Notes : Hmmmmm! It's been awhile. The same stuff I said for the last chapter basically applies here. I think it's pretty self-explanatory. Thanks for reviewing, you guys, and I hope you enjoy this one. ;)

EDIT: I was actually writting about Sangria before I had even tried it. At New Year's we got a couple bottles...and it's good! I'd reccomend it.

2:50 AM

"This ought to help," Monica announced as in one swift, liquid movement she swept her hands down into a bucket filled with ice, produced two glass bottles, tossed one to John and sunk into a wire chair beside one of the tables.

"Thanks..." John said uncertainly, eyeing the liquid that was lurking around inside the glass as he tipped it up and down, like a lavalamp. " 'Sangria.' " He read off the label. "Blood?"

Monica smiled. "Cheers." She held the bottle up to him and took a sip. When she looked back and saw the confused look on John's face, she laughed and set the bottle down. "Just try it, John. It's just a carbonated drink with lots of sugar. We'd go through four cases of this a week when we were kids."

Sitting down, John still eyed Monica suspiciously as he had been for most of this last half hour. Ever since he had set foot onto this street, it seemed as if he had stumbled into some strange and unknown land. Monica appeared to him as some foreign gypsy flouncing about, teaching him of all these new and strange things as if they were both stuck in some eccentric fairytale.

"Eh. Not bad." John shrugged, lowering the bottle from his lips.

"Told you. You trust me with your life -- half the time we're in the field I have a gun that with a simple ten degree rotation could be aimed at your head -- and yet you don't even trust me with a bottle of soda."

"Oh, I trust you, Mon. I trust you." He smiled, paused, and then leaned across the table and clinked the necks of their bottles together.

Monica smiled slowly and breathed in, her eyes sparkling contentedly. She sat back and casually dropped her gaze onto the guitarist, who was still playing at the next table over. She closed her eyes briefly. Flashbacks of her father playing in that same slow way, of long nights and of laughter. It was not so much that she wanted these memories to flood over her again, but more as if she cleared her mind and let them decide for themselves if they'd like to or not.

2: 57 AM

Monica's eyes watched the man's fingers dance a slow tango up and down the neck of the accoustic instrument, the music it made filling her ears and making her feel nostalgic in a way that hurt like loneliness, but also made her feel such a strange sort of joy that she was sure she hadn't felt anything like it since she was a small child. For these few moments as she listened and closed her eyes, felt the light breeze that always blew after a rainfall graze her skin, she felt so free and happy even when she knew in her heart that life was always full of sorrow.

The man with the guitar was in such a trance, much like Monica's, that it was still a full minute or two before he realized that he had an audience. He slowly smiled at Monica as he looked at her, clearly very taken. He then noticed John staring at him, and laughed gently.

"I am sorry. You are very lucky man. It is a beautiful woman you've got." He said, and for a moment it seemed as if one of the two would correct him, but there was only silence. John stole a glance to Monica, and saw that she had a faint smile upon her lips as she continued to wach the man, who had just begun to softly sing a song in his native tongue.

John watched her carefully, his skeptical blue eyes working again. Those eyes had solved a thousand puzzles in their lifetime, but as usual could not figure out this beautiful mystery that sat in the chair beside him. Suddenly for the first time, he realized maybe it was better that way.

Leaning up slightly, John reached out across the tabletop and brushed a flower petal off of Monica's hand as it sat beside her empty bottle of Sangria. He was still watching her as he did this. His curiosity had gotten the better of him and he fought off the familiar urge to evade her dark, knowing eyes.

Monica did nothing but move her hand slightly (was it towards or away from him?), but John noticed that the rise and fall of her chest broke the steady pattern and quickened for a brief moment. He couldn't help but smile.

"What's he saying?" He asked softly.

"I thought you spoke some Spanish, John." She hadn't looked at him yet.

"I'd rather hear it from you."

Her brown eyes finally met his once again, and he was hit with a strong idea now why she had been evading his gaze. Even Monica's vulnerability had a point where it became so much more than that, and he could see this in her eyes as she looked at him then. With this one look he suddenly felt like he hadn't in years; the way he felt when Barbara kissed him, when she told him that she loved him. Maybe it was the fact that he could feel that lingering fear he always felt towards Monica begin to melt away like ice, but he couldn't believe he hadn't felt this before.

"Hey John." She suddenly smiled. "Do you want to learn how to salsa?"

3: 11 AM

"If you're going to do this, you've got to loosen up, John. I don't see why you'd go around with a tie on on aFriday night in the first place." Monica grinned and reached over to take a hold of his shirt first with one hand, and then after pulling him closer, with the other began to unfold his already loosened tie.

Her eyes focused mostly on her fingers slipping through the soft material, but every few seconds she looked up to him. She was smiling in that way that made her whole face light up.

Suddenly she took his hand in hers and placed it on her lower hip. With the other she took his and held it in hers, keeping them both in the air a little above waist-level.

"Position one." She smiled sarcastically and laughed.

She began rocking her hips to the guitar music, counting one -- she moved one foot forward and danced a little, two -- she moved it back, three -- she moved the other foot forward and danced a little, four -- she moved it back. "And you do the same. When I move this foot in," she motioned to her right foot, "you move that one in." She nudged his right leg with hers, and demonstrated again.

John felt her hip muscles tense with each step. He looked up from the ground into her face, watching her eyes follow in concentration until they met his every few steps. When they did this they softened, and her smile grew. He began to think about all the people who had never seen this woman smile, and what they were missing out on.

If on the outside Monica looked calm, on the inside she was on fire. She had never been this close to John before, and she didn't want to screw it up by being her usual goofball self. Her skin rose with heat where his hands touched it, and she couldn't think straight. She finally had to bite down on her lip hard, trying to concentrate on teaching John the steps, something concrete that she knew a great deal about and could concentrate on instead of her raging emotions.

"Alright John. This is better as a partner dance. I can't do it alone. You're going to have to move a little."

He sighed and laughed.

"I can't move like you can, Monica."

"Why not? Just give it a try."

He shook his head, beginning to attempt to move as she had.

"Yet again. I can't believe I'm letting you do this."

"No, no, John. More movement."

"Like this?"

"Better... Try more of a circular motion."

"...This better?"

She let out a laugh.

"Come on, John! It's not that hard, you can easily-- oh God, now that's just horrible." She laughed, putting her head in her hands, and then without thinking she reached out to instruct his movements with her hands. "More movement! Show me how you made your kid," she laughed, and then almost immidiatley regretted it. She looked up to him ready to appologize, ready to slap herself for saying something so blatantly stupid, but stopped when she saw that he was laughing even harder than he had been a moment ago. As a wave of relief passed over her, he said, "Are you sure you wanna see that?"

After a few more minutes of stepping on each other's feet, they had a steady movement going on and Monica was smiling in accomplishment.

"Perfect." She purred, finally taking her eyes off of his feet.

He shook his head, but smiled nonetheless. Back, forward, switch, back, forward, switch...the music kept up to their movement and Monica laughed softly when John accidentally skipped a beat and almost stepped on her foot.

"Sorry," he whispered with a small laugh. He paused, and then, "You know even with the X-Files... I don't think I've ever seen you more in your element than you are right now, Monica."

She smiled. "It's second nature. It's built in. It doesn't count."

"It counts." He said. "You're..." And trailed off, even the smile he gave her then not enough to mask the seriousness in his voice.

Monica's own smile faded slightly into something much deeper and she felt herself becoming lost in his eyes again.

Gradually they both slowed the dance, and even slower and more tenative still they moved closer together and wrapped their arms around each other. Not tightly, but a loose embrace that worked perfectly when John began to lead in a slower step.

"Now this I can do." He whispered, his voice lulling Monica into a state of such adoration that she felt completely safe and content to stay in his arms forever. She pressed her cheek against his shoulder and rested her head there. She closed her eyes and wondered where, in the last thirty seconds, she had lost her apprehensiveness that he would push her away, and the ability to see things logically.