Categories > TV > X-Files > Dark Desert Highways
Chapter Two
0 reviewsWelcome to the Hotel California-where a good night's rest could cost you your life.
0Unrated
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67 Bennett Ave.
Washington, DC
9:37 P.M., present day
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A drop of Rudolph Red fell from the brush and landed on the white bathroom counter. "Shit," Monica Reyes mumbled, scrambling for a Kleenex to wipe the splotch of nail polish off the sink. The drop was wiped up successfully without leaving any stains. Monica wiggled her toes at herself, admiring the shiny, sparkly red polish on her nails.
She leaned forward slightly to examine places she might have missed. As she examined, she dipped the brush into the bottle to touch up a few places. When Monica was done with that, she set about pulling her hair back into a slightly messy ponytail and slopping some sort of mud mask onto her face. A mask, the package proclaimed, that drew the impurities from your skin to leave it feeling fresh and clean. What the heck, it was only a $1.99 at Target, who could pass up a deal like that?
It wasn't until her nails had been painted, her hair washed and conditioned with professional strength products and her eyebrows had been plucked that she realized someone was pounding on the door. Curious, she turned down the stereo, and walked to the front door. She was too short to see out the peephole, so she just opened the door. The man on the other side looked up at her from a file folder he was reading and gave a slight jump in surprise. Monica rolled her eyes and stood aside so he could come in, "Shut up, John."
He chuckled, went inside and stripped off his leather jacket, tossing it over an armchair. "What happened Mon? You fall in a mud hole?" Rolling her eyes again, she went back into the bathroom to wash the mud mask off her face. John followed her and looked around the bathroom, "What the hell? Do you collect this stuff, Monica?" he asked as he surveyed the mess of various bottles of nail polish, hair treatments, make-up and other such things spread out on the bathroom floor and countertop. He suddenly looked concerned, "Hey... I'm not interrupting or anything am I? Do you have a date or something?"
Monica chuckled, as she wiped her face off with a green hand towel, "No, I'm just goofing off." John's face relaxed as soon as he heard she didn't have a date. "I didn't leave you waiting outside too long, did I?" Monica asked, continuing the conversation, "I couldn't hear you knocking, I was listening to the radio."
"No, you didn't..." John mumbled absently as he opened the lid to the portable CD player/boom box Monica had set by the sink. With a quick motion he extracted the CD and held it on his index finger so he could read the label. "No Doubt, Return of Saturn? You having a mid-life crisis or something, Monica? Red nail polish, No Doubt...? What's next? Purple hair?"
He looked down at her red toenails as she yanked the clip out of her hair and ran a brush though it. "No, that was in college," she said. John watched her brush her hair with great interest, still holding the CD. She chuckled, "I'm just having a girl's night in, John and besides, I like No Doubt."
"Well, I'm an old fogy," he replied, placing the CD back into the player and glancing at the varying colors of eye shadow in a make-up kit next to her curling iron, "I still listen to Led Zeppelin."
"Nothing wrong with Zep," Monica agreed as she started to wind up the cord to her hair dryer. John picked up the pot of eye shadow, which was a light lavender color, held it up to her and said, "You know, this color would look really good on you." For a moment she just stared at him, then she blushed and turned to put the hair dryer away. Finally she said, "They have rules about wild make-up colors at work John, you know that." He pretended to be taken aback, "What's so wild about lavender?"
Monica ignored him and continued to pick up her beauty products. John shot another look at her red toenails, "What color are your fingernails?" he asked in a teasing tone. "I was going to make them lime green," Monica replied wryly, "but I ran out of that color last week." He painted an "aw, that's too bad" look on his face, "Too bad, I would have liked to have seen that."
John turned and walked toward the kitchen, "Mind if I grab a Pepsi?" he called over his shoulder to Monica who was just turning out the lights in the bathroom. "Only if you get me one," she said, smiling. John plopped down next to her and slung a leg over the armrest of the couch, handing her one of the soft drinks he held. "What brings you here so late?" Monica asked, opening her soda and taking a sip. "Well, I was just down at the office, diggin' through some of Mulder's old files and I came across one that seemed pretty interesting, and I thought you might like it, so I brought it over." John handed her a thick, manila file folder that she had seen him reading in the hallway.
She glanced at him curiously, placed her drink on the coffee table and opened the file. She read quietly for a moment and finally said, "John... this isn't an X-File."
"Why isn't it?" he asked, absently flipping through a TV Guide. "Because," Monica elaborated, "this is just a missing persons case... nothing spooky about that." She looked down at the file and scanned it once more to make sure she hadn't missed anything.
"Yeah," John said, throwing down the TV Guide and tacking his full attention on her, "but all those people in that file disappeared the same way, they were all expected someplace, but never got there."
"'1902, Margaret and Robert Ember missing, assumed deceased. 1927, Rose and Nathan Hayes missing, assumed deceased. 1952, Bobbi and Tommy Green missing, assumed deceased... 1977, James Campbell... missing... assumed deceased...'" Monica's reading faltered and trailed off. "See a pattern here, Monica?" John asked, rising from his seat.
"Yes... every twenty-five years... that means someone else would be dead already... this year, 2002. Serial killer?"
"No, too random for a serial killer, besides, he'd be dead by now if it was, the killings started almost a hundred years ago."
Monica's hazel eyes followed John as he walked to the window and looked out, "All the victims were last spotted on or near Highway 375 in Nevada, do you know what Highway 375 is?" Monica shook her head no, amazed with John's sudden interest in an X-File case. "It's the Extraterrestrial Highway, known for its UFO sightings."
She quirked an eyebrow at John, "Extraterrestrials? I figured it would be a cold day in Hell before I ever heard John Doggett mention that word." He rolled his eyes, "Now don't go thinking that I said it was UFOs abducting these people or something, you hear me? Personally I think it's worth investigating... because if we can figure out what happened to these people, I think that will put a lot of families at ease... just... knowing..." John swallowed the sudden lump that rose in his throat. "Besides," John hurried on, "God knows I could use a vacation, and I heard Vegas is nice this time of year."
Monica looked thoughtfully down at the file again. John's voice brought her back to reality, "What do you say, Monica? Want to go waste some taxpayer dollars?"
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Las Vegas International Airport
Four Nights Later
9:35 P.M.
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Flight 252 out of Baltimore landed at approximately 1:32 A.M. east coast time. Monica Reyes stumbled off the plane and into a flight attendant who was guarding the entrance to the plane. "Sorry!" Monica said to the annoyed attendant. She fought to open her eyes just long enough to get in a rental car and to a hotel.
John emerged from the plane just as Monica was about to walk into a group of groggy looking Japanese tourists. He reached out and snagged the back of her jacket and reeled her back towards him like a fisherman with a big catch, "Monica, I thought you and I had a talk about you sleepwalking all the time."
"I still don't think this is an X-File," Monica mumbled grumpily in reply to his statement. She fought to keep her eyes opened as she walked toward the rental car desk beside John. "So what if it's not an X-File?" He asked, letting go of her jacket and sliding his arm casually around her shoulders, "You wanna hit the slots tonight or tomorrow night? Or how about one of those .99 cent buffets?" Monica tried to roll her eyes, but she was afraid they'd get stuck that way and she'd fall asleep walking around in the airport. She chose to ignore him instead. It was nearing 2 A.M. where they lived, how could John be so perky? /He must have had some really strong coffee on the plane/, she decided as she closed her eyes and let her head drop towards John's shoulder. "Hey," he said, giving her a shake, "Wake up, we're not there yet."
"When are we going to be there?" Monica demanded as she tried to avoid walking into a green planter with some sort of foliage attempting to grow in it. "Tomorrow afternoon, we'll get a hotel tonight, sleep in late, have breakfast and talk to the LVPD. Okay?" Monica could see John in her peripheral vision; he was peering intently at her, his eyebrows raised, waiting for her approval. She nodded her agreement, shrugged and yawned at the same time.
A question suddenly popped into her sleep-deprived brain, "How come you're so alert? Aren't you tired?"
"Beat," John said, looking over at his sleepy partner as he steered her away from a phone booth, "They gave us cookie dough ice cream on the plane, I ate it before I realized what it was. I can't eat the stuff, it makes me wired for some reason."
"I wish I had that luxury," Monica replied sleepily, as she slid her arm around John's strong shoulders and let herself be pulled along toward the rental car desk.
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Room 506
Excalibur Casino and Hotel
11:59 A.M.
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"Mornin' sunshine," a voice quipped as golden Nevada sunlight flooded the room and painted the walls with its brilliance. Monica Reyes raised her head from the tangle of pillows and blankets on her bed. "What do you /want/?" she asked in an annoyed tone, burying her face back into the soft cotton of the sheets.
"What do I want? Hmm... loaded question, Monica." John Doggett echoed from his position at the window that overlooked the Las Vegas Strip, his eyes roaming over the shape of the slender woman buried under the sheets and blankets and finally settling on the dark, silky hair that was spilled carelessly across the pillows. "Right now, I want lunch, that's what I want." He strode over to her bed, grabbed an exposed ankle and gave a hard tug. Monica screamed, suddenly awake and sprawled out on the floor at her partner's feet. John grinned down at her, "It's noon Monica, time to get up."
"SO?!" She yelled, snatching up a pillow and chucking it in the general direction of his head, "You told me last night at the airport we could sleep in!" John ducked and the pillow hit the window with a muffled thump, "Yeah, I meant till like nine or something, not noon!" He ducked another pillow. "Yeah, well, it was your bright idea to take a late flight, so I blame you for my chronic fatigue."
"Such big words," he joked as he offered a hand to help her up, "did you think that up all by yourself?" She responded by crossing her arms over her chest and using the Death Glare on him. "Okay, okay," John held up his hands in a surrendering gesture, "Sorry!" Both were quiet for a moment, he looked down to study his Nikes when he noticed Monica's bare feet. And her purple toenails.
He quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing. Instead, he shook his head, turned and walked toward the door, his sneakers thumping heavily on the faded carpet, "You want some coffee or something?"
"A big cup," she agreed, crossing the room and stooping to pick up the pillow that hit the window, "extra sugar; not too much cream."
"Yes, your highness," John called over his shoulder as he left the room.
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Twenty Minutes Later
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"Thanks for all your help, sir, this will really speed up our investigation," Monica said through a plastered on smile as she shook Police Chief O'Donnell's hand. "It's really no trouble," he said under his thick salt-and-pepper mustache, his eyes drifting to Monica's shirtfront. "We just never dreamed that these cases would ever be solved, and by the FBI! Why did the FBI take interest in this case anyway?"
Why did you bring me a totally useless piece of information that I already had? She wondered, still wearing a plastic smile and wishing John would get back soon. "I, uh, our division handles these types of cases, sir. And it just so happened that this file was on the top of the To Do List."
"Oh," the fat, balding Chief moved a step closer to her, "yes, I spoke to your partner... you work on the X-Files?"
"Yes," she answered, taking an involuntary step backward, "we specialize in the paranormal. And, uh, unsolved, uh, mysteries. Well, you'd better get going, right? I mean, we both have a lot of work to get done... and you probably have a lot of crimes to investigate... you know, like in that TV show they film here..." Chief O'Donnell stared blankly at her for a moment, then said, "Yes... you're probably right... how long are you sticking around in Las Vegas? I could... show you the sights..."
"Uh, not long, actually... I uh, have to get home to my husband, ah, um, John... a-and son... Luke..." Monica fiddled with one of the silver rings on her fingers, hoping the fat Chief would get the message. "John..." The Chief stroked his chin thoughtfully, "that's your partner's name, right? I talked to him."
"Oh. Ha, yeah, I guess it is, what a small world, huh? Well, I'd better get some work done, I've got a lot of phone calls to make, so, um, buh-bye!" The fat Chief waddled toward the door, finally taking the hint. Monica said her thank you's and politely walked the Chief to the door. Creeped out, she shut the door firmly behind him, and locked the dead bolt.
She walked back to the small table where she had thrown the file the Chief had given her. She opened it and snorted out loud. It was the names of the current victims of this murderer, whoever he was. Disgusted, she tore the piece of paper in half and threw it in the trash.
Monica puttered about her hotel room for a moment, picking up the bedding that had slipped to the floor when John pulled her out of it. She held the soft blanket in her hands for a moment, thinking about John's reaction to her red toenails and make-up the other night. And the look on his face when he asked if she had a date.
What do I want? Hmm... loaded question, Monica.
What did John want? She let herself fantasize for a moment. What if she and John did go out on a date? What would John Doggett even wear on a date? Blue jeans? And his Marines t-shirt? And that leather jacket? Or would he wear a boring, charcoal gray FBI agent style suit?
Monica sighed longingly as she thought of her and John strolling through a park after work... no, no... John's not the "strolling" type. Something a little more practical... at lunch, maybe... okay, lunch in the park, she liked the park idea. And maybe they could be having some of those great hot dogs from that little stand on M Street... and maybe he would look at her in that funny way, like he wants to say something but he just can't.
Or maybe John would reach over and run his hand through her hair... yes, that sounded nice... or maybe he would just lean down and...
Someone pounding on the door interrupted her pleasant thoughts. For a moment Monica thought it might be the fat Chief again, so she dropped the blanket and snuck over to the door. She stood on her tiptoes and peeked out at the visitor on the other side.
Monica unlocked the deadbolt and swung the door open. John was standing in the hallway with a Starbucks cup in each hand and a Burger King bag between his teeth. She grinned at him and he mumbled something unintelligible around the paper bag. Monica reached out to take the bag from him, "What did you say?"
"I said, 'hot coffee'," he informed her as he walked into her hotel room, "Hungry?"
"Starving," she said as she followed him to a small table in the corner of the room. John set the coffee on the table and stripped off his windbreaker. Monica found herself examining the thin, white t-shirt he wore and the finely sculpted muscles beneath it.
John walked over to her bed and threw his coat down; Monica's eyes followed him. Well, his backside anyway. He turned around to face her and caught her staring. "What?" he asked defensively, slightly alarmed by her scrutiny. Monica could feel blood rushing to her cheeks and sweat beading on her brow. "Nothing," she stuttered awkwardly, "I thought you had a stain on your shirt." He looked puzzled, but said nothing.
They spread out their sandwiches and coffee and sat down to eat. Monica took a bite, chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. "John," she said, reaching for her coffee, "The police Chief from the LVPD was here."
"Oh yeah?" John asked around a mouthful of French fries. "Yeah," Monica confirmed, "have you really talked to him before?" John nodded his confirmation, "He's an okay guy, I wouldn't have promoted him to Chief." Monica snorted and hid a chuckle. "I agree; he was kind of creeping me out."
"Why?" John asked, looking at her over the rim of his coffee cup. "Well... it's just... he kept... you know, like trying to get me to go out with him or something." John grinned at her and placed his cup back on the table, "Not that I can blame him, you're pretty-..." He blinked with startled realization at what he had almost just said. She raised her eyebrows at him, waiting to him to continue.
Instead, John sat back in his chair, his hands circled around his Starbucks cup, "Uh..." he looked down at the shiny, black surface of the table and fell silent. Monica rested her elbows on the table and nudged his sneaker with her bare foot. "C'mon," she coaxed, a slight smile teasing her lips, "spit it out."
John didn't want to look up at her, but somehow he managed to pry his eyes from the surface of the table to meet her bright green ones. She continued to watch him questioningly. Finally he sighed heavily and forced himself to speak, "Cute. You're pretty cute." Monica chuckled and shook her head, looking down at her Whopper Jr.
"Cute, huh? And when did you make this discovery?" He said nothing, just took a bite of his sandwich and watched her with bright eyes. John swallowed and both of them just looked at each other for a moment, not breaking eye contact. Without breaking that contact, John leaned slightly closer to Monica, not quite encroaching on her personal space.
Monica didn't try to move, she knew what was coming. Ever so slowly John leaned toward her, giving her plenty of time to move away if she chose to do so. Unable to resist the urge, she reached out and laid a hand on his cheek. His lips brushed softly against hers. Monica was about to lean forward to deepen the kiss when her cell phone rang. She jumped, startled by the unwanted interruption.
John sprang up out of his seat like a frog and gaped at her for a moment; as if he couldn't quite comprehend everything that had just happened. With crashing hopes of ever going on a date, or even kissing John for that matter, Monica sighed and pushed a button on the evil piece of technology, "Monica Reyes."
John started toward the door, "Um, I just remembered, I uh, gotta check on something..." She watched him leave with a sinking heart, the door closed and someone shouted, "Agent Reyes? AGENT REYES, ARE YOU THERE?"
She looked at the phone in her hand and put it against her ear in a sad manner, "Yes, I'm here..."
67 Bennett Ave.
Washington, DC
9:37 P.M., present day
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A drop of Rudolph Red fell from the brush and landed on the white bathroom counter. "Shit," Monica Reyes mumbled, scrambling for a Kleenex to wipe the splotch of nail polish off the sink. The drop was wiped up successfully without leaving any stains. Monica wiggled her toes at herself, admiring the shiny, sparkly red polish on her nails.
She leaned forward slightly to examine places she might have missed. As she examined, she dipped the brush into the bottle to touch up a few places. When Monica was done with that, she set about pulling her hair back into a slightly messy ponytail and slopping some sort of mud mask onto her face. A mask, the package proclaimed, that drew the impurities from your skin to leave it feeling fresh and clean. What the heck, it was only a $1.99 at Target, who could pass up a deal like that?
It wasn't until her nails had been painted, her hair washed and conditioned with professional strength products and her eyebrows had been plucked that she realized someone was pounding on the door. Curious, she turned down the stereo, and walked to the front door. She was too short to see out the peephole, so she just opened the door. The man on the other side looked up at her from a file folder he was reading and gave a slight jump in surprise. Monica rolled her eyes and stood aside so he could come in, "Shut up, John."
He chuckled, went inside and stripped off his leather jacket, tossing it over an armchair. "What happened Mon? You fall in a mud hole?" Rolling her eyes again, she went back into the bathroom to wash the mud mask off her face. John followed her and looked around the bathroom, "What the hell? Do you collect this stuff, Monica?" he asked as he surveyed the mess of various bottles of nail polish, hair treatments, make-up and other such things spread out on the bathroom floor and countertop. He suddenly looked concerned, "Hey... I'm not interrupting or anything am I? Do you have a date or something?"
Monica chuckled, as she wiped her face off with a green hand towel, "No, I'm just goofing off." John's face relaxed as soon as he heard she didn't have a date. "I didn't leave you waiting outside too long, did I?" Monica asked, continuing the conversation, "I couldn't hear you knocking, I was listening to the radio."
"No, you didn't..." John mumbled absently as he opened the lid to the portable CD player/boom box Monica had set by the sink. With a quick motion he extracted the CD and held it on his index finger so he could read the label. "No Doubt, Return of Saturn? You having a mid-life crisis or something, Monica? Red nail polish, No Doubt...? What's next? Purple hair?"
He looked down at her red toenails as she yanked the clip out of her hair and ran a brush though it. "No, that was in college," she said. John watched her brush her hair with great interest, still holding the CD. She chuckled, "I'm just having a girl's night in, John and besides, I like No Doubt."
"Well, I'm an old fogy," he replied, placing the CD back into the player and glancing at the varying colors of eye shadow in a make-up kit next to her curling iron, "I still listen to Led Zeppelin."
"Nothing wrong with Zep," Monica agreed as she started to wind up the cord to her hair dryer. John picked up the pot of eye shadow, which was a light lavender color, held it up to her and said, "You know, this color would look really good on you." For a moment she just stared at him, then she blushed and turned to put the hair dryer away. Finally she said, "They have rules about wild make-up colors at work John, you know that." He pretended to be taken aback, "What's so wild about lavender?"
Monica ignored him and continued to pick up her beauty products. John shot another look at her red toenails, "What color are your fingernails?" he asked in a teasing tone. "I was going to make them lime green," Monica replied wryly, "but I ran out of that color last week." He painted an "aw, that's too bad" look on his face, "Too bad, I would have liked to have seen that."
John turned and walked toward the kitchen, "Mind if I grab a Pepsi?" he called over his shoulder to Monica who was just turning out the lights in the bathroom. "Only if you get me one," she said, smiling. John plopped down next to her and slung a leg over the armrest of the couch, handing her one of the soft drinks he held. "What brings you here so late?" Monica asked, opening her soda and taking a sip. "Well, I was just down at the office, diggin' through some of Mulder's old files and I came across one that seemed pretty interesting, and I thought you might like it, so I brought it over." John handed her a thick, manila file folder that she had seen him reading in the hallway.
She glanced at him curiously, placed her drink on the coffee table and opened the file. She read quietly for a moment and finally said, "John... this isn't an X-File."
"Why isn't it?" he asked, absently flipping through a TV Guide. "Because," Monica elaborated, "this is just a missing persons case... nothing spooky about that." She looked down at the file and scanned it once more to make sure she hadn't missed anything.
"Yeah," John said, throwing down the TV Guide and tacking his full attention on her, "but all those people in that file disappeared the same way, they were all expected someplace, but never got there."
"'1902, Margaret and Robert Ember missing, assumed deceased. 1927, Rose and Nathan Hayes missing, assumed deceased. 1952, Bobbi and Tommy Green missing, assumed deceased... 1977, James Campbell... missing... assumed deceased...'" Monica's reading faltered and trailed off. "See a pattern here, Monica?" John asked, rising from his seat.
"Yes... every twenty-five years... that means someone else would be dead already... this year, 2002. Serial killer?"
"No, too random for a serial killer, besides, he'd be dead by now if it was, the killings started almost a hundred years ago."
Monica's hazel eyes followed John as he walked to the window and looked out, "All the victims were last spotted on or near Highway 375 in Nevada, do you know what Highway 375 is?" Monica shook her head no, amazed with John's sudden interest in an X-File case. "It's the Extraterrestrial Highway, known for its UFO sightings."
She quirked an eyebrow at John, "Extraterrestrials? I figured it would be a cold day in Hell before I ever heard John Doggett mention that word." He rolled his eyes, "Now don't go thinking that I said it was UFOs abducting these people or something, you hear me? Personally I think it's worth investigating... because if we can figure out what happened to these people, I think that will put a lot of families at ease... just... knowing..." John swallowed the sudden lump that rose in his throat. "Besides," John hurried on, "God knows I could use a vacation, and I heard Vegas is nice this time of year."
Monica looked thoughtfully down at the file again. John's voice brought her back to reality, "What do you say, Monica? Want to go waste some taxpayer dollars?"
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Las Vegas International Airport
Four Nights Later
9:35 P.M.
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Flight 252 out of Baltimore landed at approximately 1:32 A.M. east coast time. Monica Reyes stumbled off the plane and into a flight attendant who was guarding the entrance to the plane. "Sorry!" Monica said to the annoyed attendant. She fought to open her eyes just long enough to get in a rental car and to a hotel.
John emerged from the plane just as Monica was about to walk into a group of groggy looking Japanese tourists. He reached out and snagged the back of her jacket and reeled her back towards him like a fisherman with a big catch, "Monica, I thought you and I had a talk about you sleepwalking all the time."
"I still don't think this is an X-File," Monica mumbled grumpily in reply to his statement. She fought to keep her eyes opened as she walked toward the rental car desk beside John. "So what if it's not an X-File?" He asked, letting go of her jacket and sliding his arm casually around her shoulders, "You wanna hit the slots tonight or tomorrow night? Or how about one of those .99 cent buffets?" Monica tried to roll her eyes, but she was afraid they'd get stuck that way and she'd fall asleep walking around in the airport. She chose to ignore him instead. It was nearing 2 A.M. where they lived, how could John be so perky? /He must have had some really strong coffee on the plane/, she decided as she closed her eyes and let her head drop towards John's shoulder. "Hey," he said, giving her a shake, "Wake up, we're not there yet."
"When are we going to be there?" Monica demanded as she tried to avoid walking into a green planter with some sort of foliage attempting to grow in it. "Tomorrow afternoon, we'll get a hotel tonight, sleep in late, have breakfast and talk to the LVPD. Okay?" Monica could see John in her peripheral vision; he was peering intently at her, his eyebrows raised, waiting for her approval. She nodded her agreement, shrugged and yawned at the same time.
A question suddenly popped into her sleep-deprived brain, "How come you're so alert? Aren't you tired?"
"Beat," John said, looking over at his sleepy partner as he steered her away from a phone booth, "They gave us cookie dough ice cream on the plane, I ate it before I realized what it was. I can't eat the stuff, it makes me wired for some reason."
"I wish I had that luxury," Monica replied sleepily, as she slid her arm around John's strong shoulders and let herself be pulled along toward the rental car desk.
---
Room 506
Excalibur Casino and Hotel
11:59 A.M.
---
"Mornin' sunshine," a voice quipped as golden Nevada sunlight flooded the room and painted the walls with its brilliance. Monica Reyes raised her head from the tangle of pillows and blankets on her bed. "What do you /want/?" she asked in an annoyed tone, burying her face back into the soft cotton of the sheets.
"What do I want? Hmm... loaded question, Monica." John Doggett echoed from his position at the window that overlooked the Las Vegas Strip, his eyes roaming over the shape of the slender woman buried under the sheets and blankets and finally settling on the dark, silky hair that was spilled carelessly across the pillows. "Right now, I want lunch, that's what I want." He strode over to her bed, grabbed an exposed ankle and gave a hard tug. Monica screamed, suddenly awake and sprawled out on the floor at her partner's feet. John grinned down at her, "It's noon Monica, time to get up."
"SO?!" She yelled, snatching up a pillow and chucking it in the general direction of his head, "You told me last night at the airport we could sleep in!" John ducked and the pillow hit the window with a muffled thump, "Yeah, I meant till like nine or something, not noon!" He ducked another pillow. "Yeah, well, it was your bright idea to take a late flight, so I blame you for my chronic fatigue."
"Such big words," he joked as he offered a hand to help her up, "did you think that up all by yourself?" She responded by crossing her arms over her chest and using the Death Glare on him. "Okay, okay," John held up his hands in a surrendering gesture, "Sorry!" Both were quiet for a moment, he looked down to study his Nikes when he noticed Monica's bare feet. And her purple toenails.
He quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing. Instead, he shook his head, turned and walked toward the door, his sneakers thumping heavily on the faded carpet, "You want some coffee or something?"
"A big cup," she agreed, crossing the room and stooping to pick up the pillow that hit the window, "extra sugar; not too much cream."
"Yes, your highness," John called over his shoulder as he left the room.
---
Twenty Minutes Later
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"Thanks for all your help, sir, this will really speed up our investigation," Monica said through a plastered on smile as she shook Police Chief O'Donnell's hand. "It's really no trouble," he said under his thick salt-and-pepper mustache, his eyes drifting to Monica's shirtfront. "We just never dreamed that these cases would ever be solved, and by the FBI! Why did the FBI take interest in this case anyway?"
Why did you bring me a totally useless piece of information that I already had? She wondered, still wearing a plastic smile and wishing John would get back soon. "I, uh, our division handles these types of cases, sir. And it just so happened that this file was on the top of the To Do List."
"Oh," the fat, balding Chief moved a step closer to her, "yes, I spoke to your partner... you work on the X-Files?"
"Yes," she answered, taking an involuntary step backward, "we specialize in the paranormal. And, uh, unsolved, uh, mysteries. Well, you'd better get going, right? I mean, we both have a lot of work to get done... and you probably have a lot of crimes to investigate... you know, like in that TV show they film here..." Chief O'Donnell stared blankly at her for a moment, then said, "Yes... you're probably right... how long are you sticking around in Las Vegas? I could... show you the sights..."
"Uh, not long, actually... I uh, have to get home to my husband, ah, um, John... a-and son... Luke..." Monica fiddled with one of the silver rings on her fingers, hoping the fat Chief would get the message. "John..." The Chief stroked his chin thoughtfully, "that's your partner's name, right? I talked to him."
"Oh. Ha, yeah, I guess it is, what a small world, huh? Well, I'd better get some work done, I've got a lot of phone calls to make, so, um, buh-bye!" The fat Chief waddled toward the door, finally taking the hint. Monica said her thank you's and politely walked the Chief to the door. Creeped out, she shut the door firmly behind him, and locked the dead bolt.
She walked back to the small table where she had thrown the file the Chief had given her. She opened it and snorted out loud. It was the names of the current victims of this murderer, whoever he was. Disgusted, she tore the piece of paper in half and threw it in the trash.
Monica puttered about her hotel room for a moment, picking up the bedding that had slipped to the floor when John pulled her out of it. She held the soft blanket in her hands for a moment, thinking about John's reaction to her red toenails and make-up the other night. And the look on his face when he asked if she had a date.
What do I want? Hmm... loaded question, Monica.
What did John want? She let herself fantasize for a moment. What if she and John did go out on a date? What would John Doggett even wear on a date? Blue jeans? And his Marines t-shirt? And that leather jacket? Or would he wear a boring, charcoal gray FBI agent style suit?
Monica sighed longingly as she thought of her and John strolling through a park after work... no, no... John's not the "strolling" type. Something a little more practical... at lunch, maybe... okay, lunch in the park, she liked the park idea. And maybe they could be having some of those great hot dogs from that little stand on M Street... and maybe he would look at her in that funny way, like he wants to say something but he just can't.
Or maybe John would reach over and run his hand through her hair... yes, that sounded nice... or maybe he would just lean down and...
Someone pounding on the door interrupted her pleasant thoughts. For a moment Monica thought it might be the fat Chief again, so she dropped the blanket and snuck over to the door. She stood on her tiptoes and peeked out at the visitor on the other side.
Monica unlocked the deadbolt and swung the door open. John was standing in the hallway with a Starbucks cup in each hand and a Burger King bag between his teeth. She grinned at him and he mumbled something unintelligible around the paper bag. Monica reached out to take the bag from him, "What did you say?"
"I said, 'hot coffee'," he informed her as he walked into her hotel room, "Hungry?"
"Starving," she said as she followed him to a small table in the corner of the room. John set the coffee on the table and stripped off his windbreaker. Monica found herself examining the thin, white t-shirt he wore and the finely sculpted muscles beneath it.
John walked over to her bed and threw his coat down; Monica's eyes followed him. Well, his backside anyway. He turned around to face her and caught her staring. "What?" he asked defensively, slightly alarmed by her scrutiny. Monica could feel blood rushing to her cheeks and sweat beading on her brow. "Nothing," she stuttered awkwardly, "I thought you had a stain on your shirt." He looked puzzled, but said nothing.
They spread out their sandwiches and coffee and sat down to eat. Monica took a bite, chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. "John," she said, reaching for her coffee, "The police Chief from the LVPD was here."
"Oh yeah?" John asked around a mouthful of French fries. "Yeah," Monica confirmed, "have you really talked to him before?" John nodded his confirmation, "He's an okay guy, I wouldn't have promoted him to Chief." Monica snorted and hid a chuckle. "I agree; he was kind of creeping me out."
"Why?" John asked, looking at her over the rim of his coffee cup. "Well... it's just... he kept... you know, like trying to get me to go out with him or something." John grinned at her and placed his cup back on the table, "Not that I can blame him, you're pretty-..." He blinked with startled realization at what he had almost just said. She raised her eyebrows at him, waiting to him to continue.
Instead, John sat back in his chair, his hands circled around his Starbucks cup, "Uh..." he looked down at the shiny, black surface of the table and fell silent. Monica rested her elbows on the table and nudged his sneaker with her bare foot. "C'mon," she coaxed, a slight smile teasing her lips, "spit it out."
John didn't want to look up at her, but somehow he managed to pry his eyes from the surface of the table to meet her bright green ones. She continued to watch him questioningly. Finally he sighed heavily and forced himself to speak, "Cute. You're pretty cute." Monica chuckled and shook her head, looking down at her Whopper Jr.
"Cute, huh? And when did you make this discovery?" He said nothing, just took a bite of his sandwich and watched her with bright eyes. John swallowed and both of them just looked at each other for a moment, not breaking eye contact. Without breaking that contact, John leaned slightly closer to Monica, not quite encroaching on her personal space.
Monica didn't try to move, she knew what was coming. Ever so slowly John leaned toward her, giving her plenty of time to move away if she chose to do so. Unable to resist the urge, she reached out and laid a hand on his cheek. His lips brushed softly against hers. Monica was about to lean forward to deepen the kiss when her cell phone rang. She jumped, startled by the unwanted interruption.
John sprang up out of his seat like a frog and gaped at her for a moment; as if he couldn't quite comprehend everything that had just happened. With crashing hopes of ever going on a date, or even kissing John for that matter, Monica sighed and pushed a button on the evil piece of technology, "Monica Reyes."
John started toward the door, "Um, I just remembered, I uh, gotta check on something..." She watched him leave with a sinking heart, the door closed and someone shouted, "Agent Reyes? AGENT REYES, ARE YOU THERE?"
She looked at the phone in her hand and put it against her ear in a sad manner, "Yes, I'm here..."
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