With just one more paper to write and some last minute cramming for her Hebrew final, Monica was close to surviving the first semester of her unexpected return trip to college. She was not, however, close to solving the mystery of what had brought her here.

The first time through school, she'd worked like a dog, never taking a break from her studies, focusing on her goal – a BA and an MA in five years – and letting nothing get in her way. Now, she was burnt out already, and she hadn't bothered to sign up for summer classes. Instead, she would go home, see her parents and her friends back in Mexico City, doing whatever she could to adapt to her situation and forget the future that she might never return to.

Putting aside her flashcards and ignoring all the packing still left, she decided that she would try one last time to find some answers. It would be in vain, no doubt, but a few letters to noted physicists would not hurt. She sat down, amidst piles of books and the almost completed term paper that was due the next morning, to scratch out letters to the list of various academics she had compiled in her head. And then she decided to finally contact the one person who really could be of use.

"Dear Mr. Mulder," she wrote, before wearily scratching it out. "Dear Fox Mulder." "Dear Mulder." She sighed, chewed on her pen, and finally wrote "Fox Mulder." But then what? Could she really do this? Could she bring him into this mess, and thereby alter his timeline to the point where if they were truly stuck in their situation, there was no chance to bring things to where they had naturally gone?

At this point, however, she did not feel like she had many options. How much closer were they to getting back to where they belonged? John may have been satisfied with his options, but Monica had nothing. She was fully convinced that whatever had happened had been for John's sake, and possibly for Luke's sake if her dreams meant anything, and knowing that made it a little easier to forgive him. But she didn't understand why she'd been pulled back as well, only to be abandoned. So she was desperate for help and answers, and so her pen continued to move across the paper.

My name is Monica Reyes and my story may be hard for some people to believe, but I have no doubt you will listen with an open mind. I believe something has happened to my timeline. Eight months ago, I was living in DC, aged 33, working for the FBI – in the year 2002. Then one morning I awoke to find that it was January 3, 1987; I was 18, back at home, and a university student again. My partner experienced the same thing and we seem to be the only two to whom this has happened. We knew you in the bureau, and of your interests in such paranormal phenomena. I think that you might be able to help us. I would like the opportunity to meet with you and further explain our situation.

She felt it satisfactory, but did not mail it just yet, out of uncertainty. It occurred to her too that if she was going to bring in Mulder, she might as well bring in Scully, who had studied physics as an undergrad. She remembered that she'd gone to UC Berkeley and the University of Maryland, but when she called the schools in search of a current student named Dana Scully, there was no mention. She wracked her brain for the name of the med school Dana had attended, but came up empty. Tracking down a young Scully's whereabouts would make for an interesting project for the summer.

The letter to Mulder was folded up and slipped into an envelope, but not sealed; she would take it home with her and decide later. Letters were mailed instead to Carl Sagan, and a few university professors, and a larger number of research scientists asking them her hypothetical question. She was sure that most of them would not even bother to respond, but again, if just one would, it might help her to find the right track.

It was still a shock to step off the plane a few days later and find her mother and father waiting for her, twenty years younger than they should be. Being at home, however, made her fear that she too would grow comfortable in her situation, just as John had. She regretted now, as her parents hugged her and kissed her, coming home when she should be continuing her studies. If she wasn't able to go back to 2002, she had no right to muck up her education.

She'd been in 1987 for almost six months now, and there were so many moments when she felt herself jerk back to reality, as if she had fallen asleep while sitting up. She was growing comfortable, now that school was behind her and she could relax, and she had to force herself to remember where she was. This was not her place. Sometimes she would touch her lips, thinking back to the kiss she'd shared with John in March. Now that memory was all she had of him and those precious moments were more often than not forgotten along with 2002.

Summer passed tranquilly, perhaps too tranquilly. She worked on her tan as she read the latest research from Mexican physicists, though as the June faded into July and then August, her reading material slowly shifted back to literature and non-fiction without a scientific bent. Before she knew it, she was packing her bags for a return to Brown, struggling to remind herself that this wasn't her place, yet finding for the first time a sort of acceptance, one that scared her a little. She found the now forgotten letter to Mulder still sitting in her suitcase, which reminded her of her forgotten pledge to track down Scully. Perhaps she would deal with it later at school.

When she returned to Brown, there was a nice stack of letters waiting for her. Two professors had sent books on time travel and relativity, three of the research scientists had sent out generic thank-you-for-your-letter forms and another had invited her to send in a resume for a research assistant. One said that he would meet with her, but he lived in Ohio, and she wasn't sure when she could get out there. And at the bottom of the pile of letters, and the one she chose to open last, was something from John.

She greeted it with a mixture of trepidation and elation. She was too afraid to read it and so she tucked it into the back pages of a textbook and tried to unpack instead. Finally, she could restrain herself no longer and opened it carefully, preparing herself for the worst.

May 30, 1987

Dear Monica,

I'm sorry I've been out of touch with you. You deserve better. I haven't given up on finding out what happened to us. I've talked to people and read some stuff, but nothing's really come of it. A couple weeks ago, I crossed paths with someone I think might know what is going on. He was the perp in a DV call. Wife said he would make a person vanish, like they never existed at all. I know it doesn't sound directly connected, but there's just something about him that I can't shake, something that tells me he's connected somehow. He refuses to talk to me, so I've been following him, but nothing's happened yet.

Luke is getting so big. Little guy's already walking and saying Dada and stuff. Things are going pretty rough with Barbara still, which is why I'm writing instead of calling and having to explain something being on the phone bill. I think about you lots and wish that there was a clear cut answer in all this, but there isn't. And I suspect you know this already.

If you want to confront this guy, call me at work and we'll arrange something. You don't have to, of course, but I miss you Monica, and even if nothing can be done about it, I'd really like to see you too.

Yours,

John

Monica was glad in that moment that her dorm room was empty. She pressed the letter to her heart as tears stung her eyes. The last month of summer break and she'd barely given him a thought. Now she was not sure how she could possibly wait until she could hear his voice on the phone again, or see him in person. It reminded her anew that 1987 was not the place she wanted to be. John's willingness to act on a hunch also pleased her and she was more than eager to meet this mystery man; if John thought he might be involved, then perhaps she would feel the same upon meeting him.