Author's Note: I did it! Now only 10 more chapters or so to continuously update until this is done! Next chapter out on October 18. Anywho, hope someone out there can find some pleasure in this. Reviews very much appreciated!

II - Seven Words

I puttered around on Monday, knocking off as many repairs and spring cleaning type chores as I could. Few things are more zen than heading off to the lumber store and buying some slats to fix that one step on the back deck that has always wobbled, cleaning the grout with an old toothbrush just like in boot camp, or giving the engine a once over. It gave me some mental space to figure out a game plan for Monica.

What to do about Monica had been a quandary for some time, and now that we were working together, in near daily contact for 10 hours a day or longer, there was greater urgency. Barbara had been right that I'd been thinking about it for years, though how in the world my ex-wife could pick up on that from the few and far between times she'd seen us together was still beyond me.

My marriage only made it about a year after Luke's death. Monica and I had worked pretty closely that year, as I exhausted one lead after another, but it had stayed professional. Only after the wedding ring was off did we have what could be considered the beginnings of a friendship. She invited me to coffee in what turned out to be her first attempt to persuade me to join the FBI. I always wondered if she regretted it, as a year later, I moved to Washington.

Yet somehow, I kept flying back up, usually to check out a lead or update Barbara in person, just as she seemed to find some reason to be back in DC. After the move, we began talking on the phone probably once a month or so, and while I didn't share much with her, it was still a great solace talking to the one person that really knew what I'd gone through, where I'd come from, and what my life was now like. And once or twice a year, I'd drag her into a new lead, and she would follow, telling me to my face the reasons to not get my hopes up while fighting alongside me for an answer that never materialized.

Feelings for her had come easily, but there was a brightness to her that I was afraid I would stifle. My feelings weren't fully realized either, for I was just coming to know her. But even then I knew that she was too special to be placed anywhere near the unremarkable women I was seeking out to dull the pain of divorce and loss. We'd go out together when we were in the same city, not official dates of course, but always just the two of us. I'd hold the door for her, and Monica would lean in towards me as soon as I sat down. I'd say something about how it had been too long, and she'd bemoan the distance between us. I'd give her what would feel like the world's most mundane, depressing update on my life, and she would somehow always manage to dig through it to find something positive or entertaining, and we'd both be smiling by the end. But then I'd head out, hating myself for finding joy that I didn't feel like I deserved, certainly not with a woman who was so intricately wound up in my only child's murder investigation, and next thing I know, I'd be at a bar, drinking it all away and taking home anyone who looked my way to try and forget her smile and the way she made me feel.

Then, as the years progressed, things began to taper off. Leads became non-existent. Barbara became more vocal in her desire to be left alone. Monica started her relationship with Brad, who quickly became the main topic of her conversations, making it harder for me to entertain any thoughts of being with her. Then, suddenly, she ended her relationship with Brad, refused to talk about it, ran away to New Orleans, and took about a year before she started reaching out again. And next thing I know, I was assigned to find the notorious Fox Mulder, and when that didn't work out, I was punished by being assigned to the X-Files themselves. Monica and I finally had a new topic of conversation, and her uncontained enthusiasm reminds me of the Monica I fell for in the first place. I promised her the first chance I got, I'd bring her in on a case, but the only one I could even justify her joining was the Tibbett case, which ended up overlapping with a big case she was running in Utah.

But through all nine years of knowing her, it never once occurred to my thick-headed self that she might be feeling anything more than friendship. She seemed to treat everyone the way she treated me. Every waitress got the same smile, every tourist who asked for directions got the same ebullient Monica, and every story of her life was full of a multitude of other friends that I felt surely held a higher rank in her life than I could ever wish for. The night of her accident, though, I finally got the hint, but it took her nearly knocking me over the head with her feelings. After that, there was a bunch of looking back and kicking myself for the multitude of clues she'd been laying down.

The way she'd hugged me that day she moved in – whatever it was that set her off, she would never say – but that hug lasted well beyond a friendly hug, beyond even a worried hug, and all I could do was hold her the same, unsure of what I'd done to deserve it, but unable to ignore how nice she felt in my arms. In Mexico, after our rescue when I was struggling to piece together a jumbled patchwork of memories, she seemed to stumble, unsure of how to answer, when I asked her about us in a way that made it sound like I thought there was more. And then there was that time, a week before her accident, when she'd straightened my tie before we headed up to Skinner's office, her demeanor so overly intense for such a routine task, her hands lingering on my collar, her face close enough to kiss.

I couldn't say for sure what had held me back for so long after she rattled off that catalogue of compliments months ago, other than being a damn fool. I was aware, but it didn't mean I knew what to do. I bought a book about starting new relationships, but found no courage in it. I called Ruth, my sister who would often ask me about my love life, but of course never brought it up when I needed her to. But all the while, I was putting in more effort than ever to make sure Monica had no idea the turmoil going on inside my heart. Now, though, with Barbara's prodding, I felt it was finally time to put a stop to my nonsense. I had to ask her out, I decided – it was that simple. Can I take you out to dinner? Seven words. Surely I could handle that. I knew she'd say yes. But I knew it in the way everyone does before they ask someone out – with tons of illogical anxiety that they're only seeing what they want to see, that it truly is one-sided.

No matter though. I wasn't going to spend another day of my life without at least finding out for sure. By the time I'd talked myself into it, it was already pretty late, and I knew I should do it before bed, so I picked up the phone and called her. Seven words, I reminded myself.

And then I got her answering machine. What in the world was she doing this late at night? Those doubts came right up and knocked the sense out of me. Suddenly I was convinced she was on a date, forget that it was Monday, forget that she looked at me the way she did, forget that she hadn't even breathed a word about dating anyone since she left Follmer. I had it all wrong. I was full on brooding when she called back just a minute later.

"Sorry! I was taking a bath. How are you doing? Did you have a relaxing day?"

"Aw, I didn't mean to disturb you."

"No, it's fine. Honestly, I just grabbed the phone and am back to soaking in the tub again. I hope you don't mind."

Sure, just leave me with that visual. I didn't even know how to respond.

"John?"

"I'm here, sorry. Just…" Seven words, John. Seven words. "I wanted to see how work was." Dammit, those were not the right seven words. "And to let you know I'll be back tomorrow." Well done, I thought sarcastically.

"Did you just sigh? You know you can take more time off. You don't have to push yourself to go back yet. Everyone understands."

"No, I'm just tired. I'm definitely coming back in. Someone's gotta keep the train from derailing into crazy town."

"For the record, I actually reviewed and rejected a case today. Even I don't think everything's an X-File." There was mirth in her words, and I felt a little lighter just talking with her.

We spoke for a while longer, about the case, about what all I'd accomplished during the day, and about a million other insignificant things, until she complained of her bathwater turning cold. We hung up, and I still hadn't asked her.

Tuesday was the day then. I wore my blue tie, which she'd complimented me on the first time I'd worn it, the one that she said really brought out the blue in my eyes. I picked up coffee for her on my way in. I knew I could do it. Until I walked in and saw her, my confidence sputtering out like a gasoline flooded engine.

I didn't understand why she made me so nervous, why it turned into kid-trying-to-ask-out-his-first-crush nervous. Or maybe I did. Maybe because there was truly no one else in my life whom I cared about as much at this point. Maybe because if I screwed this up, I would lose her, and it was easier keeping her as a friend than risk losing her in a relationship I felt I was bound to ruin anyway, and I didn't exactly have much going for me in the friendship department these days. Since I'd been moved to the X-Files, a slow ostracizing had occurred, and my already small cadre of friends had diminished down to single digits as I grew more protective and defensive of the work I was doing. When I brought Monica back into my life, those moments the guys and I had shared over a pitcher of beer, laughing our asses off at a dirty joke or the general stupidity around us, now seemed depressingly shallow. I couldn't afford to lose her as a friend. Or what if I did something stupid, pissed her off thoroughly, and she bolted a thousand miles away like she did with Follmer? Then I'd be left with no partner, no friend, no… whatever. And for some reason, she held me in high esteem, and I liked her thinking of me that way, rather than the way I truly was. If she knew me better, I wasn't sure she'd want to stick around, and if I lost her, then where would I be?

That day, she handled me like I was still fragile, which admittedly I was, even if I was trying to distract myself with her. All morning, she walked around me as if she were trying to determine what she had to work with. At lunchtime, she convinced me to eat at our favorite deli. For all things work related, she was quick to agree with me and reluctant to push back, until I told her to stop, promising that I was fine. And all day, I kept telling myself, just seven words, until we'd lock eyes and every shred of confidence I'd built up would evaporate into thin air. Shortly after six, she closed the file she was reviewing and said she was going home, but then she paused and watched me for a while.

"What is it? I spill something on my shirt?"

She shook her head, smiling as though she were trying not to divulge a secret. "Nothing. Just… don't wear yourself out, John. There's nothing here that can't wait until tomorrow."

"I know. I promise I'll head out as soon as I finish these notes."

This drew a slightly skeptical look from her, so I promised again, and she didn't argue. So passed another day without my asking.

Wednesday had to be my day. Middle of the week. Perfect place to drop an unexpected question. I practiced in the mirror before work, just like I'd done at 12 before asking my middle school crush to the spring dance, until my ears went red with embarrassment, but at least the words were coming out. Once I pulled into the parking garage, however, I found myself frozen in my seat. I couldn't do it. I wasn't ready. I resigned myself to waiting another week. Maybe I just needed yet another weekend alone to make me understand I didn't want any more weekends alone.

But then I walked in, and she beamed at me. "What are you so happy about?" I asked with good-natured suspicion.

"Oh, nothing. Just glad to see your face."

I was just about to repay the compliment and, my confidence pumped up again, maybe follow it up with that seven-word question when the phone rang. Skinner wanted us in his office.

He handed us a file as we walked in, and I felt a twinge of excitement. The case involved a man who had gone missing during a hike in a wildlife refuge in Maryland.

"What's this got to do with us?" I asked. "It's just a missing person's case."

"That is the general consensus. But the agent in charge doesn't think things are adding up. There were multiple sightings of a swamp creature that night, none of which are validated, but enough of the witnesses are spooked."

We took the file down to the basement with us, and all of my focus on asking out Monica was replaced by looking for a detail that was overlooked or something that pointed to an unexplained phenomenon. I found some inconsistencies with times given by witnesses while Monica tried to use numerology, birthdates, and finally just "vibes." Neither one of us was getting anywhere.

"Wait a second," Monica announced suddenly. "The fourth witness, Ms. Bradley, the one from out of town… where was she from again?"

I flipped through the pages, curious what connection she might have made and bracing myself for some out-of-left-field explanation. "Milwaukee. Well, a place just outside called Mukwonago."

"That case I was telling you about yesterday, with the guy who strangled his roommate and is still currently on the run. He's from a little town outside of Milwaukee too. That's an odd coincidence." She was already up and thumbing through an atlas until she hit the Wisconsin section, her lips moving as she silently read the names of the small towns, her finger trailing over the map. "Aha! There it is. She was from Eagle, and guess what town is just a few minutes east? Mukwonago!"

"Ok, sure, but that's just a coincidence. I'm not seeing how a guy on the run could possibly have anything to do with this lady who saw our missing guy leaving his campsite?"

She was convinced, and next thing we know, we're doing some digging on this little old lady, out camping with her dog. Come to find out she owned the house that the strangler had rented, and going back deeper into her life, 15 years prior, her partner had also been strangled to death while she was out of town. No suspect had ever been found. Nothing paranormal, but certainly a critical piece of the puzzle, and a connection that could very well solve an old murder and led to even greater suspicion in both the strangler's and the hiker's disappearances.

"That's some pretty fine work there, Agent Reyes."

The praise pleased her, but she brushed it off. "It's what we do, Agent Doggett. Though I am disappointed that we won't get to spend the rest of the week searching for swamp monsters."

We spent what little was left of the day in contact with the team investigating the disappearance, and then, suddenly it was well after six, and we were both ready to call it a day. It just didn't seem right to ask her when we were both worn out. I, for one, could barely muster a pained smile. No, bright and early tomorrow. We'd both be fresh faced and ready for a new day.

Thursday had to be it, except the weekend was now breathing down my neck and my confidence tank was at empty. To top it off, not even five minutes after we walked in, she was called out to assist the agent working the missing person's case in Maryland, and I didn't see her again all day. I was left to pace the office, stare at files without really reading them, work out my frustrations in the gym for longer than normal, and damn near lose my mind. I hoped in vain that she would be sent back or that I'd get called in alongside her, and I even started offering up promises to all powerful entities that I didn't exactly believe in that I'd do it, I'd ask her out if she just walked back in the door now… now… now….

At 6, I called her cell, hoping to hear that she'd be returning soon, only for her to answer in the gentle voice she used when I was agitated that Ms. Bradley had been located, halfway to Philadelphia, and was being taken into custody. "It's still going to be another hour or more before I can even disentangle myself from this. You can turn the lights off. I won't be back in the office until tomorrow."

Suddenly, it was Friday, and I was feeling like an abject failure. How was it I could not get seven measly words out? She came in late, but with news that the missing man's body had been found overnight. He'd indeed been strangled as she predicted, and not by a swamp monster, and all evidence pointed to Ms. Bradley.

I was proud of Monica, but I was also being eaten alive by my nerves. She pointed out that I seemed a bit on edge, and I tried to shrug it off, but it was hard to deny.

At 4 o'clock, she closed up her work, and looked at me. "I'm pushing overtime now, so I think I'll head out."

Shit, I thought. Now I really was looking at another weekend without having asked her. But then she threw me some rope. "Should we go grab a beer? My treat. It's been a hell of a week. A hell of many weeks." Her face was full of sympathy, and I wondered if maybe my grief was still sitting front and center on my own face.

I grabbed my jacket and beat her to the door.

This was good. I can do this, I thought. The setting was more casual and, most importantly, far removed from the workplace. Oh yeah, and a little beer in me would surely help.

"You got any plans tonight?" I spurted out as casually as possible after draining my beer. Not the seven words. These were the same words we asked each other all the time.

"Actually, for once, I do," she said without missing a beat, but obviously missing my intent, not that I could blame her. "I'm making dinner for Dana tonight. Do you have anything planned?"

"Uh, no. I guess not." I wondered if I should order another beer or just excuse myself then, returning home a failure.

"You should join us."

"Nah, I couldn't. Don't want to spoil girls' night." I tried to smile as I stared at the foamy remains of my beer, but I got a full shot of pity when I finally raised my eyes, showing I hadn't hidden my hurt very well.

"It's not girls' night. I'm doing this for Dana. Her mother's still not speaking to her, and she needs to be reminded that she still has friends. Have you seen her outside of a case since she gave up William?"

"I never saw her before outside of cases."

"OK, true enough. I hardly did either. But I asked her over just the same. It felt right… necessary." Her eyes dropped, she took a sip of her beer, and then began to play with her nails, obviously lost in thought. I decided then would be a good time. She wouldn't be able to read it in my face before I voiced it. No look of eagerness would block my tongue.

"Well, then, what are you doing tomorrow night?" I asked with courage from God knows where. Still not the words, but I figured it would have to do.

She stopped for a moment to process the question, her eyes rising from her nails to her glass before finally landing on my face. Her smile was slight, guarded, but the look in her eye suggested she was onto me. My stomach twisted in knots, fearful that she would make a big deal out of it asking something like 'John Doggett, are you asking me out?' or 'Is this a date?' Oh no, this was hard enough. If I had to admit to it, to call it what it was, I'd probably turn tail and run.

It took three agonizingly long seconds before her answer came. "I'm free." She eyed me cautiously, wondering if I would pick up the ball and run with it, or just stare dumbly down as I always had before.

"Uh, good. Can I take you out to dinner?" Hot damn, I thought to myself. I did it.

"That would be nice, John."

"Pick you up around 6?"

"Sure." I was rewarded with a full smile – of appreciation, thanks, and a touch of amazement. But since it was also a smile of acknowledgement at my act, I felt the overwhelming desire to run.

"Ok, well, I better get going."

"John," she called out with some urgency as I jumped up from the table, "What about dinner tonight with Dana? Would you join us?"

I agreed. Mainly so I could keep running. Saying no would have opened me up to her pleading which would have slowed me down and to which I would have eventually succumbed anyway.