Title: Think about it.
Author: Lisa Email: lc7685@hotmail.com Disclaimer: I don't own the show, characters, original idea etc. etc. Rating: PG (PG in Australia's probably the equivalent of PG-13) Category: D/R Setting: Post Scary Monsters, but no to only maybe tiny spoilers :) Notes: This is much longer than I intended. I thought it'd be a two pager. Try twenty. Meh :P I got myself drowned in fluff. Ahhhh the goodness! :D Thanks for the feedback! It's always greatly appreciated and is excellent encouragement! I wanted to look at what Monica and John would be like if they took a chance to relax a little and since I'm still getting to know the characters, they may not be as solid as some other fics, but meh, hope you enjoy nonetheless! :D
Monica was sitting at her kitchen bench, drinking a cup of coffee and flicking through a novel. She couldn't concentrate and preferred to pretend to be doing something than admit to doing nothing. In actual fact, she was paying more attention to the hair from her ponytail hitting the sides of her neck when she shifted her head from side to side. She felt bad for leaving John. Looking back she should have stayed and they should have worked it out, but she knew that she wasn't in the wrong here, and he truly had hurt her feelings. She should have at least called Dana to let her know what had happened, but she hadn't had the energy. After walking down to the local coffee shop and gathering herself for a while, she'd walked back, collected her car and driven home. She'd called her parents and had since been busy doing absolutely anything to keep her mind off work.
Monica managed a small smile. In truth, it wasn't work she couldn't stop thinking about. It was John. Did he really think that? Had she, for all this time, mistakenly believed that he liked her when really he was repulsed by her ideas and ultimately by her. She shook her head, knowing that wasn't right but without anything to compare his most recent statement to, she didn't know what to think.
There was a shuffle towards her door and she looked up sharply, mentally noting that her gun was in the drawer to her left. It was a piece of white paper, folded.
"Stupid takeout menus," she cursed, sighing and standing, not being able to stand it just sitting on the floor there next to the door.
Monica got closer and realised that in fact, it wasn't a menu. She knelt down and glanced at it. On one half and in black crayon there was writing.
For Monica.
It looked like a child's handwriting but Monica knew only one child in Washington, and while she believed William was an extraordinary boy, he wasn't that extraordinary! She stayed crouched to the floor, lifting the piece of paper and opening it up.
Monica hadn't laughed since that morning with Scully, but burst out laughing as soon as she saw what was on the inside of the paper. There was a picture of a door. A brown door that was being held open by a stick figure. This particular stick figure had long brown hair and looked sad. There was another stick person in the drawing, and Monica wasn't exaggerating when she said stick person. The black crayon had drawn one line for each arm, one for each leg, and one for the body. Thankfully both stick figures were clothed. The one holding the door open was in - Monica glanced down at herself - exactly that. Dark brown suit, white shirt - although it was cream in the picture. Monica guessed white crayons were pretty useless on white paper. The other figure was clothed in a black suit. This person had short brown hair and Monica noticed the blue eyes more than anything else. The figure's mouth was in an open circle. A primitive speech bubble was protruding to the right and inside was written, 'Open the door'.
By now Monica's laugh had subsided and she was smiling, if not blushing. She stood, opening the door. John took a step forward and watched her expression carefully, trying to work out how she'd taken it. Monica's eyes widened to see that he actually was there, waiting for her.
"Can you come in?" Monica asked. He nodded as she stepped aside, shutting the door behind him.
"Monica-"
"I underestimated your talent, John." She walked into the kitchen and found a couple of animal magnets in a drawer. She chose a fluffy, brown dog and stuck the drawing to the fridge. "Is that okay?" she asked. "Or a little to the left?"
"It's uh, good," John managed. Was this an, 'I forgive you'? He didn't know, and he had to hear it.
"Monica I'm sorry about today. I, I signed the report."
"Why?"
"Because I know what I did and I know why."
"It's okay, John."
"No, wait. Monica, I really want to explain myself."
"Okay."
"I, I haven't behaved that badly since Barb, and you're not my ex-wife and so I shouldn't treat you like one. I want you to know that I signed the report." Monica nodded and John got the feeling that she already knew that he had. "Sometimes I just don't understand the hows or the whys. Actually, a lot of the time-"
"Sometimes I don't understand either, John."
"I know." There was an awkward silence before John continued. "When I said that I didn't want to be like you or Agent Mulder, I didn't-"
"John."
"Mon, let me finish." Monica mouthed a 'sorry' and he returned to his train of thought. "I didn't mean that the way you are isn't good, or that I don't like it." Monica remained silent even though he allowed her time to interject. "I didn't, I mean I think the fact you can believe all this stuff is amazing. I meant what I said on the Fassel case. If you can accept it, Mon, then God love 'ya, because it makes you special. You got all that?" Monica couldn't believe what she was hearing. This was John opening up. This was John actually 'talking' - or as close as he could get at this point in time. She stood, stock still, watching him with an open mouth and with tears in her eyes. "Mon?" he asked, realising she was non-responsive. Her eyes flicked on him and he took a step closer. "You got all that?" She nodded.
"Yeah," she managed.
"Maybe I should repeat it, just to be clear." He took yet another step closer and Monica felt heat rising to her cheeks. "I respect and admire you and you being able to do this job so well makes you a real special person. And I'm sorry for what I said. Sometimes it frustrates me that I'm not like Mulder, and that everyone expects me to be."
"You think I love living in Scully's shadow? She's so clever-"
"She's a doctor. It comes with the title. Frankly, I don't want you to be Scully."
"No?"
"Sometimes Scully and I think the same way, and it's damn boring. A lot of the time I don't understand you, but that's what makes it so interesting. Fun." Monica began to smile.
"I never expected you to be Mulder. If I pushed anything-"
"You didn't. It was about time I accepted something. So, I did."
"What did you accept?"
"That some people with very vivid imaginations can bring those fantasies to life." He handed her another piece of paper. It was folded in half, like the first, and had, 'For Monica', written on it as well. Monica opened it and smiled. On one side the stick figures were hugging, and on the other side they were sitting opposite each other at the table. She looked up. John spread his arms. "Take you to dinner?" Monica laughed, taking a step forward.
"I'd love that," she answered as he wrapped his arms around her. Monica had hugged John before, but it had never been this mutually comforting. She hugged him back fiercely, pouring everything she'd been feeling that day into the embrace, feeling him do the same. After a while she pulled back. "Can I get changed first? Where are we going?"
"Sure. Uh...I thought we'd try the new Chinese restaurant," John said as she broke off and made her way to her room.
"Oh, John, hang it on the fridge!" she called behind her, the bedroom door closing with a soft click. John walked over to the fridge and found another magnet - two cats, one grey one white, with a ball of wool - to hold up the page. It was the cutest magnet he'd ever seen. Where did she find these things? He clicked it onto the fridge underneath the first, and smiled to himself.
Monica returned five minutes later. Her hair was now out and around her shoulders and she was wearing a floral skirt with the same white shirt. The white of the shirt matching the white in the pattern. Over that she had her tan jacket that also, coincidentally, matched parts of the pattern on the skirt. How did women do this? John found it ultimately amazing that they had this much co-ordination.
"The one down the street?" she asked.
"Yep," John replied, trying not to stare. He'd seen Monica in suits and jeans. The only skirts he'd seen her in were formal, and that was...he couldn't remember. This was a deep navy, shin length, skirt made of thin, swishy material. Monica noticed him glancing at the skirt.
"It's new," she explained.
"It's very nice."
"I know the place we're going to. It's heated and I thought I should put it on. Or I never would. It's my only one."
"Your only what?"
"Skirt. I mean, apart from work-" John shrugged.
"Ready?" She held up a finger.
"Just a sec." She turned the corner and inspected the fridge in the kitchen. Emitting a satisfied hum, she walked past him and held the front door open. "I knew you'd choose that magnet," she added with a smile as he walked past her.
"You got your bag?" John asked, pretending he didn't hear it just to make her blush. It worked.
"Everything I need is in these pockets." She put both hands against her hips, where the pockets to her jacket were situated. "You got your wallet, well, my wallet, in the left, and anything else important in the right."
"Ahuh," John stated as Monica laughed, locking the front door and walking out. "Walking or driving?"
"Walking. This area's well lit. It'll be fun."
Author: Lisa Email: lc7685@hotmail.com Disclaimer: I don't own the show, characters, original idea etc. etc. Rating: PG (PG in Australia's probably the equivalent of PG-13) Category: D/R Setting: Post Scary Monsters, but no to only maybe tiny spoilers :) Notes: This is much longer than I intended. I thought it'd be a two pager. Try twenty. Meh :P I got myself drowned in fluff. Ahhhh the goodness! :D Thanks for the feedback! It's always greatly appreciated and is excellent encouragement! I wanted to look at what Monica and John would be like if they took a chance to relax a little and since I'm still getting to know the characters, they may not be as solid as some other fics, but meh, hope you enjoy nonetheless! :D
Monica was sitting at her kitchen bench, drinking a cup of coffee and flicking through a novel. She couldn't concentrate and preferred to pretend to be doing something than admit to doing nothing. In actual fact, she was paying more attention to the hair from her ponytail hitting the sides of her neck when she shifted her head from side to side. She felt bad for leaving John. Looking back she should have stayed and they should have worked it out, but she knew that she wasn't in the wrong here, and he truly had hurt her feelings. She should have at least called Dana to let her know what had happened, but she hadn't had the energy. After walking down to the local coffee shop and gathering herself for a while, she'd walked back, collected her car and driven home. She'd called her parents and had since been busy doing absolutely anything to keep her mind off work.
Monica managed a small smile. In truth, it wasn't work she couldn't stop thinking about. It was John. Did he really think that? Had she, for all this time, mistakenly believed that he liked her when really he was repulsed by her ideas and ultimately by her. She shook her head, knowing that wasn't right but without anything to compare his most recent statement to, she didn't know what to think.
There was a shuffle towards her door and she looked up sharply, mentally noting that her gun was in the drawer to her left. It was a piece of white paper, folded.
"Stupid takeout menus," she cursed, sighing and standing, not being able to stand it just sitting on the floor there next to the door.
Monica got closer and realised that in fact, it wasn't a menu. She knelt down and glanced at it. On one half and in black crayon there was writing.
For Monica.
It looked like a child's handwriting but Monica knew only one child in Washington, and while she believed William was an extraordinary boy, he wasn't that extraordinary! She stayed crouched to the floor, lifting the piece of paper and opening it up.
Monica hadn't laughed since that morning with Scully, but burst out laughing as soon as she saw what was on the inside of the paper. There was a picture of a door. A brown door that was being held open by a stick figure. This particular stick figure had long brown hair and looked sad. There was another stick person in the drawing, and Monica wasn't exaggerating when she said stick person. The black crayon had drawn one line for each arm, one for each leg, and one for the body. Thankfully both stick figures were clothed. The one holding the door open was in - Monica glanced down at herself - exactly that. Dark brown suit, white shirt - although it was cream in the picture. Monica guessed white crayons were pretty useless on white paper. The other figure was clothed in a black suit. This person had short brown hair and Monica noticed the blue eyes more than anything else. The figure's mouth was in an open circle. A primitive speech bubble was protruding to the right and inside was written, 'Open the door'.
By now Monica's laugh had subsided and she was smiling, if not blushing. She stood, opening the door. John took a step forward and watched her expression carefully, trying to work out how she'd taken it. Monica's eyes widened to see that he actually was there, waiting for her.
"Can you come in?" Monica asked. He nodded as she stepped aside, shutting the door behind him.
"Monica-"
"I underestimated your talent, John." She walked into the kitchen and found a couple of animal magnets in a drawer. She chose a fluffy, brown dog and stuck the drawing to the fridge. "Is that okay?" she asked. "Or a little to the left?"
"It's uh, good," John managed. Was this an, 'I forgive you'? He didn't know, and he had to hear it.
"Monica I'm sorry about today. I, I signed the report."
"Why?"
"Because I know what I did and I know why."
"It's okay, John."
"No, wait. Monica, I really want to explain myself."
"Okay."
"I, I haven't behaved that badly since Barb, and you're not my ex-wife and so I shouldn't treat you like one. I want you to know that I signed the report." Monica nodded and John got the feeling that she already knew that he had. "Sometimes I just don't understand the hows or the whys. Actually, a lot of the time-"
"Sometimes I don't understand either, John."
"I know." There was an awkward silence before John continued. "When I said that I didn't want to be like you or Agent Mulder, I didn't-"
"John."
"Mon, let me finish." Monica mouthed a 'sorry' and he returned to his train of thought. "I didn't mean that the way you are isn't good, or that I don't like it." Monica remained silent even though he allowed her time to interject. "I didn't, I mean I think the fact you can believe all this stuff is amazing. I meant what I said on the Fassel case. If you can accept it, Mon, then God love 'ya, because it makes you special. You got all that?" Monica couldn't believe what she was hearing. This was John opening up. This was John actually 'talking' - or as close as he could get at this point in time. She stood, stock still, watching him with an open mouth and with tears in her eyes. "Mon?" he asked, realising she was non-responsive. Her eyes flicked on him and he took a step closer. "You got all that?" She nodded.
"Yeah," she managed.
"Maybe I should repeat it, just to be clear." He took yet another step closer and Monica felt heat rising to her cheeks. "I respect and admire you and you being able to do this job so well makes you a real special person. And I'm sorry for what I said. Sometimes it frustrates me that I'm not like Mulder, and that everyone expects me to be."
"You think I love living in Scully's shadow? She's so clever-"
"She's a doctor. It comes with the title. Frankly, I don't want you to be Scully."
"No?"
"Sometimes Scully and I think the same way, and it's damn boring. A lot of the time I don't understand you, but that's what makes it so interesting. Fun." Monica began to smile.
"I never expected you to be Mulder. If I pushed anything-"
"You didn't. It was about time I accepted something. So, I did."
"What did you accept?"
"That some people with very vivid imaginations can bring those fantasies to life." He handed her another piece of paper. It was folded in half, like the first, and had, 'For Monica', written on it as well. Monica opened it and smiled. On one side the stick figures were hugging, and on the other side they were sitting opposite each other at the table. She looked up. John spread his arms. "Take you to dinner?" Monica laughed, taking a step forward.
"I'd love that," she answered as he wrapped his arms around her. Monica had hugged John before, but it had never been this mutually comforting. She hugged him back fiercely, pouring everything she'd been feeling that day into the embrace, feeling him do the same. After a while she pulled back. "Can I get changed first? Where are we going?"
"Sure. Uh...I thought we'd try the new Chinese restaurant," John said as she broke off and made her way to her room.
"Oh, John, hang it on the fridge!" she called behind her, the bedroom door closing with a soft click. John walked over to the fridge and found another magnet - two cats, one grey one white, with a ball of wool - to hold up the page. It was the cutest magnet he'd ever seen. Where did she find these things? He clicked it onto the fridge underneath the first, and smiled to himself.
Monica returned five minutes later. Her hair was now out and around her shoulders and she was wearing a floral skirt with the same white shirt. The white of the shirt matching the white in the pattern. Over that she had her tan jacket that also, coincidentally, matched parts of the pattern on the skirt. How did women do this? John found it ultimately amazing that they had this much co-ordination.
"The one down the street?" she asked.
"Yep," John replied, trying not to stare. He'd seen Monica in suits and jeans. The only skirts he'd seen her in were formal, and that was...he couldn't remember. This was a deep navy, shin length, skirt made of thin, swishy material. Monica noticed him glancing at the skirt.
"It's new," she explained.
"It's very nice."
"I know the place we're going to. It's heated and I thought I should put it on. Or I never would. It's my only one."
"Your only what?"
"Skirt. I mean, apart from work-" John shrugged.
"Ready?" She held up a finger.
"Just a sec." She turned the corner and inspected the fridge in the kitchen. Emitting a satisfied hum, she walked past him and held the front door open. "I knew you'd choose that magnet," she added with a smile as he walked past her.
"You got your bag?" John asked, pretending he didn't hear it just to make her blush. It worked.
"Everything I need is in these pockets." She put both hands against her hips, where the pockets to her jacket were situated. "You got your wallet, well, my wallet, in the left, and anything else important in the right."
"Ahuh," John stated as Monica laughed, locking the front door and walking out. "Walking or driving?"
"Walking. This area's well lit. It'll be fun."