Pain was a welcomed feeling that he hoped would clear away all the numbness. Pain was a sign that he was still alive, and a sign that this wasn't just a dream. Pain was his punishment for everything he had done wrong in his life, for all the people he had let down.

He put his head under the water and closed his eyes as his whole body became alert. It was almost nice to feel himself again, to know he still had skin, flesh, bones.

Yet at the same time, he was hoping the numbness would stay. He was no stranger to alienation, from his own sense of self. Maybe it was better to stay distanced and removed. Then maybe, just maybe, physically participating in the investigation while remaining emotionally removed would make it easier for him to believe this was just another case, another victim.

His body leaned against the wall of the shower as he let the water cascade down his body and disappear down the drain. He heard a soft knock on the door and didn't have time to reply before Scully walked in.

"I put some clothes on top of the sink, okay?"

By the time he opened his mouth to reply, she was gone.

John would remain in the same position, standing up, and leaning against the wall, until the water ran cold.

She left a pair of jeans and a gray t-shirt that smelled of Tide and some fancy fabric softener. For a moment it didn't seem right to wear Mulder's clothes, to fade away the scent that seemed to be the only reminder she had left from him. But his own clothes had disappeared from the floor and he immediately assumed she was washing them.

And then he began to wonder why Scully was doing all of this. Yes, she and Monica were very close, but why set herself up for disappointment again? Why keep the door wide open for security to freely wander out?

But he remembered those days after Luke had been found, how he had immersed himself in more work, how it was a cheap substitute for mourning. How if he turned his back on the situation, he could pretend everything was happening to someone else. He was there, but he wasn't there. He could feel it, but he cold also ignore it. He could see it, but chose not to believe it. That's how denial works. It's a nice soft, warm, and secure coat that kept telling him there was no need to accept everything that has been set upon him. It told him that everything was okay, and that even if it seemed hell was on earth, hell wasn't for him. It was for someone else. And even if it was so close that it could stifle him, he could always disregard it. Destruction never seems to matter when you're dancing with denial.

Denial had always been his best companion. It had also been his worst enemy.

Scully waited until she heard him open the bathroom door to walk over and coax him into taking a nap. His first reaction, as she had expected, was to protest against it, claiming that sleeping never solved a case. But it didn't take her long to convince him that exhaustion never solver a case either.

And ten minutes after she closed her bedroom door, she heard his soft snores reverberating through the apartment. Finally, she was able to breath, sit down, and take a moment for herself.

After a couple of minutes of self-relaxation, she turned on her laptop and stared blankly at the flashing underscore that encouraged her to begin writing. But despite the coherent lining of thoughts that appeared in her mind, she was unable to put it all into words. She tried to go through some of Mulder's files on her head, try to remember how they began and how they ended. But that didn't work either, so she tried to pretend this case involved a complete stranger, someone her and John would never meet or ever care about.

So she changed the victim's name and slowly began to type.

She found that an exaggerated amount of words still didn't make their theory sound right, no matter how fancy they were; it all came out to one page. She decided not to read it, fearing her skeptic side would tear the page to pieces and throw it on the trash can, laugh in her face and convince her this was just a simple kidnapping case and that she had been spending too much time with Mulder. She wouldn't let that side of her win the war this time.

After making sure John was still asleep, she reached inside the pocket of his jacket for Monica's ring and drove to the bureau to leave the report with Skinner's secretary and their only evidence at the lab.

When she made it back, John was still asleep. He had only slept 2 hours in the last four days, so she knew he'd be under for a very long time. Giving herself some permission to rest as well, she sat on the couch and let the back of her neck feel the softness of her own cushions for just one second.

But one second was enough for her body to succumb to sleep.

This time, she found herself in the bureau's morgue, staring at the body of a man as it lay on the table. As she looked at the body, she remembered how once upon a time she had been in this same place, wearing the same clothes, feeling the same emotional tumult inside of her. This man has drowned.

Suddenly her whole body froze at the realization that she wasn't alone in the room. She looked up and gasped, jumping a couple of inches back.

"Monica?"

Scully took a step forward, and another, and the closer she got to her friend, she farther she seemed. Somehow she was able to realize this was probably the most lucid dream she had ever had.

"I know what you're afraid of," Monica said, arms crossed in front of her, a worried look on her face.

"Monica-"

The room seemed to expand with each breath Scully took, so she tried not to breathe, but it didn't stop the dream.

Suddenly there was a rumbling noise. Scully looked around and the ground began to shake, making the many instruments around the morgue all fall to the floor from their respective shelves.

"Monica?"

When she looked at Monica again, the rumbling became louder and a bright light enveloped the room. Scully brought her hand to her eyes to cover them and tried to peek through her fingers. She tried to keep walking, but there seemed to be an invisible force in front of her that refused to let her through.

"Monica!"

The rumbling suddenly intensified so much that her ears began to hurt, and the light was so bright that she had to kneel down to cover her ears and eyes. Scully tried to scream but no voice came out of her, and when she thought she'd die from the intensity of the situation, the light was gone along with the rumbling sound.

So was Monica.

Her body jerked up as Scully immediately looked around her living room, and then let her body lean back as she closed her eyes and caught her breath.

"Monica!"

For a moment she thought the dream was back, until she realized the cries were coming from her room. She quickly rushed over and opened the door to glance inside, where John's body moved restlessly, tangled up in sheets.

Scully didn't want to scare him awake, and for a moment she thought of not waking him at all, but then she put a hand on his shoulder and whispered, "John."

When that didn't work, she pushed on his arm and said his name louder.

His body snapped forward with a gasp and he quickly looked around the strange room, until his eyes bumped Scully's face. She seemed a little nervous and he could feel his own heart threatening to jump out of his chest. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and tried to calm himself down but it was harder than he thought it would be.

"Here," Scully said as she gave him a glass with water and watched as he drank almost half of it in one gulp.

He put the glass back on the night table and let out a sigh. "What time is it?"

Scully threw a quick glance at her alarm clock. "You've been asleep for almost twelve hours."

He didn't reply to that and she sat on the bed, not too close to him. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

He shook his head first and then replied, "No."

Scully followed him with her eyes as he walked out of the bedroom, and as he did, her phone began to ring.

"Hello?"

Once in the bathroom, John locked the door and stood in front of the sink. While not daring to look himself in the mirror, he turned on the faucet and let the water run for a couple of seconds before he bent over and splashed his face with it, over and over. From outside, he could hear Scully's muffled voice and he reminded himself it could be news about Monica, but he couldn't find the will to go outside and face the news.

When he turned the faucet off, he let his body fall on the toilet seat and he let out a raspy sigh as he looked forward at the bathroom tiles that decorated the walls. He dried his face with the side of his arm, and once they fell on his thighs, he stared at his hands.

Barbara used to love his hands. She used to say that they were strong, brave, and capable of anything. She said she felt safe when his hands held hers. Back then, he thought of it as more romantic than manly and he brushed it off like a bead of sweat on the side of his face.

But now he couldn't help to smile sardonically at the turn of events. Those hands she loved, so strong, brave, and capable of anything, didn't seem to be of any help now that he needed them to be. His own strong hands couldn't save his own son. His own hands couldn't keep his wife next to him when he needed her the most. His own hands, capable of anything, couldn't even protect his own partner.

His own hands were slipping off from the rail and couldn't even prevent the inevitable falling.

He heard Scully as she hung up the phone and without asking for his permission, his own legs guided him outside.

She was putting her coat back on and handed him a granola bar along with a plastic glass filled with orange juice.

"That was Jimmy, he says he may have found something."

"May?" John asked.

Scully grabbed his car keys, telling John that Jimmy wanted to see them, and once again, they were in the car.

On the drive over, millions of thought ran through John's mind like greyhounds around a track. The fingers of his good hand were fidgeting and he found himself nervous about the news Jimmy might have for them. Scully already believed the abduction theory to be true, and Jimmy's information could make her theory valid, whether John would accept its validity or not.

When they got there, Scully was surprised and pleased to see Yves, and regarded the woman with a smile. She was also pleased to see a surge of energy in John she was scared had disappeared.

"What'd you find?" John asked as he approached Jimmy, who was still seating in front of the computer, tired and drained from nearly a day without sleep.

"Well, there's nothing much on this guy Boyd Chase, or Simon Brewer, whatever you wanna call him. Only son, went from foster home to foster home-"

"We already know that," John interrupted him. "What about this so-called cult?"

"We still don't know much about it, Agent Doggett. The authorities in California were trying to investigate them during the sixties, but all of a sudden the case was closed, for not other reason that the existence of the group had been just a rumor. Since then, the FBI has been unable to re-open an investigation, which is most likely the reason why Agent Mulder was never able to find anything on these people."

"Why did the authorities deemed it a rumor?" Scully asked.

"That's what I'd like to know," Jimmy replied.

"So that's it, we still have nothing," John said.

"It's more complicated than that, Agent Doggett," Yves said as she approached them. "I think you must have learned while working in the X-Files that if there's nothing there, there's something there."

"You're talking riddles now," Doggett replied.

"The men who were investigating this cult have all disappeared. The ones who had close ties to the investigation claim they know nothing about the case. I don't think it's a coincidence that all these men are gone. I don't think that this is just a rumor. I think this cult does exist," Yves said.

"I don't understand," Scully said. "It's almost impossible for a group to move around the country unnoticed. Sooner or later someone must have found them out."

"Like I said, it's more complicated than that. I think they're being protected."

"So you think they're bribing officials," Doggett said.

"No, I mean these are very powerful people, Agent Doggett," Yves replied.

Scully looked at the people around the room and bit her tongue before she added, "An alien cult?"

"A very elusive alien cult," Jimmy replied.

Scully looked from Jimmy to John, whose whirlwind of emotions contorted the muscles of his face into an expression she had never seen before.

"So how do we find them?" she asked Jimmy.

Yves shook her head with a sarcastic smiled. "That's almost impossible, Agent Scully. If Agent Reyes was investigating this cult, she probably went too far and this was the price she paid for it. I know this sounds absurd, given your line of work, but right know I think it's best if you just wait."

"Wait?" John asked suddenly.

"For your own safety, yes," Yves replied.

John let out a hot, angry breath and looked around the room in frustration. Scully's cell phone began to ring and she walked to one corner of the room to answer.

"I'm sorry, Agent Doggett," Yves added. "I know these aren't good news, but we'll keep investigating until we find something tangible."

John let his hands rest on his hips as he stared at her in disbelief, even thought he knew it wasn't very honorable to shoot the messenger.

Scully walked over as she put her cell phone away. "That was Kersh, he wants to see us right away."

John let out a grunt. The cherry on top of the sundae.

---

"Alien abduction," Kersh read the report back to Scully and Doggett with an air of absurdity. "Am I reading the right report?"

Scully threw a glance at Skinner, who stood next to Kersh's desk, and then nodded. "Yes."

"Agent Doggett?" Kersh asked.

John looked at Scully and then at Kersh, and gave his superior a lazy nod without looking him in the eyes.

"Do you have any evidence?"

"We, uh," Scully began. "We found Agent Reyes' ring at the scene of the crime. And there's also a strange pattern burned into the crop field behind the house-"

"A crop circle, Agent Scully," Kersh interrupted.

"A crop circle," Scully repeated.

Kersh looked from Scully to Doggett over and over with a look on his face neither of them took as friendly.

Both agents braced themselves.

He took a small breath and began. "A.D. Follmer has agents combing all 50 states. He has contacted authorities in Canada and Mexico and they are also helping on the search. So far they haven't been able to find a hint as to the whereabouts of Agent Reyes."

He stood up and walked around his desk to stand in front of Doggett and Scully. "I have heard the most ridiculous theories coming from that office down in the basement. Monsters, ghosts, abductions, conspiracies… And while I may not believe most of these theories, I've tried my best to respect the kind of intelligence it takes to solve these cases. It may not show most of the time, but I assure you it's there."

'Bullshit,' John thought as he gave Skinner a suspicious frown.

"I am going to allow you to proceed with this investigation, Agent Doggett. Not because I believe in this theory, but because I believe you will get closer to the center of this than anyone else in the bureau."

He reached for his desk and handed John his badge. "Keep me informed."

John took the badge, flabbergasted, and put it in his pocket. "Thank you."

"This doesn't mean you're allowed to neglect your work, Agent Doggett. I am still waiting for those reports you owe me. You can concentrate on Agent Reyes' case as hard as you want, just don't let it blind you. Now get out of here," Kersh said and went to sit on his chair again. No one moved. "Is there something you want to add?"

"No, sir," Scully said as she stood up and all three of them walked out of the office.

Once they were outside, John turned to Skinner. "The hell was that about?"

"Don't question it, Agent Doggett. Just be grateful," Skinner replied.

John remained quiet, but he thought there was something extremely suspicious about Kersh's supportive speech. Skinner and Scully may have bought it, but he didn't.

"I called the lab before you came over; they say they have your results," Skinner said.

"What results?" John asked.

"Monica's ring, I thought maybe they'd be able to find something," Scully said.

She excused herself and left both men standing there. Skinner turned to John and gave him a vague apologetic look, one John had come to know very well.

"Are you okay with this theory?"

John just scoffed once again and shook his head while she looked down at his shoes.

"John, no one would think you're crazy if you allowed yourself to believe."

John looked up at Skinner and watched as the man gave his upper arm a pat and walked away. He wished people would just stop trying to play therapist with him.

When Scully came out of the lab, she couldn't find John where she had left him. So she walked down the stairs and found him in his office, sitting in Monica's chair and staring straight ahead.

"John?"

He looked up at her for a moment and then continued to stare at Monica's Mexican decorative paperweight.

"Hey," she said as she leaned against Monica's desk. She was about to ask if he was okay, but she figured that was the last question he wanted to hear at the moment.

"You know she eats Polish sausages with plates?" he murmured. "For Christ's sake."

She smiled and put the lab report on the desk. "They couldn't find any finger prints on the ring."

"What'd they find?" John asked.

"Mostly dirt, but, um, there was a little bit of blood mixed in it."

"Monica's?" John asked.

Scully nodded and watched as John shook his head in disappointment and anger, rubbing the side of his face.

"This isn't right," he said.

"I know," Scully replied as she pressed on the skin between his neck and right shoulder, trying to release some of the tension there. She was surprised he let her.

"I'm sorry, John. I wish there was something more I could do."

"I know," he said in a raspy voice.

"Just don't give up," Scully added. "No matter what we find. I know it's hard, but you have to hang in here."

John finally looked up at her and she thought she saw his eyes water up, but he quickly looked down and blinked the tears away.

"Thanks," he whispered.

John felt a moment of awkwardness follow his word and so he cleared his throat and stood up. "Will you call me if something comes up?"

"Yeah," she said, without asking him where he was heading. Scully picked up the lab report, giving Monica's paperweight a glance, and decided to browse through Mulder's reference books one more time. Maybe there was something she had overlooked the last time.

John was glad he was finally behind the wheel, and even though his hand still hurt a little, he was able to manage the steering wheel as well as he always did.

He had found the notion of time seemed to be foreign to him now. The sun was either coming up or going down, and there was an orange hue in the sky that made the mood seem like something taken out of one of those romantic movies. John guessed now they were getting close to the fifth day. He couldn't bring himself to look at the clock because his brain involuntarily started doing math and it reminded him the hours, minutes, and seconds Monica had been gone. So he purposely hid his watch and tried not to look at the many clocks at the bureau, his house, and even the one in his car.

He parked his car in front of the hotel Scully had put Monica's parents in. He knew that they, too, didn't care about time anymore. If they were feeling anything near what he felt when Luke had been taken away, then their eyes would remain open until Monica came back.

The hotel was neither fancy nor trashy, and to the side, there was a small park where he quickly recognized Monica's father sitting on one of the benches. He couldn't see Clara anywhere, and he was hoping Monica's disappearance wouldn't do to them what Luke's did to him and Barbara.

John respected Monica's father immensely. He was a quiet man, who had a business in Mexico which demanded he travel to the United States often. He also liked to pay Monica surprise visits, even thought Monica claimed she could always "feel" when her parents were near. Monica once admitted to him that she acted surprised anyway.

"Gabriel?" John said as he approached the man, who jumped when he heard his name.

"John? Did you find her?"

John shook his head while looking down, and sat next to the tall man. The two were in silence for a couple of minutes until Gabriel turned to John.

"If you found something-"

"You'd be the first to know," John finished the sentence for him. For a moment he considered telling the older man about Scully's "theory", but he knew that would only make matters worse. He put himself in their shoes and tried to think of his reaction if someone would have told him that Luke had been abducted. He was sure the reaction wouldn't be pleasing. So he decided he'd rather protect them from that and remained silent.

"Agent Follmer says that the more days go by, the harder it will be to find her. Is that true?"

John looked over and nodded again. He wondered if Monica's parents knew Monica had dated Brad for almost two years. By the way Gabriel called him Agent Follmer, instead of A.D. or Brad, he guessed they didn't.

Gabriel looked down at his lap quietly. "He says you are not in the investigation."

"I'm doin' my own investigation," John said.

"He says we should not listen to you. I don't think he likes you," Gabriel added.

"The feeling's mutual," John said with a soft chuckle.

Gabriel smiled for a moment and then stared ahead at a couple pushing a stroller across the park. "I just want my baby back, John. Okay?"

"Okay," John said.

They were in silence again and John was finally able to find out what time of day it was when the sun kept going down instead of going up.

"When Monica said she wanted to join the FBI," Gabriel started again and John gave him his attention.

"We didn't want her to. It is too dangerous, especially for a woman. We were mad at her, and she was mad at us, but she did it anyway. And we would go to bed every night praying for her. Sometimes I think she does not think about consequences before she does something."

John nodded in agreement and allowed the man to continue.

"Then she says she is going to work in a thing called the X-Files. I thought she must have been crazy, chasing after monsters. But then she said she would be working with you, I was glad. I knew you would never let anything happen to her," he said.

That only made John feel like a huge pile of horse crap. He wondered if they knew he was the real reason why Monica joined the X-Files.

He closed his eyes and sighed. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, John. These things just happen."

John stared at the ground until the sun went down and then took a long breath. "I think she took better care of me than I ever did of her."

Gabriel looked at John for a moment and shook his head. "She never thought that. She doesn't think that."

John looked over with an appreciatively smile on his face and his eyes were beginning to moist. So he looked away and blinked his eyes dry.

John suddenly realized he wasn't as lonely in this as he thought he was.

He would visit or at least call them every day for as long as they remained in DC. He found that with them there, this journey was a little more bearable, less excruciating. They fed off each other; Monica's parents giving John words of encouragement and John giving Monica's parents hope.

But when he turned around and headed home, he found himself unable to fill that expanding void inside of him. Scully took Yves side and convinced John it would be best if they proceed very carefully, and way too slowly for his taste. He couldn't understand where all this nonsense came from. He didn't know about FBI agents, but cops went on with their investigations, no matter how dangerous they might be. Firemen ran into burning buildings every day of their lives to save people they had absolutely no personal ties with, and they never hesitated.

He tried his best to think of their reasons or fears, but he still couldn't understand how they would turn their backs on one of their better agents because this cult was "too dangerous".

John Doggett had never been a revel, but he had decided it would be best if he took matters into his own hands.

So without telling Scully, he'd take off every day after work and drove around the city with high hopes, but went home empty handed. During weekends, he'd venture off into the adjourning states, driving along the woods and asking the locals if they had seen anything suspicious. Other times, he'd drive off to the house where they had found Monica's ring and sit on back porch, waiting.

He had taken hundreds of pictures of Monica and had handed them out to more people that he could count. Police stations along the city were starting to hang up on him every time he called, which was everyday, sometimes twice. Other than Monica's ring and the blood they had found on the side of her car, there was nothing other evidence of her whereabouts. It was as if she had vanished from the face of the earth.

A week and a half after Kersh had allowed him to continue the investigation, he had found nothing.

The days at the office were probably worse than the nights at home. Monica's desk remained untouched, and like a guardian dog, he would growl at anyone who tried to move any of her things. Deep inside, he knew he was behaving like a fool. He knew that he was falling into a self-destructive pattern he knew he would probably never be able to set himself free from. Drinks at home were more casual, as were his visits to the nearby bar. Getting hauled in the back of a cab, so drunk that he could barely breathe, was becoming a ritual as were the morning trips to the pharmacy in hopes he'd find something that would magically get rid of hangovers.

But most of the time, he worked.

He read so much information on alien cults, so many abduction cases, and so much alternate life literature that at one point he was scared he had read so much, that he'd forget how to read. Some days he found himself being a little receptive to these alternate ideas. Other days he's angrily close the books and throw them away, taking his keys and heading out for another search.

But no matter how much John opened his mind, it seemed like every step forward was met by someone or something that forced him to take three steps back.

Brad Follmer was not making matters any easier. In fact, of the three steps John had to take back, two of them were Brad's doing. Every time they bumped into each other down the hall, Brad would give him a look or make a comment that made John want to push the man against a wall and play percussions with Brad's teeth. Miraculously, either Skinner or Scully were always around and they were able to coax him into ignoring Brad's comments. He found it extremely difficult to expand the investigation, particularly because every time he asked for assistance on the case, Brad would deem it unnecessary, claiming that this alien theory was a load of bullshit and he'd never be able to find Monica this way.

He had been thinking of taking a leave of absence. Brad was not the only person making his daily trips to the bureau extremely unbearable. As the resident skeptic, he had always been able to hide behind Scully or Monica, and never once had to worry about looks or gossip. But with his partner gone, and the abduction theory spreading around the bureau like an airborne virus, he had found himself walking in different shoes. He had gone from the partner of the whacko, to the whacko; from a respected agent to a joke; from a man to gossip.

If this was the way Monica and Mulder had to live their whole lives, then God bless them, because he was sure one more whisper would send him straight to the local psychiatric center.

He was beginning to wonder how long he could take all of this. He was trying to walk along the edge without falling down. He was sure no human being, strong or weak, would be able to live in a split second, waiting for that one phone call that would put an end to this chapter of his life. That was all it would take. One phone call. 'We found the body.' Just like that. One second, maybe two. And then he'd fall.

And he'd probably keep falling for the rest of his life.

---

It was a quiet night when he found himself hunched over his desk. A woman had been kidnapped in North Carolina and the bureau had reason to believe her case and Monica's were connected. But as John read the case file over and over, he failed to see the link. The woman who had been kidnapped in North Carolina had been known for causing troubles with the law. The people who were close to her were absolutely certain that the case was drug related. Two hours later, when the Charlotte officials called to let him know the woman had been found dead, and her ex-boyfriend had confessed to the murder, he closed the file and stood up to push his chair forward and slam it against his desk with a bam.

John couldn't dare look at the clock hanging on the wall behind him, but the fact that nearly everyone in the bureau had left hours before was indication that it was very late at night. He grabbed Monica's thin case file from his desk and reached for his jacket to head home.

Sleep deprivation was causing his vision to blur and he was having hard time trying to differentiate step from step as he made his way down the stairwell. Halfway through, he debated weather he should drive around for at least an hour to see if he could find something or go home. When he took a misstep and almost fell down the stairs, he decided maybe it would be best to go home instead.

The garage was so empty, quiet, and dark that he could hear his own steady heartbeat. Sleep deprivation wasn't a good friend to memory either, and so he found himself trying to remember where he had left his car. He thought maybe from then on he would have to write these things down so that he wouldn't have to spend three hours walking around the bureau's garage only to realize he had taken a cab.

But lady luck was on his side and he quickly spotted his car not too far from the entrance. It was almost funny. On his way to the bureau, he always prayed for a parking spot near the stairwell, and the one day he had gotten a hold of one, he didn't even notice.

As he reached for the car keys inside his pocket, he thought he saw a shadow move near his car. Blaming the hallucinations to the lack of sleep, he decided to stand there for a moment in case he wasn't just seeing things. Sure enough, a couple of seconds later, he heard some movement.

He quickly reached for his gun.

"Who's there?"

Silence.

"Come out with your hands in the air!"

When no one replied, and there was no movement, he thought maybe it was a cat or a rat. But, equally cautious, he took slow steps towards his car.

His body jumped slightly when a young man sprinted from the shadows and began to run. Adrenaline immediately took over John's body and he found himself running after the man.

"Federal Agent, stop where you are!" John shouted, but the man didn't even look back.

John put his gun back on the holster when he realized he could probably catch his intruder, and as when he was barely a couple of feet behind the man, he jumped on top of him. It didn't take much strength to grab the man by the lapels of his jacket and throw him against the nearest wall.

"The hell do you think you're doin' near my car?" John barked in the man's face.

The man squirmed and tried to get away, but John held him in place against the wall, maybe with a little too much force.

"Who are you?"

The man still wouldn't talk and it seemed more like he'd start to cry. In a moment of hesitation, John looked down and noticed the intruder had something in his hand. He reached for his handcuffs and wrapped the man's wrist with them. When he was sure he wouldn't have to chase after him again, John reached for what seemed like a small piece of paper that read,

Tuesday, May 26th
1:00 am
Alley in K St between 21st and 22nd.
Come alone.

He looked up at the man with a frown. "Who gave you this?"

The man tried to run away again but John held him in place. "Were you puttin' this in my car? Is that what you were doing?"

The man finally gave up and dropped his head.

"Why? Who gave you this?" John asked in anger. He never did like secrecy.

But the only reply he got was more silence.

John only stared at the man. He couldn't have been older than 25, even though he looked as if experience had forced him to age. John tried everything he could to get some information from his captive, but he quickly realized the man wouldn't cooperate.

And so an hour later, he stood outside the interrogating room as Scully walked a quick pace in his direction, looking tired and sleepy, but mostly weary.

She finally stood next to him and looked inside the interrogating room in confusion, then up at John. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he replied.

"Who is he?" Scully asked.

"He won't say," John replied.

"He won't say?" she repeated after him.

"I doubt he knows anything, looks like he's just a messenger," he said and looked over at her, and when he noticed she didn't understand anything he was saying, he motioned for her to follow him. When they reached his office in the basement, he made sure no one had been following and locked the door for the first time since he had worked there.

"I found this on 'im," John said and handed Scully the piece of paper.

She read it and then looked up at him. "What does it mean?"

"I don't know," John said.

"Did you show it to Follmer?"

"And have him push me out of the investigation? No way," John said.

"But maybe he knows what it means. Maybe he can-" she wanted to continue, but John was already shaking his head. And so she let out a sigh and tried to approach the subject from a different angle. "Are you going to go?"

"Yeah," he replied.

"John," she sighed. "I don't think I even have the words to let you know how foolish this is."

"Maybe, but whoever sent me this may know something about Monica, maybe something that'll help me find her."

"I know, John. But," Scully shook her head as she tried to gather her thoughts. "You don't know who sent you this. It could be a prank, but it could also be very dangerous."

"I'll take my gun," he replied.

"I don't think you understand how complicated this is, John," she said, raising her voice. "You're putting your life at risk."

"And if I don't go we're risking Monica's," John replied.

She let her arms fall to the side with a sigh and stared at him for a second or two. "You should at least ask Skinner for assistance."

"I tell Skinner about this note and he's gonna tell Kersh, who will tell Follmer and then I'm out, Dana. He's been looking for an excuse to get me out of his way since Monica disappeared. He finds out about this one and I'm out," John said.

Scully could only stare at him, mouth opened. He didn't seem to hesitate at all, and if he had any doubt about this, he wasn't showing it. She would expect this from Mulder, but from John? "If this person meant well, John, then there would be no need for all this anonymity. Are you willing to risk your life for something that could turn out to be nothing?"

He nodded without a second thought.

She didn't react much, just stared down at the piece of paper and seemed to think it over for a second. Then she looked up at him, gave him the note, and began to walk out of the office.

He followed her with his eyes, hands resting on his hips. "You know what I don't understand?" he asked and watched as she stopped at the door, hand on the knob.

"I don't understand how the FBI is missing one of its best agents and they're doin' nothing to find her. I don't understand how every time we get closer to the truth we have to step back because it's too dangerous, or because I may or may not end up dead. Now we have a lead, something that might help us find Monica, and you want me to brush it aside."

"That is not what I'm saying," she replied. "I just think-"

"Do you think this is a joke? Do you think Monica's gonna walk through that door tomorrow morning like nothing happened? If that was Mulder missing you wouldn't think twice about any of this, you'd be there in a second and nothing anyone would say or do would stop you."

Low blow, she knew that, but decided to let it go. "You're comparing apples to oranges, John."

He knew he wasn't walking on firm ground, so he decided not to touch the Mulder subject. "I care about my partner, Dana, enough to take risks for her safety. And if I die tryin' to find her, so be it."

He didn't wait before she replied to walk out of the office. Scully kept staring at a spot on the floor as he did so and then sighed. She knew his anger was a product of Monica's disappearance and not directed at her. But being his little stress ball was beginning to leave a strain on her.

---

On May 26th, at one am sharp, John parked his car on the corner of K Street. He unsnapped his seatbelt and looked around the area. The street was practically deserted, except for a homeless man who slept in a bench not too far from John's car.

He locked the door and touched the side of his hip to make sure his gun was still in the holster. John could feel the blood rushing through his veins and his pulse was racing so fast he could feel the way the vein pushed the skin up every half a second. Sure enough, there was an alley not too far from where he had parked. Under other circumstances, he would have picked up his phone to call for assistance. He knew Scully was right, this was completely irrational, but he had no other choice. He knew that if he called for backup, the person, or persons, waiting for him would leave. He also knew that if he took the wrong step, Monica would pay for it.

On the way over, it occurred to him this person may want money, a ransom. But ransoms are usually asked for right after the kidnapping, not two weeks later. He had tried to think of any other reason why this person wanted to meet him in an alley at one am, but decided it would be best to find out for himself. He was afraid that if he started thinking things over, he'd talk himself out of it.

The alley was darker than he had expected, and had an acrid smell of garbage. He couldn't see anyone or anything suspicious, but he reached for his gun anyway. The alley continued into another dark street, and John kept walking until he could see a car idling. But there didn't seem to be anyone nearby. Suddenly something moved to his side and he pointed his gun in that direction, but as he looked down, he saw a huge rat scurrying away.

He lowered his gun, approaching the car slowly. The windows were tinted, the car painted black, and its lights out.

Suddenly the back window rolled down and he quickly drew his gun again.

"Hello?" John asked, but no one replied.

A tingling sensation traveled up and down his spine, letting him know something was wrong. But before he could react, a gun peeked its way out the car window, and the last thing he felt was the impact of bullet against skin and mixed sounds between screeching tires and his head hitting the pavement. It all happened in a heartbeat.

The rest was black.


To be continued…