Disclaimers and author's note in Chapter 1.

Doggett:

I can tell she's hurting; pain seems to be radiating from her as she huddles closer to the car door. I just don't know what to do about it. I know it's not physical, at least I think it isn't; yet I don't know what's really going on in Mon's head. Is she embarrassed, is she mad at me? I'd give a quarter for her thoughts at this point, but I don't know how to ask what's going on, so I sit and drive in silence.

When we reach the Hyatt she's out the door before I can open it for her. She stops and turns back to the car, and for the first time since we left Quantico our eyes meet. For a split second I want to kill the bastard who put that haunted look on her face. Then I realize that bastard was me. "See you tomorrow, John." She murmurs, and before I can stop her she's gone.

I sit paralyzed for a moment, unable to understand what just happened here. That was a lotta sad on her face, and it wasn't there the last time I really looked. Although she had looked anxious, standing there next to Dana. Maybe she's just tired. She's had a rough couple of days; so have I for that matter. I don't remember anything happening that would have hit her that hard. So, it must have been me. I did something in the last three hours that really hurt Monica, and for the life of me I can't figure out what the hell it was.

After a minute just sitting there I pull out into traffic, mulling over what happened at Quanitco, trying to pinpoint where I was such an ass. I'm not coming up with anything, when out of the blue it hits me. I didn't discuss my theory on the case with her before I presented it to Dana in that classroom. Normally that wouldn't have been such a big deal, but if she'd heard Kobold say that I was in love with Dana Scully, then my behavior indicated that he was right.

Could that be what upset her so much? Monica and I are close, and I know she cares about me a lot, but did the thought of me being in love with Dana bother her that much? Not that I'm in love with Dana. I mean, I care about Dana, I worry about her, alone with the baby; but I'm not in love with her. Monica has to know that. She knows me better than anyone; she's my best friend. She knows me so well, how could she believe I was in love with Dana?

I'm having a hard time sorting this out, and the more I think about it, the more confused I get. I'm not even sure she heard what that nut case said to me. I could be completely off. As I turn onto Pennsylvania Avenue to head towards home, my cell phone rings. I pull it out, praying it's Monica, and see Dana Scully's office number staring back at me.

"Yeah, Doggett." I answer, and I can feel my ears turning red.

"Agent Doggett. I need you to do me a favor." She sounds upset, like she hates asking me for anything. Which I'm sure she does.

"Whada ya need, Agent Scully?" I try to sound like this is no big deal, that she asks me for stuff all the time. Don't think I'm pulling it off, but I'm giving casual my best shot.

"Byers just called me. He and Langly went to Arizona to check out a story, and they can't find Frohike to pick them up from the airport. Could you and Agent Reyes run up to BWI and get them?"

Oh great, an hour in the car with Frick and Frack. What a way to end the day. "Ah, sure, Scully. Tell them I'll be about an hour getting there, and give them my cell number, so if they find Frohike, they can let me know."

"Thank you, Agent Doggett. They're in Terminal 3; they came in on American. I tried to get a hold of Monica; you might want to let her know her cell phone is off."

Yeah, as soon as she's speaking to me again, I'll do that. "Alright, I will. See you later." I hang up before she can ask to speak to Monica, and I have to explain myself. Monica and Dana have gotten close, I guess they bonded or whatever women do when Dana had the baby. Monica says Dana really needs a friend; someone to be her sounding board, to talk about everything and nothing. When we worked on the X-Files together, Dana never seemed real inclined to talk, but Mon's easy to talk to.

Except when you're trying to tell her you're sorry. Or that she's your best friend. Or that you've been in love with her through years of sporadic contact; falling into it so slowly I didn't even notice until one time when I went to visit her in New Orleans about two years ago and I…I mean you… Ah hell, who am I kidding here? I'm in love with the woman; if I can't say it to her, I should at least be able to think it.

I wind back through DC and get on the Baltimore-Washington Parkway, on my way to pick up two of Mulder's three crazy, paranoid friends. As much as I hate to admit it, even to myself, they've grown on me. All three of them. They're honest, no bull kind of guys, and I can respect that. Although that doesn't mean I necessarily want to be trapped in the car with them all the way back to Virginia, especially without Mon.

She and Langly have developed a sort of friendship since she's been up here; evidently Monica Reyes played a bit of Dungeons and Dragons in her youth, which gave them something to talk about. I don't really understand it, but Monica is a people person; she's always picking up strays, me among them. Almost doesn't surprise me that she'd befriend Langly; after all, Frohike was closest to Mulder from what Dana says, and Byers is closer to Dana than any of them. Must come from years of being the most rational voice in the room.

I fidget with the radio, hoping to distract my overloaded brain. Prince, Little Red Corvette. I smile; if Mon were here she'd be fighting me for the radio at this point. I can practically hear her yelling at me not to change the station, see the huge smile splitting her face. She loves Eighties music, the cheesier the better. I once sat through an entire Bananarama CD on the way out to West Virginia for a case. I flip the station; sorry she's not there to protest even though I don't really care for Prince, or whatever his name is this year. Some love song, a woman crooning ear splitting high notes. No way, next station. Ah, Alan Jackson. That's some good stuff, right there. I hum along as I drive, and a sign coming up on my right reminds me I'm only 3 miles from the exit for I-195, which will take me out to the airport.