Title: The Darkest Road
Author: Tracy
Category: AU/DRR
Rating: PG
Notes: Takes place sometime in S9, before 'The Truth', but after 'William'.
XxX
"Hands where I can see them Mr. Lindridge." Monica Reyes ordered, as she advanced slowly upon the suspect with her gun raised.
Geoffrey Lindridge turned around and faced her, his smooth face showing none of the usual foreboding one might expect when confronted with an armed FBI agent. "There's no need for force, Ms. Reyes. As you can see I am quite unarmed."
"Hands up." Monica repeated briskly, keeping firmly in her mind the image of this man rendering another unconscious with no more than a touch of his hand. He obeyed with a shrug of his shoulders and a resigned smile, and raised them into the air peacefully.
"What are you arresting me for?" he asked curiously.
Monica kept her gun aimed at him with the practiced ease of years of training and motioned for him to turn around and start walking.
"How about assault, for starters." She kept her attention focused on this new tenant, who had moments before caused one of her neighbours to slump to the floor in a dead faint and another one to go into hysterics, and directed him to her open apartment door. "Inside."
He stepped inside the apartment and watched as she walked cautiously to the phone, her eyes never leaving him the whole time. She picked up the receiver and dialled with one hand, and he heard her state her name and badge number, followed by her address and the details of her predicament. She also requested an ambulance for the man lying oblivious in the hallway, who was being watched over by the slightly less hysterical neighbour.
He sighed heavily. "You're only wasting valuable resources by calling an ambulance. He won't wake up."
"What did you do to him?"
"I saved him."
"You saved him?" She asked sceptically.
"Yes."
"From what?"
"From…everything. From the bleakness that is his life. From the emptiness that consumes him, that eats at his heart day after day. I saved him from himself, and he's at peace now."
"Peace? He's unconscious – I'd call that pretty peaceful."
"You're misunderstanding me on purpose. He's happy where he is. I offered him a respite and he took it. I don't think he'll be coming back."
"Is he going to die?" Monica demanded.
"Probably not until it's his natural time to go. But he won't wake up either."
"How can you be so sure?"
He sighed again. "Because I know people. It's my…my calling. My job, if you will."
"Your calling? Rendering innocent people unconscious is your calling?"
"Giving unhappy people a chance at true happiness is my calling. It just so happens that they need to be unconscious for this to occur. But at no stage do I compel them to accept my offer of sanctuary. Their decision is made freely and without duress. And if at any time they request to come home, then I bring them."
"Well, I guess you've got a good a shot as any of getting off on an insanity plea." Monica derided.
"People always mock what they don't understand." He murmured sadly, as if he was personally disappointed in her. His attention wandered around the apartment, taking in the comfortable furniture, the various collectables, and the complete lack of any personal memorabilia or photo's. "Ahhh." He said softly, and returned his gaze to her in sympathy. She barely had time to register the change of expression before his eyes blazed a curious grey colour and bored into hers, leaving her unable to look away. She gasped in sudden pain as every single one of her thoughts and feelings and memories were suddenly sucked from her, and somehow pulled across the room to be devoured by him.
"What…what did you do to me?"
"I read you." He replied calmly, his eyes normal once again; except for a new sadness that she had no idea was mirrored in her own.
Monica became aware of a faint humming pressing all around her, and then shrunk back as he drew himself up and seemed to fill the room. "I offer you a chance," he intoned formally, "To wipe away the hurt and misery and heartbreak, to choose the path that was somehow overgrown and shadowed in this life but that should have been yours to travel. I offer you the chance to be happy and content, safe and protected, to love and be loved. I offer this to you, unreservedly and without design, for the sole purpose of your fulfilment and growth. I offer you the chance to step from the darkest road. Choose freely, and choose well, and know that to come home all you need do is wish it."
Monica listened in stupefaction, knowing instinctively that somehow, this man was telling the truth.
"I…no. Whatever it is, it's not real."
"It's more real than you could ever imagine. And I'm sorry," Geoffrey cocked his head as if listening for something only he was aware of, "I know I said that I've never compelled anybody to accept my offer, but this time I must insist."
It was then that Monica became aware of the sound of sirens wailing in the distance. She raised her weapon, which had fallen to her side in the sensory assault, and redirected it at his head.
"Stay where you are." She ordered as he slowly inched towards her.
"I really am sorry," he was saying, "But I can't allow you to arrest me." He reached out to stroke her cheek, and to her dismay she found that she could not move a single muscle. His hands cupped either side of her head, and the last thing she felt was his cool lips on her forehead. "Remember, all you have to do is wish yourself home." And then she blacked out.
XxX
When she woke, she was lying in a curled ball in bed, a sheet tangled around her lower body. Her nightie was caught up underneath her, and she wriggled her hips to straighten it out. She yawned and rolled over onto her back, convinced she had just had the weirdest dream of her life. It was while she was staring at the ceiling that she realised that it wasn't *her*ceiling, and she wasn't in *her* bed. She scrambled into a sitting position, heart thumping wildly as she also realised she wasn't alone. More than a little alarmed now, she stared down at a smoothly muscled back and almost jumped when it too rolled over and presented its face to her.
"John?" She gasped in confusion. "What are you doing here?"
His arm draped casually around her thighs as he laid his head on her lap, kissing her through the thin sheet. "Where else would I be?"
Monica's body tensed as she felt John snuggle into her side. "You gettin' up already?" he asked sleepily.
"Um, yeah."
"'S still early." He yawned, closing his eyes.
"I… I need to get out of here." She untangled herself from John and the sheets and then stood dumbly next to the bed. She had no idea where she was, or even what was going on, but she knew she couldn't stay in the same room as a semi naked John. She looked around the room for a door, and walked unsteadily towards it, trying to keep her breathing even.
"Make me some eggs?" a voice called from behind her.
"What?"
"Eggs. You know how I like them."
"Er…fried?" she guessed.
"Scrambled." John opened his eyes and peered at her. She could see his reflection in the beauty table mirror, and heard the concern in his voice. "You okay?"
"I don't know what the hell is going on here." She replied unsteadily. "Yesterday we…I…"
"Mon, come back here for a minute." She turned around and took the few steps back to the side of the bed. He sat up and pulled her down so that she was sitting on the edge of the bed. His chin came to a rest on her shoulder, and he pressed a soft kiss into her neck. "I'm sorry about yesterday. I was just bein' selfish and insensitive. 'Course you need time to yourself."
"I…don't know what to say." She stammered.
"Just say you'll have a good time and that you'll miss us."
Us? It was definitely time she found out what was going on. She rounded on him and searched his face intently.
"John, I don't understand anything that's happened to me since I woke up this morning. First of all, where the hell am I? And secondly, what am I doing here in bed with you?"
"You're starting to scare me, Mon."
"I'm starting to scare you? I have no memory of…this…" she gestured towards him and the bed, and the room in general.
John breathed a sigh of relief. "We only got back yesterday, so of course you don't remember it. This is the first time you've seen it since it was done."
"You're not listening to me." She cried in frustration.
"I am." He soothed, rubbing circles on her back. "Listen, you're just re-adjustin' to being back home. You know how it is when you haven't slept in your own bed for a week. You wake up and you have no idea where you are. Add the fact that the room has been renovated, and we didn't exactly get a lot of sleep last night, and it's no wonder you're a little confused."
That sounded almost…plausible. She could almost remember a trip…
"What about you then?" She asked triumphantly. "What are you doing in bed with me?"
"You don't remember last night?" John prompted, and bit her neck softly when she shook her head.
"Ah, to be forgotten so quickly. I guess I'll just have to remind you then." Monica felt his hand leave her back and wrap itself around her chest, pulling her weight down until she was lying on the bed with John perched over her.
"What are you doing?" she asked in alarm.
"I'm apologisin' again, since you obviously don't remember my first one." He replied huskily, as his lips drew closer and closer to hers. "And I was so eloquent, too."
"It's not necessary, John." She managed to stutter, just before his lips captured hers. And just before the door was thrust open and a small voice called out, "Mommy!"
XxX
"As usual, great timing." John groaned, giving her one last kiss before rolling over and looking expectantly at the dark haired child in the doorway. Monica's eyes widened in disbelief.
Mommy?
"What is it Stephy?"
"Bella won't let me watch Sylvester." She complained. "Can I watch it in here?"
"You know Saturday morning is mommy and daddy's sleep in time." John admonished, with mock severity.
"I know daddy, but it's the one where the kangaroo escapes from the zoo. It's my all time favourite. Please can I watch?" she pleaded, and Monica was startled to see two pairs of matching blue eyes sizing each other up.
"Well, I dunno. Whatta ya say, mommy?"
Mommy.
That word again.
And then those blue eyes were directed at her, and she had no choice but to accede under their scrutiny. "I guess so…" she began, only to be cut off when the child threw herself on the bed and kissed her noisily in gratitude. She snuggled between them and looked at John expectantly.
"What now?" he growled, but she obviously knew him better to believe the anger his tone suggested and just giggled.
"The remote, daddy."
"Oh, the remote. You come in here all noisy and demandin', ruinin' my sleep in, and now you want the remote as well?"
"Yes please."
"It'll cost you." He warned.
Stephy narrowed her eyes. "How much?"
"Three..no, four kisses."
"Okay." She agreed quickly. "But two now, and two after the cartoons finish."
"My daughter, the haggler." John smiled proudly, and accepted the kisses as his due. Monica watched this exchange in utter amazement. If she understood things correctly, this child was her daughter. Hers and John's. And she had no memory of her at all.
The room was suddenly filled with the noise of Sylvester getting pummelled by the kangaroo, and she took this opportunity to rise from the bed and leave the room.
"Don't forget my eggs, Mon." John called after her. As she stepped into the hallway she realised she was in John's house in Falls Church. Feeling a little better at the familiarity of the house, she made her way downstairs to be confronted by another cartoon blaring from another television. She reached the foot of the stairs and was shocked to see two more dark haired children sitting on the couch.
"Bella?" she exclaimed, more loudly than she intended.
"Yes, mommy?" One of the heads swivelled around to face her, and two points struck her simultaneously. One, this child had the same blue eyes as her sister, and two, apart from those eyes she was the spitting image of herself when she had been that age. Six, she guessed, seven at the most.
"Uh, nothing." She mumbled, and walked past the couch and into the kitchen.
Coffee. She needed coffee.
As she waited for the kettle to boil she went to the fridge to take out the milk. Pictures and artwork covered the surface, and from various colourful drawings she ascertained that the third child's name was JJ.
Three children.
All hers.
And a man upstairs in bed who was in all likelihood her husband.
Monica slumped against the kitchen cupboards as her brain tried to make sense of what was happening. Only moments ago she had been in her apartment about to arrest a man for assault. Now here she was, in John's house with kids, a husband, and the start of an almighty headache. What was it Geoffrey Lindridge had said? Something about the path that should have been hers…about happiness…stepping from the darkest road, whatever the hell that was…and wasn't there something about what her life could be? Did that mean that decisions she made here would impact the life she led before? Or was this just an escape, a conglomeration of all the fantasies she'd ever had rolled into one super fantasy that she had to act her way through before being whisked back to reality? So many questions. She sucked in her breath as another thought occurred to her. Was the John upstairs her John, or was he part of this simulation? Supposing for a moment that Fantasy John was upstairs, where was Real John? And for that matter, if her body was here in this reality with Fantasy John, what would Real John he be thinking back home? Was he looking for her? Her head hurt with all the possibilities.
"Mooooommmmmy."
Crap. That meant her. She gingerly walked back into the lounge room, to be confronted by yet another pair of bright blue eyes. Was she destined to be haunted forever by those eyes? It was bad enough when she had one pair to contend with, now all of a sudden she had four. The boy was watching her approach with barely concealed impatience. He was about four, she guessed. And the one upstairs looked to be five. Seven, five and four. Which meant that she had been very busy for a few years, indeed.
"What is it…JJ?" she asked.
"Can I have my breakfast now?"
"What do you say?" she asked instinctively.
"Please. Can I please have my breakfast now?"
She grinned as she caught Bella rolling her eyes.
"What would you like?"
"Cereal. With –"
"Lots of milk. I know." She said, speaking the words before they'd even formed in her mind.
And she did know. But how was that possible? And how was it possible that she suddenly knew what JJ stood for? That Bella was short for Isabella. That Stephaney upstairs was allergic to penicillin and walnuts. And that last night she and John had had a fight about her wanting to go away to Atlantic City for a weekend with Dana? It happened after they'd arrived home from a week in Mexico, where they'd visited her parents while waiting for their bedroom to be renovated. A…a burst main had been the just the excuse they'd been looking for to re-decorate a room that hadn't had an overhaul since she'd first moved in eight years ago – one year before they'd married.
She knew all this, and more.
She got the cereal from the cupboard and poured some in a bowl. She added a healthy portion of milk and called JJ to the kitchen to eat it over the table.
"You want pancakes, Bella?" she called out, confident that she would indeed want her favourite food for breakfast.
"Yes please, mommy." Bella appeared next to the bench. "Can I help?"
"You sure can." Monica replied. "You can get the eggs out of the fridge for me if you like."
"Can I break them today?" She looked at Monica with such hopefulness that she didn't have the heart to say no.
A memory of teaching her how to break eggs flashed before her eyes, and she asked, "Do you remember how?"
"Uh huh. No shells today, I promise."
Monica laughed as she recalled the last time they'd made pancakes. Was it last week? The week before? More shell had landed in the mixture than had been left out, but Bella had been so proud of herself.
"Okay sweetie, you can break them. And I'll tell you what – you do a good job and you can even break the ones for your dad's eggs."
Bella raced to the fridge to bring out the eggs, while Monica took the flour from the pantry and got a mixing bowl out from under the sink. She had just measured out two cups of flour when a golden flash of energy exploded through the back door, followed by a tall, fair-haired boy of about 17.
"Luke!" Bella greeted, and ran over to throw her arms around his waist.
All the blood drained from Monica's face. Luke? It couldn't be. Not John's Luke.
"Hey Mon." he smiled, disentangling himself from Bella's arms. "Is it okay if I borrow the car? Mine's in the shop - again."
Monica stared in amazement. This man-child couldn't be Luke. Luke was six years old and dead. He was not a teenager with a licence. But then other memories flooded through her; of Christmas's and holidays spent with this boy, of watching him grow, of John and her and Barbara banding together to buy him a car for his sixteenth birthday.
"Ah…you'd better ask your dad." She managed to stumble out.
"He upstairs?"
"He's still in bed." Bella provided, and transferred her attention JJ, who was letting the dog lick the milk out of his bowl.
"Jonathon James, you stop that right this minute." Someone said, and Monica was startled to discover that it was her.
"Awww, mom!"
"I mean it JJ."
"But Coco's hungry."
"JJ –" she warned, and watched as Luke left the kitchen laughing to himself.
"Jesus." She whispered under her breath. It really was Luke. Only instead of being found dead in a field, he had been…
Monica frowned in concentration.
Ahh, he had been found trapped under a neighbour's house. He had followed a kitten back to her mother and somehow managed to wedge his foot under a pile of debris. She cast her memory back further, needing to know how she and John had come to know each other in this reality. It was still hazy, but….there it was. She'd been called in to help find Luke, and this time she hadn't failed. But even his return hadn't been enough to save John and Barb's marriage. They'd divorced a year after.
And then…
…then John applied to the academy, and after he'd graduated they'd bumped into each other at Quantico. She smiled as a memory of their first date washed over her.
"Mommy! The eggs?"
Snapped out of these second hand memories, Monica instead focused on the task at hand and supervised the cracking of the eggs. She had just set Bella to stirring the mixture when Luke bounded back through the kitchen, and grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. "He said it was okay, if you don't need it this morning."
"No, it's fine."
"Great. I'll have it back in a few hours."
"No problem."
"Oh, and he also wanted to know what was taking his eggs so damn long!"
"Luke!"
"His words, not mine." He retorted, jangling the car keys as he walked past them out the door.
"JJ, go up and tell you father that if he wants his eggs he can come down here and ask for them nicely."
JJ raced up the stairs to deliver the message, followed by Coco.
"No running in the house!" Monica called after him, knowing it was to no avail.
She shook her head good-naturedly. New memories were breaking to the surface of her mind with every minute she was here. As well as some new, and not so new emotions. Geoffrey said all she had to do to come home was wish it. But as she watched Bella earnestly stirring the mixture she was struck by the overwhelming desire to stay a while and explore her new life. She could always go home later. She smiled to herself at the thought of all the fun she could have with her semi naked fantasy husband. If her new memory of his apology last night was anything to go by, she was in for one hell of a ride. And besides, if it was only a fantasy world, what could it hurt? Her smile broadened - it wasn't turning out to be so bad here after all.
XxX
"I don't understand it. How can a normal, healthy woman suddenly fall into a coma?"
"I don't know." Scully replied wearily, watching him, as he stood hunched over Monica's hospital bed.
"She was just there…slumped on the floor. The officers who found her said that she'd been on the phone moments earlier, so what the hell happened?"
"We'll find out John. I promise you, we'll find whoever did this to her."
John dragged his eyes away from that of his comatose partner and looked up at her. "What about the suspect she was holdin'? Any news on him?"
"Not at this time."
"I want him found. I want him found, and I want him questioned, and then if I find out he had anything to do with her bein' like this, I'm gonna make him wish he'd never been born."
"John-"
"What? You can't tell me that if it was Mulder lyin' here like this you wouldn't do everythin' in your power to find the person responsible."
Scully considered how best to answer him. The last thing Monica needed was for John to beat the living crap out of the one person who might be able to shed some light on what had happened. The worst part was, he was right. If it were Mulder in that bed she would be feeling the exact same way. But she also knew that she possessed one quality John didn't at this particular time. Watching him, she didn't think he held the self-restraint to stop himself from doing something stupid to the person who had hurt Monica.
"You're right." She finally said. "But you need to remember this – a dead man can't answer any questions."
"I just – I spoke to her this mornin' and she was fine. And now she's…" he trailed off, his eyes glossing over as all the tubes and the beeping of machines filled his senses.
"She's still alive, John. That's what you need to hold on to right now."
"Yeah."
"I'm going to examine the other victim. I'll let you know if I find anything."
But he didn't hear her. All his attention was focused on Monica.
Author: Tracy
Category: AU/DRR
Rating: PG
Notes: Takes place sometime in S9, before 'The Truth', but after 'William'.
XxX
"Hands where I can see them Mr. Lindridge." Monica Reyes ordered, as she advanced slowly upon the suspect with her gun raised.
Geoffrey Lindridge turned around and faced her, his smooth face showing none of the usual foreboding one might expect when confronted with an armed FBI agent. "There's no need for force, Ms. Reyes. As you can see I am quite unarmed."
"Hands up." Monica repeated briskly, keeping firmly in her mind the image of this man rendering another unconscious with no more than a touch of his hand. He obeyed with a shrug of his shoulders and a resigned smile, and raised them into the air peacefully.
"What are you arresting me for?" he asked curiously.
Monica kept her gun aimed at him with the practiced ease of years of training and motioned for him to turn around and start walking.
"How about assault, for starters." She kept her attention focused on this new tenant, who had moments before caused one of her neighbours to slump to the floor in a dead faint and another one to go into hysterics, and directed him to her open apartment door. "Inside."
He stepped inside the apartment and watched as she walked cautiously to the phone, her eyes never leaving him the whole time. She picked up the receiver and dialled with one hand, and he heard her state her name and badge number, followed by her address and the details of her predicament. She also requested an ambulance for the man lying oblivious in the hallway, who was being watched over by the slightly less hysterical neighbour.
He sighed heavily. "You're only wasting valuable resources by calling an ambulance. He won't wake up."
"What did you do to him?"
"I saved him."
"You saved him?" She asked sceptically.
"Yes."
"From what?"
"From…everything. From the bleakness that is his life. From the emptiness that consumes him, that eats at his heart day after day. I saved him from himself, and he's at peace now."
"Peace? He's unconscious – I'd call that pretty peaceful."
"You're misunderstanding me on purpose. He's happy where he is. I offered him a respite and he took it. I don't think he'll be coming back."
"Is he going to die?" Monica demanded.
"Probably not until it's his natural time to go. But he won't wake up either."
"How can you be so sure?"
He sighed again. "Because I know people. It's my…my calling. My job, if you will."
"Your calling? Rendering innocent people unconscious is your calling?"
"Giving unhappy people a chance at true happiness is my calling. It just so happens that they need to be unconscious for this to occur. But at no stage do I compel them to accept my offer of sanctuary. Their decision is made freely and without duress. And if at any time they request to come home, then I bring them."
"Well, I guess you've got a good a shot as any of getting off on an insanity plea." Monica derided.
"People always mock what they don't understand." He murmured sadly, as if he was personally disappointed in her. His attention wandered around the apartment, taking in the comfortable furniture, the various collectables, and the complete lack of any personal memorabilia or photo's. "Ahhh." He said softly, and returned his gaze to her in sympathy. She barely had time to register the change of expression before his eyes blazed a curious grey colour and bored into hers, leaving her unable to look away. She gasped in sudden pain as every single one of her thoughts and feelings and memories were suddenly sucked from her, and somehow pulled across the room to be devoured by him.
"What…what did you do to me?"
"I read you." He replied calmly, his eyes normal once again; except for a new sadness that she had no idea was mirrored in her own.
Monica became aware of a faint humming pressing all around her, and then shrunk back as he drew himself up and seemed to fill the room. "I offer you a chance," he intoned formally, "To wipe away the hurt and misery and heartbreak, to choose the path that was somehow overgrown and shadowed in this life but that should have been yours to travel. I offer you the chance to be happy and content, safe and protected, to love and be loved. I offer this to you, unreservedly and without design, for the sole purpose of your fulfilment and growth. I offer you the chance to step from the darkest road. Choose freely, and choose well, and know that to come home all you need do is wish it."
Monica listened in stupefaction, knowing instinctively that somehow, this man was telling the truth.
"I…no. Whatever it is, it's not real."
"It's more real than you could ever imagine. And I'm sorry," Geoffrey cocked his head as if listening for something only he was aware of, "I know I said that I've never compelled anybody to accept my offer, but this time I must insist."
It was then that Monica became aware of the sound of sirens wailing in the distance. She raised her weapon, which had fallen to her side in the sensory assault, and redirected it at his head.
"Stay where you are." She ordered as he slowly inched towards her.
"I really am sorry," he was saying, "But I can't allow you to arrest me." He reached out to stroke her cheek, and to her dismay she found that she could not move a single muscle. His hands cupped either side of her head, and the last thing she felt was his cool lips on her forehead. "Remember, all you have to do is wish yourself home." And then she blacked out.
XxX
When she woke, she was lying in a curled ball in bed, a sheet tangled around her lower body. Her nightie was caught up underneath her, and she wriggled her hips to straighten it out. She yawned and rolled over onto her back, convinced she had just had the weirdest dream of her life. It was while she was staring at the ceiling that she realised that it wasn't *her*ceiling, and she wasn't in *her* bed. She scrambled into a sitting position, heart thumping wildly as she also realised she wasn't alone. More than a little alarmed now, she stared down at a smoothly muscled back and almost jumped when it too rolled over and presented its face to her.
"John?" She gasped in confusion. "What are you doing here?"
His arm draped casually around her thighs as he laid his head on her lap, kissing her through the thin sheet. "Where else would I be?"
Monica's body tensed as she felt John snuggle into her side. "You gettin' up already?" he asked sleepily.
"Um, yeah."
"'S still early." He yawned, closing his eyes.
"I… I need to get out of here." She untangled herself from John and the sheets and then stood dumbly next to the bed. She had no idea where she was, or even what was going on, but she knew she couldn't stay in the same room as a semi naked John. She looked around the room for a door, and walked unsteadily towards it, trying to keep her breathing even.
"Make me some eggs?" a voice called from behind her.
"What?"
"Eggs. You know how I like them."
"Er…fried?" she guessed.
"Scrambled." John opened his eyes and peered at her. She could see his reflection in the beauty table mirror, and heard the concern in his voice. "You okay?"
"I don't know what the hell is going on here." She replied unsteadily. "Yesterday we…I…"
"Mon, come back here for a minute." She turned around and took the few steps back to the side of the bed. He sat up and pulled her down so that she was sitting on the edge of the bed. His chin came to a rest on her shoulder, and he pressed a soft kiss into her neck. "I'm sorry about yesterday. I was just bein' selfish and insensitive. 'Course you need time to yourself."
"I…don't know what to say." She stammered.
"Just say you'll have a good time and that you'll miss us."
Us? It was definitely time she found out what was going on. She rounded on him and searched his face intently.
"John, I don't understand anything that's happened to me since I woke up this morning. First of all, where the hell am I? And secondly, what am I doing here in bed with you?"
"You're starting to scare me, Mon."
"I'm starting to scare you? I have no memory of…this…" she gestured towards him and the bed, and the room in general.
John breathed a sigh of relief. "We only got back yesterday, so of course you don't remember it. This is the first time you've seen it since it was done."
"You're not listening to me." She cried in frustration.
"I am." He soothed, rubbing circles on her back. "Listen, you're just re-adjustin' to being back home. You know how it is when you haven't slept in your own bed for a week. You wake up and you have no idea where you are. Add the fact that the room has been renovated, and we didn't exactly get a lot of sleep last night, and it's no wonder you're a little confused."
That sounded almost…plausible. She could almost remember a trip…
"What about you then?" She asked triumphantly. "What are you doing in bed with me?"
"You don't remember last night?" John prompted, and bit her neck softly when she shook her head.
"Ah, to be forgotten so quickly. I guess I'll just have to remind you then." Monica felt his hand leave her back and wrap itself around her chest, pulling her weight down until she was lying on the bed with John perched over her.
"What are you doing?" she asked in alarm.
"I'm apologisin' again, since you obviously don't remember my first one." He replied huskily, as his lips drew closer and closer to hers. "And I was so eloquent, too."
"It's not necessary, John." She managed to stutter, just before his lips captured hers. And just before the door was thrust open and a small voice called out, "Mommy!"
XxX
"As usual, great timing." John groaned, giving her one last kiss before rolling over and looking expectantly at the dark haired child in the doorway. Monica's eyes widened in disbelief.
Mommy?
"What is it Stephy?"
"Bella won't let me watch Sylvester." She complained. "Can I watch it in here?"
"You know Saturday morning is mommy and daddy's sleep in time." John admonished, with mock severity.
"I know daddy, but it's the one where the kangaroo escapes from the zoo. It's my all time favourite. Please can I watch?" she pleaded, and Monica was startled to see two pairs of matching blue eyes sizing each other up.
"Well, I dunno. Whatta ya say, mommy?"
Mommy.
That word again.
And then those blue eyes were directed at her, and she had no choice but to accede under their scrutiny. "I guess so…" she began, only to be cut off when the child threw herself on the bed and kissed her noisily in gratitude. She snuggled between them and looked at John expectantly.
"What now?" he growled, but she obviously knew him better to believe the anger his tone suggested and just giggled.
"The remote, daddy."
"Oh, the remote. You come in here all noisy and demandin', ruinin' my sleep in, and now you want the remote as well?"
"Yes please."
"It'll cost you." He warned.
Stephy narrowed her eyes. "How much?"
"Three..no, four kisses."
"Okay." She agreed quickly. "But two now, and two after the cartoons finish."
"My daughter, the haggler." John smiled proudly, and accepted the kisses as his due. Monica watched this exchange in utter amazement. If she understood things correctly, this child was her daughter. Hers and John's. And she had no memory of her at all.
The room was suddenly filled with the noise of Sylvester getting pummelled by the kangaroo, and she took this opportunity to rise from the bed and leave the room.
"Don't forget my eggs, Mon." John called after her. As she stepped into the hallway she realised she was in John's house in Falls Church. Feeling a little better at the familiarity of the house, she made her way downstairs to be confronted by another cartoon blaring from another television. She reached the foot of the stairs and was shocked to see two more dark haired children sitting on the couch.
"Bella?" she exclaimed, more loudly than she intended.
"Yes, mommy?" One of the heads swivelled around to face her, and two points struck her simultaneously. One, this child had the same blue eyes as her sister, and two, apart from those eyes she was the spitting image of herself when she had been that age. Six, she guessed, seven at the most.
"Uh, nothing." She mumbled, and walked past the couch and into the kitchen.
Coffee. She needed coffee.
As she waited for the kettle to boil she went to the fridge to take out the milk. Pictures and artwork covered the surface, and from various colourful drawings she ascertained that the third child's name was JJ.
Three children.
All hers.
And a man upstairs in bed who was in all likelihood her husband.
Monica slumped against the kitchen cupboards as her brain tried to make sense of what was happening. Only moments ago she had been in her apartment about to arrest a man for assault. Now here she was, in John's house with kids, a husband, and the start of an almighty headache. What was it Geoffrey Lindridge had said? Something about the path that should have been hers…about happiness…stepping from the darkest road, whatever the hell that was…and wasn't there something about what her life could be? Did that mean that decisions she made here would impact the life she led before? Or was this just an escape, a conglomeration of all the fantasies she'd ever had rolled into one super fantasy that she had to act her way through before being whisked back to reality? So many questions. She sucked in her breath as another thought occurred to her. Was the John upstairs her John, or was he part of this simulation? Supposing for a moment that Fantasy John was upstairs, where was Real John? And for that matter, if her body was here in this reality with Fantasy John, what would Real John he be thinking back home? Was he looking for her? Her head hurt with all the possibilities.
"Mooooommmmmy."
Crap. That meant her. She gingerly walked back into the lounge room, to be confronted by yet another pair of bright blue eyes. Was she destined to be haunted forever by those eyes? It was bad enough when she had one pair to contend with, now all of a sudden she had four. The boy was watching her approach with barely concealed impatience. He was about four, she guessed. And the one upstairs looked to be five. Seven, five and four. Which meant that she had been very busy for a few years, indeed.
"What is it…JJ?" she asked.
"Can I have my breakfast now?"
"What do you say?" she asked instinctively.
"Please. Can I please have my breakfast now?"
She grinned as she caught Bella rolling her eyes.
"What would you like?"
"Cereal. With –"
"Lots of milk. I know." She said, speaking the words before they'd even formed in her mind.
And she did know. But how was that possible? And how was it possible that she suddenly knew what JJ stood for? That Bella was short for Isabella. That Stephaney upstairs was allergic to penicillin and walnuts. And that last night she and John had had a fight about her wanting to go away to Atlantic City for a weekend with Dana? It happened after they'd arrived home from a week in Mexico, where they'd visited her parents while waiting for their bedroom to be renovated. A…a burst main had been the just the excuse they'd been looking for to re-decorate a room that hadn't had an overhaul since she'd first moved in eight years ago – one year before they'd married.
She knew all this, and more.
She got the cereal from the cupboard and poured some in a bowl. She added a healthy portion of milk and called JJ to the kitchen to eat it over the table.
"You want pancakes, Bella?" she called out, confident that she would indeed want her favourite food for breakfast.
"Yes please, mommy." Bella appeared next to the bench. "Can I help?"
"You sure can." Monica replied. "You can get the eggs out of the fridge for me if you like."
"Can I break them today?" She looked at Monica with such hopefulness that she didn't have the heart to say no.
A memory of teaching her how to break eggs flashed before her eyes, and she asked, "Do you remember how?"
"Uh huh. No shells today, I promise."
Monica laughed as she recalled the last time they'd made pancakes. Was it last week? The week before? More shell had landed in the mixture than had been left out, but Bella had been so proud of herself.
"Okay sweetie, you can break them. And I'll tell you what – you do a good job and you can even break the ones for your dad's eggs."
Bella raced to the fridge to bring out the eggs, while Monica took the flour from the pantry and got a mixing bowl out from under the sink. She had just measured out two cups of flour when a golden flash of energy exploded through the back door, followed by a tall, fair-haired boy of about 17.
"Luke!" Bella greeted, and ran over to throw her arms around his waist.
All the blood drained from Monica's face. Luke? It couldn't be. Not John's Luke.
"Hey Mon." he smiled, disentangling himself from Bella's arms. "Is it okay if I borrow the car? Mine's in the shop - again."
Monica stared in amazement. This man-child couldn't be Luke. Luke was six years old and dead. He was not a teenager with a licence. But then other memories flooded through her; of Christmas's and holidays spent with this boy, of watching him grow, of John and her and Barbara banding together to buy him a car for his sixteenth birthday.
"Ah…you'd better ask your dad." She managed to stumble out.
"He upstairs?"
"He's still in bed." Bella provided, and transferred her attention JJ, who was letting the dog lick the milk out of his bowl.
"Jonathon James, you stop that right this minute." Someone said, and Monica was startled to discover that it was her.
"Awww, mom!"
"I mean it JJ."
"But Coco's hungry."
"JJ –" she warned, and watched as Luke left the kitchen laughing to himself.
"Jesus." She whispered under her breath. It really was Luke. Only instead of being found dead in a field, he had been…
Monica frowned in concentration.
Ahh, he had been found trapped under a neighbour's house. He had followed a kitten back to her mother and somehow managed to wedge his foot under a pile of debris. She cast her memory back further, needing to know how she and John had come to know each other in this reality. It was still hazy, but….there it was. She'd been called in to help find Luke, and this time she hadn't failed. But even his return hadn't been enough to save John and Barb's marriage. They'd divorced a year after.
And then…
…then John applied to the academy, and after he'd graduated they'd bumped into each other at Quantico. She smiled as a memory of their first date washed over her.
"Mommy! The eggs?"
Snapped out of these second hand memories, Monica instead focused on the task at hand and supervised the cracking of the eggs. She had just set Bella to stirring the mixture when Luke bounded back through the kitchen, and grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. "He said it was okay, if you don't need it this morning."
"No, it's fine."
"Great. I'll have it back in a few hours."
"No problem."
"Oh, and he also wanted to know what was taking his eggs so damn long!"
"Luke!"
"His words, not mine." He retorted, jangling the car keys as he walked past them out the door.
"JJ, go up and tell you father that if he wants his eggs he can come down here and ask for them nicely."
JJ raced up the stairs to deliver the message, followed by Coco.
"No running in the house!" Monica called after him, knowing it was to no avail.
She shook her head good-naturedly. New memories were breaking to the surface of her mind with every minute she was here. As well as some new, and not so new emotions. Geoffrey said all she had to do to come home was wish it. But as she watched Bella earnestly stirring the mixture she was struck by the overwhelming desire to stay a while and explore her new life. She could always go home later. She smiled to herself at the thought of all the fun she could have with her semi naked fantasy husband. If her new memory of his apology last night was anything to go by, she was in for one hell of a ride. And besides, if it was only a fantasy world, what could it hurt? Her smile broadened - it wasn't turning out to be so bad here after all.
XxX
"I don't understand it. How can a normal, healthy woman suddenly fall into a coma?"
"I don't know." Scully replied wearily, watching him, as he stood hunched over Monica's hospital bed.
"She was just there…slumped on the floor. The officers who found her said that she'd been on the phone moments earlier, so what the hell happened?"
"We'll find out John. I promise you, we'll find whoever did this to her."
John dragged his eyes away from that of his comatose partner and looked up at her. "What about the suspect she was holdin'? Any news on him?"
"Not at this time."
"I want him found. I want him found, and I want him questioned, and then if I find out he had anything to do with her bein' like this, I'm gonna make him wish he'd never been born."
"John-"
"What? You can't tell me that if it was Mulder lyin' here like this you wouldn't do everythin' in your power to find the person responsible."
Scully considered how best to answer him. The last thing Monica needed was for John to beat the living crap out of the one person who might be able to shed some light on what had happened. The worst part was, he was right. If it were Mulder in that bed she would be feeling the exact same way. But she also knew that she possessed one quality John didn't at this particular time. Watching him, she didn't think he held the self-restraint to stop himself from doing something stupid to the person who had hurt Monica.
"You're right." She finally said. "But you need to remember this – a dead man can't answer any questions."
"I just – I spoke to her this mornin' and she was fine. And now she's…" he trailed off, his eyes glossing over as all the tubes and the beeping of machines filled his senses.
"She's still alive, John. That's what you need to hold on to right now."
"Yeah."
"I'm going to examine the other victim. I'll let you know if I find anything."
But he didn't hear her. All his attention was focused on Monica.