February 3

When Monica awoke, she lay very still, eyes still closed, and focused on the dream she'd had. She saw Luke, the baby in the photograph John had shown her weeks earlier. He was smiling and cooing at John who cradled him in his arms and looked up at her with pride. And then the baby had turned into William, her sweet little boy, now abandoned to make his way in the world without the mother who bore him, or even the woman who oversaw his birth and felt just a little possessive of him. She held him now, big boy that he was, trying to talk, grabbing at her lips as she giggled with him. But then, there wasn't a baby any longer, but a boy, Luke, on the ground in the meadow where he was found, not dead, but dying. She was holding his head in her hands. She felt John's presence, but when she looked for him, she could not find him, and she felt a panic consume her as his son died in her arms. And suddenly, Luke was gone and instead a teenager had taken his place. John was there but she couldn't remember how or even what their connection to the boy was. Was he Luke? Was he William? Were they holding him too? Was he dying?

She struggled, but consciousness was quickly stealing the finer points of the dream from her. As best she could, she recorded the details in a journal and resisted the urge to call John. He wasn't interested in such portents and she wasn't interested in talking to him after the previous night's call.

The dream stayed with her, though no more details emerged. But halfway through her mythology class the following week , it struck her – had Luke lived, he would have been 15 in 2002, roughly the age of the boy in her dream. They had returned to the time of Luke's infancy, and while she could not explain anything further, she knew, without a doubt in her soul, that there was a connection. And it reminded her anew that as unpleasant as her predicament was, John's was far worse.

Was it his love for Luke that had somehow brought them back? Was the triggering event in 2002 caused by John? Was the boy in her dream real, as real as Luke and William? And how would she ever convince him to reverse whatever had happened when it would mean losing his son all over again?

For three days she debated calling John, but finally gave in. She'd hoped she would be able to figure it out herself, and she'd hoped for another dream that might take her a little further into the mystery, but there was nothing.

After several failed attempts over many days , some due to her own uncertainty, some due to John not being at the station, she finally reached him.

"I had a dream a couple weeks ago. I think it might have something to do with our situation." He didn't respond for a long time, and all she could hear were phones ringing and voices of his fellow officers. "John?"

"Same here, 'bout two weeks back," he said, which was not at all what Monica was expecting him to say.

"What did you dream?"

"Can't talk. It's busy here. I'm not really sure I can discuss this. Can I call you back later?"

She said yes, and she tried her best to not be disappointed as the days, then the weeks ticked by without a word from him. She was doing the best she could to stay sane, focusing on her time travel research, which was still too hypothetical to be helpful. The answers were out there, somewhere. John could fight and deny this all he wanted, but she wasn't going to give up. At least, not on getting home. She was starting to give up on him already.

So she was a little more than surprised when one Saturday she caught sight of a familiar set of ears attached to a familiar head bearing a familiar crew cut. He was busy studying the campus map.

"Looking for Diman Hall? Or the library? Because even though it's a Saturday, the person you're looking for probably has plans to study all afternoon in a quiet carrel, rather than in a dorm that's got four-day head start on St. Patrick's Day."

He smiled unabashedly at her, the tips of his ears red from the cold. "I wonder if she even has time in her busy schedule for me."

"She might." She hung back cautiously, unsure of what his visit would entail, unable to be truly excited.

"How you doing, Mon? I thought you could use a surprise."

"It worked. How are you?"

"I'm alright. All things considered, of course. Brought some food for a picnic. Pastrami sandwiches from the city… why are you smiling?"

"Because you're actually here. I wasn't sure I'd see you again. Also, it's freezing and you want to have a picnic."

"Thought maybe we could camp out in your dorm room, but if they're partying, maybe not. And as for not seeing me again, yeah, things are … strange right now, but I'm not walking away from you. I wanted to see you, see how you're doing, talk about our situation. So, Ms. Brown University, where does one picnic on campus when it's 32 degrees outside?"

"The SciLi."

"The what?"

"The Sciences Library. It's a concrete monolith where one can often find entire deserted floors. Great for sneaking in food. I've been spending copious amounts of time there since… you know." She smiled to show she really didn't want to talk about it just yet. "I was on my way there, as a matter of fact."

Sure enough, there was not a single student to be found on the eleventh floor, and they made their way to a back corner, near a window, and John spread out the picnic blanket he'd brought. They sat there eating and laughing, quickly falling back into their pre-time travelling friendship.

"I miss this, Mon," John suddenly said, just a second after she'd finished a particularly hilarious story about her roommate.

She stopped laughing, but kept the smile on her face, though several emotions flitted over her face. "I miss this too. I miss you."

He reached out, impulsively for him, and took her hand. He kept his eyes on it, rubbing her hand, turning it over in his, gripping it tightly. "The worst part is not having you with me. 'Cause I miss you too."

She squeezed his hand back, not sure what to say, not wanting to ruin the moment. He looked up at her, his eyes searching for something, before leaning in, pulling her towards him, and pressing his lips gently against hers.

A barely audible noise echoed through the floor of the library and they both broke away to turn towards it. Monica spotted someone in the stacks, who was pulling out a book. "Student," she said, laughing nervously.

John turned his attention back to her, but spoke softly. "Like I said, I missed you. Been thinking about you. Wishing we could fix things, but not sure how, you know?"

She nodded sagely. "What's going on… with Barbara?" she asked, the words unwilling to leave her mouth.

"Still stressful. We have our good days and our bad days. Sometimes, I look at her and I remember what it was to love her, but most of the time, I look at her and nothing's there, not like love at all. She'll grow tired of me one day, and I guess she's already starting to feel that. Maybe she really was back in the real '87 and I just didn't notice. Maybe you'll get tired of me too one day. I know I exasperate you, and I'm real sorry 'bout that."

She grinned. "I wouldn't have you any other way," she said, and then leaned over for another kiss, which was again cut short by sounds from the stacks.

"I think our intruder might be a bit of a voyeur. Perhaps we should pack up and find another floor."

John took a look at his watch. "I'm about to be exasperating… it's already been nearly two hours. I really need to hop back on a train and get home." There was no hiding the disappointment on Monica's face. "See, that's why I warned you. I knew you'd hate to hear that."

"It's just… we haven't even started to discuss what's going on with the time flux. I've been reading so much lately. There's so much to go over with you."

"I know. I promise, though, I'll be in touch. And I'll try to get up here again, or maybe you can come down to the city. We'll get it all sorted out, I promise."

There was nothing she could do but accept it with a less than enthusiastic nod.

"I promise," he repeated. And then he was gone, leaving her to find another floor of the SciLi, which had never felt so empty to her before.