Notes : Whooo!!! Thank you so so so so SOO much to everyone who came back and reviewed, and all the new people who did! You guys rocccckkk. And you have inspired me to update again. This is a pretty long one, and I don't have much more written after this, so it may be awhile before I update again unless I can find time to write a hell of a lot more on the story in the next few days! XD

Let's see...anything else......hmm, don't think so. This chapter is a bit different than the other two, so I hope you still like it. o.o Thanks again everyone!

1:52 AM

A light sound of thunder rolled across the black sky. Monica looked out across the streets and upwards. She arched an eyebrow at John.

"Is it supposed to storm again tonight?"

"Not tonight. This morning."

"I guess it is morning, huh." She chuckled.

A raindrop fell and shattered on the sidewalk in front of her. Glancing upwards, another dropped and splashed across her nose. Soon a chorus of them started from the sky, pummeling towards the ground at a rapid pace.

Monica shrieked and glanced over at John who was busy shrugging off his jacket and draping it over his head.

"No need to answer that question, John!" She yelled above the sudden downpour, laughing.

She could barely hear whatever he called back, but was a tad surprised to feel his arm snake across her shoulders with the shelter of the jacket.

"Thanks," her gaze met his, their faces barely an inch apart, and she smiled.

"No problem Mon, now let's get the hell outta' this and into some damn trees or somethin'..."

Rain began to fill crevices in the road, slick down the buildings and trees and wash over parked cars and anything that hadn't had enough sense to keep indoors that night.

John and Monica spotted a familiar park up ahead and took shelter under a large willow tree that stood guarding the playground menacingly with its long, sinewy branches and rain-slicked leaves.

"Jesus," John panted as he chuckled a bit and ran a hand through his half-soaked hair.

"That was pretty abrupt, don't you think?" Monica said as she looked out at the green grass and trees swaying in the wind.

"Yeah, hasn't rained like this in awhile, has it?"

Monica didn't reply. Her brown eyes were wide and sparkling as she looked out at the storm. When she was a kid growing up in Mexico, rain was a big deal. Whenever it rained, she and her friends would run outside the first chance they got and play in the streets. She remembered singing, dancing, water splashing up against her bare legs as she jumped in puddles, always competing with her friends to find the biggest one. They could be outside for hours and not realize it.

The smell of a rainstorm hung in the air for days afterward. To this day it remained a favorite smell of hers. It reminded her of those carefree, less complicated times in her life.

"Hey Monica, you with me?"

She looked over into her partner's face, that sly grin of his saying he caught her mind wandering again and to come back to reality, please. She grinned back sheepishly.

"Sorry John. Hey, how long has it been since you've been on a swing set?"

He caught that grin of hers and shook his head quickly, glancing out at the playground and back.

"Oh, no you don't. I said I'd go with you to wherever the hell it is we're goin', but I never said I'd get soaking wet on a child's plaything for you."

"Suit yourself."

She flashed another would-be annoying smile, and ran out into the rain, heading for the swings.

He could hear her laughter floating across the park above the shower, and chuckled to himself. She really was a handful.

2:11 AM

The seat swung back and forth on its rusty hinges as Monica padded at the ground softly with her feet, covered by her now soaking wet boots. She held onto the steel chain with one hand to keep balance while the other brushed strands of dark hair away that had stuck to her face.

The rain had let up a little by now, but was still falling steadily, and the breeze still rushed through the grass and rustled the branches of the trees.

It felt good to be outside in the rain, to at least pretend to be carefree and spontaneous like a child once again. She thought of how many things had changed for her since those days she would run around in the streets with her friends, buy ice cream from vendors on the sidewalks and laugh as they played games in the schoolyard.

Nothing ever stayed simple. Leaving home and growing up had taught her that.

Her friends and family had always thought she had to have been slightly insane to have chosen a career in law enforcement. It had always been stereotyped as a good-old-boys club, and she had had her fair share of discrimination over the years. If not for being a woman, for her beliefs and openness and passion to help people. Yet she had managed to climb her way up the ladder, always trying to play hard and by their rules. Life had an ironic way of screwing her over anyway.

And then ten years ago, when she was a fresh new agent in the New York FBI field office, she had been assigned a case. Murder victim, seven year old boy. This one case, this one happens-every-day, straightforward case, had changed her life.

Monica glanced across the park to John. He was sitting with his back against the tree trunk, looking up and out at either the sky or the rain. Maybe both. Maybe he was just thinking, not really looking at anything in particular. She couldn't tell.

If she had to describe her partner in one word, it would be comfortable. He had this way about him...she'd known him for years and it had always been there, everytime she looked into his face. It was hard to describe. Sometimes when you've known someone for that long, you can't even remember how you met or what your first impression of them was. Sometimes you can. This is how it was with John. She could remember perfectly the first time they had met, the first time she got a good look into those amazing blue eyes of his. She remembered the first thing he said to her as she approached. She remembered everything about that day.

He was standing in the the doorway of his kitchen, elbow propped high on the frame and a distant look in his eyes. Yellow crime scene investigation tape was spread in a hap-hazard mess around his front yard and there were detectives and various other people bustling in and out of his house with all this high-tech equipment. The whole scene seemed so insincere and cold somehow. As if those pieces of metal could find his son, as if their operators truly cared and weren't just doing this because it was their job. Despite this, he didn't seem to take the least bit of notice to the commotion. His eyes snapped up when she stopped beside him.

"You must be Agent Reyes."

She nodded and tried a smile. She had been so young then. Young, lost, confused, eager. Misunderstood. And she truely wanted to help in any way she could. "Yes. And you're...John Doggett?"

He nodded. There was a silence.

Her eyes darted around the room to all the investigators. "I'm...I'm really sorry about—"

"—don't apologize. Please. I've had enough of that bullshit from everyone else. Just help me find him. ...Please," he added again. His voice was soft and low and regretful.

She looked back. For some reason she could feel his pain right from the start. It must have been those eyes. She nodded. "I'm going to do everything I can, John."

He returned the nod and said, "Thank you, Agent Reyes."

"Monica," She corrected him with a small smile.

"Monica." Somehow he managed a smile back, and it broke her heart. He was like a wounded puppy dog; she just wanted to bring him home and take care of him. She wanted to make that pain she saw in his eyes go away...if only for a little while.

She still did.

It was hard not to think about those brief days they spent together. On the third day, when they found him, she wasn't sure if either of them had any more tears to cry. And this, she guessed, was why their relationship had stayed intact over the years. When you share something like that with a person, when your feelings spill out to that person, you give a part of your soul to them whether you realize it or not.

She knew that John knew she cared about him so much. That she loved him. He just never returned that love in the way she had wanted, and she wanted it so badly. For years they had this unspoken agreement, for years Monica had pushed aside her feelings because that's just how it was. That's how it always would be.

It was painfully and wonderfully unrequited at the same time.

Monica's eyelids fell closed softly, and she couldn't tell if it was just a warm raindrop or a tear that trickled down her cheek. Bringing up old feelings and memories was never a smart thing to do in her case.