I heard her breathing change and turned my head. She had kicked the covers off some time during the night and was completely exposed to my hungry eyes. Fighting the urge to attack her with kisses, I stood at the window until Monica opened her eyes, blinking against the sun.

"John," she murmured, her voice still husky from the workout she'd given her throat the night before. "You're up early."

"It's almost 0800. Something funny?" I asked when she grinned.

"You still use military time," she said, stretching out on the bed. Her eyes never left me. "It's just cute."

"Never been called 'cute' before," I said, unable to hide my smile.

Monica laughed, sitting up against the headboard. She seemed not to notice, or not to care, that she was naked. I had always admired that about her. "Well, you are. You have a face that just begs to be kissed." She laughed harder when I took to staring at my feet. "John Doggett! Turns out you're just a big old marshmallow at heart." She slid off the bed and came up to me, wrapping her arms around my waist.

I was about to reply when my cell phone rang, interrupting the dreamlike mood in the room. "While you get that, I'm gonna hop in the shower," Monica said.

"'Kay."

She pulled away and smiled at me as she headed into the bathroom. I flipped the phone open. "Yeah?"

"Agent Doggett." Scully's voice was marred by static. "Have you and Agent Reyes enjoyed your long weekend?"

"Yeah, we're great. What was the deal with the helicopters back at the canyon?" I queried her, in investigator mode immediately.

There was a moment of loud crackling, then I heard, "---everything later. Here's what you need to do. Get on 285 and head west." Scully rattled off a set of directions and I scribbled as best I could on the back of my receipt from the previous night's dinner.

"Okay," I said. "We should be there sometime tonight." I paused to listen to her. "I'll be looking for it." Hanging up, I strode over and poked my head around the door. Raising my voice over the rush of the shower, I said, "Monica, hurry up! We're goin' to Mexico."

* * *

Ciudad Juarez was like any other border town in Mexico or the U.S. High rises in downtown gave way to shanties and peddlers in the more rural areas. The fate of little tourist pueblo's economy rested with the droves of Americans crossing the border from El Paso, on their way to Tijuana, Cancun or one of the other high-profile travel destinations in Mexico.

The sun was sinking against the desert backdrop, shading the sky in a thousand different hues. While dark reds dominated, the fading orange light in the sky would be enough to see by for another hour, at least. Monica and I strolled through the lines of vendors like any couple, dressed casually in jeans and t-shirts. My spare gun was strapped to my ankle and my hand was on the small of Monica's back. I kept her near my side for the feeling it gave me, more than to protect her. Several times as we passed the huts, I caught whispered Spanish words I understood: "amor", "hermana", "esposa". Packed in tight rows, each of the ladies in their tiny straw-topped kiosks speculated on whether the senorita was my sister, my wife or my illicit lover. I fought a slight grin, wondering what they'd think if they knew the little senorita could kick my ass in ten different ways and was packing heat.

"John," Monica gasped softly, seeming to forget why we were there. "Isn't this beautiful? You just don't see workmanship like this in the States." She was grasping the edge of a peasant blouse, made with an array of vibrant colors. The owner of the small store was wearing one herself, and when she saw Monica rubbing the fabric between her fingertips, her eyes lit up. "You like, yes?" she asked in broken English. "You like, I make good deal to you."

"Sí, eso me gusta mucho," Monica said, Spanish flying off her practiced tongue. It was then that I remembered she'd been raised near Puerto Vallarta. She admired the blouse and didn't even glance at me as she said, "Cuanto?"

The Mexican's face crinkled in thought. "For you, senorita, twenty-five dolla'. But just for you, good deal, yes?"

"Monica," I said, shaking my head as she looked up at me. "It's too much," I murmured.

The old woman's face fell but she countered quickly, "No? Twenty!" she declared.

"Still too much. We can find a nicer one than this for less."

Monica was about to tell me where to put my argument when we heard the loud rumbling of the approaching freight trucks. "Those are the trucks Mulder told us to watch for," she said, dropping the blouse on top of the stack. "Sorry," she called back to the woman as we hurried toward the square.

We were standing there in puzzlement, watching the cargo being unloaded from the trucks as instructed, when our confusion was cleared up. "Agent Doggett!" Mulder bounded down the gangplank of a huge truck. "Good to see you," he said with a quick smile. "Agent Reyes, hello again."

"Agent Mulder," Monica replied with a smile, leaning over to hug him. "How are you? Where's Agent Scully?"

"You know," I broke in, "we really oughta start using first names or something. 'Cause considering the crap we're in, I don't think any of us will be 'Agent' anythin' for long."

Mulder shook his head, dismissing me with, "Maybe us, not you two." I was about to ask for an explanation when I saw a dark-haired woman stand up behind a large stack of crates. She easily negotiated around them, carrying a small bundle. Monica and I shared a look of amazement. "Scully," I said by way of greeting, "is that..."

As Mulder helped her off the truck, Scully's face shone with a smile. "John, Monica," she said softly, turning the bundle to face us, "you remember your godson."

* * *

The others were seated by the time I joined them, setting Monica's backpack, with all our stuff in it, under the table. "So are you gonna tell us what happened?" I asked, gesturing to William, sitting on his mother's lap, chewing on a corn tortilla.

"John," Monica reprimanded. "Give them a minute to get their bearings."

Mulder shrugged, meeting my eyes. "It's time we got down to business, anyway." He laid his arm across the back of Scully's chair and began the story. He told us how he and Scully had gone east from New Mexico after we split with them and with a little help from Skinner, found out where William had been placed. Fortunately for them, he was adopted under D.C. law, which allows for a six-month window after a child is given up, in which the natural parents can change their minds.

Taking the baby, they booked a hotel room nearby and checked in, making sure they were seen by several people. Then in the middle of the night, they slipped out. They rented a car, paid in cash, and drove to California. In San Jose, they found a boat owner who was taking his freighter out on a run to Ciudad Obregon the following day.

"From there, it was simple," Mulder explained. "We disguised ourselves and took separate buses to the edge of the peninsula. We took the ferry across, again separately." Monica nodded, apparently familiar with the area he was referring to. "I took William, 'cause we were pretty sure they'd be looking for all three of us, or for Scully and William to be together. We stayed apart until we reached the halfway mark between Hermosillo and Chihuahua. Scully and I met there and I passed William off to her. That's when she called you, Agent Doggett. She came straight here, and I waited a day, then followed her. Then we hitched into town on the truck you saw us in."

"So what now?"

Scully answered, never taking her eyes off the baby. Her tone was full of rage, tempered by anger. "Now we finish the work that began nine years ago. We're going to find concrete, *scientific* proof of the conspiracy," she kept her voice low, "and we're going to the media with it."

"We need your help," Mulder admitted in an even softer tone. "We can't get back into the FBI now. We're fugitives. And I don't care if A.D. Kersch did help me escape, there was something fishy about it, and I'm not risking my family." A protective edge crept into his quiet monotone.

"I hear ya." I nodded, feeling Monica's hand slip into mine under the table. She and Scully shared one of the looks that women give that carries on an entire conversation without a word. Scully's eyes turned to me and she smiled gently, nodding slightly as if to say she knew. For some reason, I believe she did. "So you want us on the inside?" I surmised. "We're supposed to go back to the FBI and what, eat crow, for you?"

"We'll do it." Monica's eyes found mine and she said quietly, "John..." in a tone that was pleading with me to see her point of view. I did, but I wasn't about to watch her go crawling back to Brad Fulmer and put us both in the path of the tornado again until we had a solid plan. And I told them all just that.

Scully nodded slowly, glancing at Mulder. "We do need a little more of a plan than we've got," she admitted. "What do you think we do next, Agent Doggett?" she asked, turning to me.

"I've got a few ideas."

And I did. We talked for nearly two hours, until well past William's bedtime. Rather than risk a hotel, we had Monica convince a local that we were tourists whose wallets had been stolen. Our sob story earned us the hospitality of the local well-to-dos, who put us up in their pueblo for 'as long as you need, Senor.' Scully got the baby settled, then she and Mulder decided to join him, tired from three days of constant traveling.

"Are you tired?" I asked Monica as we stood in the hallway, soaking up the calm.

She shook her head, smiling at me. "Not in the least. You?"

"Nah. Wanna take a walk?" I suggested.

"Sure."

"Okay. Listen, I wanna talk to Mulder for a sec, so you can go freshen up, or whatever it is you women do that takes you an hour in the bathroom."

Monica laughed, leaning over to kiss my cheek. "'Kay. Meet you in five." She disappeared into the room.

I didn't move from the hallway, counting the seconds until she came back. I heard the door open and close, and Monica came around the corner, tears in her eyes. "What's wrong?" I asked, instantly concerned.

"Nothing," she said, throwing her arms around my neck. "You're just the sweetest man."

I pushed her away from me gently, letting my eyes travel her body. "I didn't do it for you," I teased. "You're gorgeous."

Monica pulled away and threw her arms out, spinning in a circle. "You like it?" The multicolored peasant blouse she'd admired that afternoon was pulled off her shoulders, exposing her delicate olive skin. A sarong skirt of bright red fabric complemented her shapely legs. I loved her in the outfit, but couldn't wait to see her out of it again.

"Love it," I said quietly. "Lista para irse, Senorita Reyes?"

"John," she laughed softly, taking my hand, "you're learning Spanish?"

"I'm pickin' up a little." We started to walk, down the hall and out of the pueblo into the warm desert night. "Wanna hear what I've learned so far?"

"Of course." Her velvet voice made my heart jump with even the simplest of words.

I stopped in the middle of the deserted square. The only sounds I heard were the songs of the night birds. Staring at the stars for a minute, I looked back to see Monica scrutinizing me. This was nearly as hard as the first time. "Te quiero, Monica."

"John," Monica murmured, smiling. "I want you, too."

I struggled with the unfamiliar words. "Te amo. Quiero que seas mia." I felt like I was quoting one of those chalky little Valentine's Day candy hearts. *'I love you and I want you to be mine.' You're going soft, John Doggett.*

"Tambien te amo y ya soy tuya."

"Mon," I grinned, "what the hell did you just say? I'm not that good."

Laughing, Monica slid her hands up my arms and rested them on my shoulders. Tilting her head up, she whispered, "I said that I love you, too, and I am already yours." Her eyes were watering again. Neither of us was much for declarations of love. Sometimes weeks went by without one of us saying 'I love you', but it was always clear, in everything we did. I guess my saying it out loud reassured Monica in some way. I know that hearing her say it reassured me.

I shrugged. "I'm still learning," I said with a heartfelt squeeze of her hand. "Give me a little more time." I wasn't just talking about the language, but about emotional walls I still had to break down.

"Mi corazon," Monica whispered as we started to walk again. 'My heart.' I recognized that. I had no reply, except to tug her closer.

THE END