Reyes stood next to Doggett, longing to take his hand. She held William in one arm, repeating "Nos entregamos!" at the top of her voice.

"Agent Scully," the voice boomed over the bullhorn, speaking English with a thick accent. "You and Agent Mulder, get on the knees now!" Glancing at Doggett once, Reyes did as she was told, struggling to kneel while holding onto the squirming baby.

Doggett dropped to his knees beside her. His only murmured comment was, "It'll be okay."

Reyes did not reply, taking comfort in the simple words. She held onto William as a man approached. Glancing at his nametag, she said loudly in Spanish, "Captain. My friend and I surrender. We give up."

He leered down at her with a glare that made Reyes shudder inside. She blanched as she wondered if she'd miscalculated the conspiracy's interest in obtaining William unharmed. Her eyes widened as the police captain slid his gun out of its holster. Reyes opened her mouth to speak, catching Doggett's eye. Before the words made it out, she heard a thunderous crack. She couldn't help wondering where the thunder was coming from - the sky was cerulean blue. The next thing Reyes felt was a tingling in her arm and a growing warmth across her abdomen. Glancing down, her stomach heaved and she fought the wave of nausea. The blood spurted from her in jagged waves, soaking little William's clothes. *William,* Reyes cried, but couldn't hear her own words. She felt a little lightheaded and the last thing she saw was John's chalk-white face above her, catching her as she fell to the side.

* * *

"Monica!" John's voice cracked even as his arms caught his bleeding partner. He barely noticed as the throng of police cars began to dissipate. "Mon, it's okay," he murmured. William sat off to one side, stunned into silence. His tiny fingers played absently with the ragged hole in his jumper.

"It's okay," John kept repeating to himself. His thoughts flashed back to Monica's car accident and the helplessness he'd felt when he learned she was hurt. Watching it happen, being unable to stop it, was a thousand times worse. Laying her on the ground gently, John rushed to pull off his leather jacket and tug his t-shirt over his head. Ripping it into three pieces, he risked another glance at William, who was watching ants in fascination, oblivious to the life-and-death battle going on in front of his tiny eyes. John pressed one of the strips of cotton over Monica's wound, frantically trying to stem the tide of blood. Reaching for his cell phone, he thought, *Plans be damned*. Dialing the only number he knew he could trust in this country, he prayed someone would answer.

"American Embassy, how can I help you?"

John explained the situation in a rush, telling the receptionist he didn't know how to get an ambulance. She promised to get one out to him, and he told her where they were as best he could. John hung up, and lifted Monica into his arms again, covering the entrance wound with a fresh piece of cloth. "It'll be okay," he repeated. *It has to be okay,* he thought. *I can't lose you. I can't.*

It was only a few minutes before the wailing sirens approached. Reflexively, John reached out, lifting William with his free arm. His throat tightened as he watched Monica's bright red blood soaking through the last piece of his t-shirt. "Dammit," he muttered. "Hang on, Reyes. Don't you dare give up on me, I need you." Later, he might able to look back and cringe at how cliched his thoughts were at this time. For the moment, though, he meant every word.

The medics jumped out of the ambulance and John gave Monica over to them, telling them in very broken Spanish that she was hurt by a weapon about ten minutes prior. Nodding, the medic pointed to the ambulance. "You, in truck?" he said in English.

"No," John managed to point to the motorcycle. "I'll follow you. Behind," he said, gesturing up the road they had been on. The other man finally nodded his understanding, and he climbed into the cab. They took off down the road, and John was right behind them, William belted in his lap. An old song he'd loved in college came to mind. 'Everything can change, in a New York minute.' Half an hour ago, Monica had been alive and well and on the bike with them. *Stop it!* John ordered himself. *She ain't dead, stop thinkin' like she is, goddamit.* He berated himself for not challenging Monica's plans, but how could either of them known how wrong they were?

Five minutes later, they pulled into the hospital. Doggett threw the motorcycle into a spot, not caring now what happened to it. Hefting William up, he strode into the emergency room, watching as they rolled Monica away down a hall. John went to the desk and asked the nurses, "Habla Ingles?" When he found one that did, he told her who he was, that his girlfriend had been shot.

"I'll make sure someone comes to talk to you as soon as I have any information," she promised with a sympathetic expression.

Realizing he couldn't do anything for her now, John nodded his thanks and made his way to a waiting area. William struggled against his hold, so he set the baby down on the floor, watching him carefully.

It seemed an eternity later when the nurse finally came and found him. "Mr. Doggett?" she said, drawing his attention away from William.

His head snapped up. "How is she?"

"The doctor wants to talk to you."

John's heart was in his throat as he scooped up the baby and followed the nurse down the hall. They stepped into a small room and John fought a wave of panic. Monica was hooked up to a tangle of wires and looked absolutely ghastly. The doctor stood over her, making notes on a chart and John eyed him until he looked up. "Senor Doggett?" he said, and the nurse spoke rapid Spanish. He nodded, firing back a long response. The nurse turned to John and translated. "Dr. Espera says your friend is hurt badly, but she will be fine. They took out the bullet and fixed the wound. She is not in a coma, he says to thank God for that. She is under drugs right now." The nurse stumbled over the translation for 'anesthesia'. "But she should wake up soon."

John muttered a prayer of thanks, then extended his free hand to Dr. Espera. "Gracias," was all he managed, turning back to the nurse and asking, "Can I stay with her?"

The nurse asked the doctor, then turned to John and nodded. "As long as you like." She reached out to caress William's tiny hand. "Does your son need milk?" she asked, noticing that John had no bag that could hold baby food.

"Oh, god, yeah." John sighed, not bothering to correct her. None of this was supposed to happen. They were supposed to be on their way back to DC by now. Even if they would've been in handcuffs, it still would've been better. Anything would be better than this. "I don't have a bottle," he said, kicking himself for leaving the backpack in his haste. *Some godfather I make.*

The nurse smiled. "Don't worry." She held out her arms and John hesitated a moment before handing William to her. "You stay with your friend, I will feed him and find him a crib for a nap," she said as the baby yawned.

"Thank you," John said, his attention on Monica now. The nurse walked away, speaking quiet baby talk to William. When they were gone, John sank into the only chair in the room. He sat silently for about fifteen minutes, letting the adrenaline seep out of his system. Then he brought the chair to the edge of the bed and stared at his best friend, lying there so silently. John's fingers went up to brush Monica's hair off her face and his gentle touch fluttered over her temple and down her cheek.

"Monica," he said quietly, hoping she could hear him like she could the last time she'd been unconscious. "I'm here, honey. The doctor says you're going to be fine. You hear that? You'll be fine. So just go ahead and get better. Rest a little, then open your eyes and tell me you love me." His throat tightened with unshed tears. "'Cause I love you," John said in a soft, conversational tone, trying to keep a positive energy.

*Positive energy.* He nearly laughed at himself. He never would've thought about sending anyone good vibrations before Monica came into his life. "I do love you, ya know," John told Monica's still form. He took her hand in his, stroking her palm with his thumb, in the way he knew she liked so much. "I even called you 'baby' back there," John teased softly, his tears finally breaking through his reserve. "I don't do that for just anybody. Never called Barbara 'baby'." He scrubbed at the tear tracks, continuing his gentle rhythm on her palm. "But you're something else." John paused, trying to gather his thoughts and express them well. "I mean...what do I mean?" He sighed softly.

"You probably don't remember when you told me about cat people versus dog people. It was a silly little conversation, right before your car accident." John thought idly that she probably did remember -- Monica remembered everything, it seemed, and that accident had changed their relationship so much. It was the beginning of the demolition of the walls around his heart. "You rattled off a list of qualities you thought I had. You called me loyal, I think, faithful and dependable. And you told me you couldn't see me disappointin' anyone. Monica," he broke off, composing himself again. "Monica, that meant so much to me. 'Cause I don't think I'd be half of the wonderful things you think I am, if you weren't here to make me wanna be 'em for ya. I don't ever wanna disappoint you." He fought a wave of tears, chiding himself for being such a crybaby.

John kept talking to Monica off and on for hours, stopping only to find the nurse and check on William, or get a cup of coffee. The nurse took to bringing him a fresh mug and a report on the baby every hour, so he wouldn't have to leave her side. His eyes stole to the clock whenever the nurse left, praying that Monica would wake up before her next visit. It seemed like no time at all had passed when John saw the hands inching toward midnight and felt fatigue overcoming him. When the nurse came in and told him that her shift was ending, he thanked her profusely.

Before she left, she managed to find him a cot and he settled down with a very cranky William. Scooting the cot over so it was flush against the hospital bed, John put William on the side closest to Monica, hoping her bond with him would somehow calm the baby even now. Then he settled himself on the other side. His arm instinctually went around William's tiny body, his firm hand rubbing the baby's back. "Come on, William," he said softly as the baby flailed against his grip. "Time for bed."

His mind flashed back almost eighteen years, to his son's infancy. He remembered sleepless nights, lying next to Luke's crib, keeping up a constant soothing monotone with his hand through the bars, rubbing the same way he was now, until his tiny son fell asleep.

As William fought sleep, yawning and whining, John made his voice more firm, but kept it low and monotone. "Time for sleep, son." He winced at the word even as it slipped out. "We've had a long day, and tomorrow's gonna be even longer. Let's catch some shut-eye while we can." John spoke to the baby as if he were a friend instead of a ten month old. William stopped struggling but still protested with a tiny whine. "Come on, kid, it's bedtime. Tomorrow, Mo--" He stopped himself, wondering why he'd almost slipped 'Mommy' in there. "Monica's gonna wake up," John corrected himself, "and we're gonna have to figure out what to do. We need our rest."

The baby finally stopped whining, his little blue eyes closing as John's soothing voice took hold and lulled him to sleep. John allowed himself to drift off soon after, whispering, "'Night, Monica."

*Goodnight, my love.*

THE END

From Celine Dion's "Aun Existe Amor", translated into English for me by Maria. The line "to love you at all costs" inspired the title.

The indecision within me
I would send to the moon
To be able to live with you
To love you at all costs
To love you at every moment
Even though there's so much evil
Surrounding us.
Beyond the violence
Beyond the insanity
Even though there's so much evil
That will never end.