Categories > TV > X-Files

Nothing Important Happened Today

by CerasiJ 0 reviews

Monica's fears and feelings after the episode 4D. [Doggett/Reyes]

Category: X-Files - Rating: PG - Genres: Angst, Drama, Romance - Characters: Other - Warnings: [!!!] - Published: 2006-02-13 - Updated: 2006-02-13 - 2807 words - Complete

Title: Nothing Important Happened Today
Author: Cerasi J.
Rating: PG
Summary: Monica's feelings after the episode 4-D.
Category: DRR
Spoilers: 4D
Disclaimer: No, no, no, I don't own John Doggett, (But I want to! Why can't I?! WHY WHY WHY!??!), Monica Reyes, (I'm sure my brother would like to own her o.O), or anything X-File-ish.
Author's Note: So I stole an episode title and used it on a fic... it sounded good at the time. This fic is told from Monica's POV.

Monica Reyes residence
67 Bennett Ave.
Washington D.C.
1:47 a.m.


I can't sleep. I'm so scared. So much has happened today... so much I don't understand... one minute John was a vegetable and the next minute he stood in my kitchen as if nothing happened...

I pulled the blankets closer around me. I felt cold, even though it's almost 80 degrees in my apartment. I think back on the events of the day, Lukesh had held a knife to my throat just a few hours ago in another world. I shivered; I could still feel his clammy fingers gripping my neck, and the blade of the knife pressing against my windpipe.

I sat up in bed, my fuzzy blanket still tight about my shoulders. And I killed John. It was his last wish, yes, you can never deny a last wish, but it was me who pulled the plug. Me who turned off the machines and me who brought him back to this world and righted things.

But... if he was living in my world, hadn't I killed him in another? What about me? Wasn't I dead in that world too? Hadn't Lukesh killed me himself? I was dead so many times over I didn't know what was real anymore. I looked fearfully towards my window, if Lukesh was dead here... couldn't he be alive someplace else? He could find me; kill me again, so I'd be dead in all worlds. The air around me seemed colder still; I heard a small creak from the kitchen and jumped. Probably nothing/, I told myself, /just a mouse... you know how bad mice are in this building...

I looked toward my nightstand, thanking God my gun was still beside me, I had thought about putting it on the pillow beside me, but I was afraid it might accidentally discharge. I took three deep breaths and told myself to relax; Lukesh was dead and gone... John was at his house, probably sleeping and was perfectly fine... you're fine and well, everything was going to be all right.

I laid back down and closed my eyes. The first vision that came into my mind was John laying in the hospital bed, eyes closed, his head and neck steadied with some sort of brace.

His eyes opened when I stepped in the room, he looked at me with calm resolution and acceptance of his fate.

I gasped and bolted upright again, that look... that acceptance was too real for me. It chilled me right to my bones. My thoughts echoed in my head, I was dead so many times over I didn't know what was real anymore. My hands clenched into fist, my fingernails dug into the palms of my hands, drawing little drops of blood.

I had to get out of here, I couldn't stay here tonight, I'd go insane. My thoughts changed gears and two words now bounced about inside my skull: John's dead. I placed my hands to my cheeks like a dramatic woman in a soap opera and fought back tears.

No, no, no, no/, I repeated to myself over and over; /You can't crack, don't break down Monica, don't break down!

I looked toward the window again, I needed to leave this place, it seemed evil. But, where would I go? I couldn't go to Dana's place, with the baby going through one of those cry-all-night-and-keep-your-parents-up phases, I think she'd kill me. Ugh, there was no way I was going to Brad's, that was out of the question. So was Skinner.

This left only John. I climbed out of bed, as soon as my feet touched the floor I bolted for the light switch. Soft-white light flooded the room; it dulled the evil-looking shadows lurking in the dark corners. I breathed a sigh of relief, and looked around my room. It didn't look quite as scary with the lights on... the same vision of John blossomed before my eyes and even with the lights on, the room was scary again.

I heard another creak, my heart sped up, I reached for my gun, "Who's there?" I called. Silence. I could hear my clock ticking, my air conditioner humming...


I cocked my gun, "Hello?" Nothing. Only silence greeted me. I waited five minutes. Then ten. The clock was now turning 2:23 a.m. I stood, and, making my decision, I dashed for my closet.
A few minutes later I emerged wearing my trench coat over what I called PJs, which consisted of a black long sleeved shirt and black sweat pants, and an old pair of sandals. I didn't even bother with the holster; I just tucked my gun into the pocket of my coat, (With the safety on, of course.) I left the lights on; I started toward my front door.

I walked carefully down the hallway connecting my room with the living and dining rooms. Pausing every few minutes to listen. When I was finally sure there one no one in my apartment, save for me, I continued on to the front door.

When I was almost to the kitchen, a small, furry, brown mouse ran out of the bathroom, ran over my feet and made a mad dash into the guest bedroom. I screamed. I clapped my hands over my mouth, and heard myself making a few little shocked gasping noises. That was it. That was what pushed me over the edge.

Without care or cause I grabbed my keys from the kitchen counter, and rushed out the door. By the time I got to the parking lot I was at a full run. I unlocked the door, jumped inside and quickly relocked the doors.

John Doggett residence
Falls Church, Virginia
2:38 a.m.


Fifteen minutes later, after running a few red lights and cutting off a few late-night people, I arrived at John's house. I parked on the street, my thoughts racing madly in my head. Should I even really be here? I should have just dealt with it myself... I felt like a little girl again, going into my parent's room and asking if I could sleep there, I had a bad dream.

I wasn't a little girl anymore; I hadn't been for a very long time. What was I thinking? That John would pat me on the back, give me a kiss and send me back to bed? That I would take one look at him and forget everything that happened to me?

I sighed, and put the car in drive again. I checked in my mirror and waited for a car to pass. My nails dug into the hard leather of the steering wheel, I'm sure the wheel would have screamed in pain if it could have.

Lukesh grinning evilly at me as I stood in the police station.

John taking his last breath.

Lukesh holding a knife to my throat.

John begging me to pull the plug.





John's eyes haunted me. That acceptance, that knowing that it was all done, game over. I would never forget that look. It would linger in my mind for as long as I lived.

I put the car in park again, got out, and ran up the walk to John's front door. I pounded heavily on it, rang the bell a hundred thousand times, my thoughts hammered at my brain, my heart beat madly, my knees felt weak.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity the porch light came on, the deadbolt snapped, and the door opened, revealing a sleepy looking, shirtless John. He blinked at me, "Monica? Do you know what time it is?"

2 Doggetts cant exist in 1 world. U can fix.

For a moment I only gaped at him. "Monica? It's 2:45 A.M., do you know that?"

I stared at him a second longer, all of the memories I'd ever had of John racing through my brain at a hundred miles an hour. All the thoughts, feelings, looks we'd ever shared. Fear had twisted my stomach into knots as I stared at him, staring at me, trying to figure out why I was beating down his door. Emotion overwhelmed me at last and I burst into tears. "Oh John," I sobbed, "I'm so scared, Lukesh held a knife-... and shot you-... and I pulled the plug..."

"Hey, hey!" He said, obviously very surprised at my sudden outburst, he grabbed my arm, and pulled me into the house. "What's wrong? What happened to you?"

I couldn't even answer him I was crying so hard. He turned off the porch light and relocked the door. John blinked at me again, "Are you high?" he asked. I shook my head, "N-no."

He placed his hands on my shoulders and gave me a little shake, looking at me with those intense ice blue eyes of his, "Hey, Monica, it's all right, I have no idea what the hell you are babbling about or who this Lukesh person is, but it'll be okay," he leaned forward and planted a kiss on my forehead.

This gesture of kindness sent me into fresh rounds of tears.

John obviously had no idea as to what I had been through in the past eight hours. I let him remove my coat for me, where he found my gun stashed in the pocket. "Monica." He raised his eyebrows at me, "A trench coat AND a loaded firearm? Did you hold up a 7-11 or something?"

He smiled a little, but all I could manage was, "Lukesh tried-... kill me-... scared." At this he frowned, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Someone tried to kill you?" I nodded.

He placed my gun on an end table, and threw my jacket over a chair. "Well, why did you come over here? Why didn't you call the police?" John met my eyes with confusion written all over his face. I still couldn't speak, I covered my eyes with my hands, my shoulders shook with sobs.

Worry etched it's way onto John's face, "Aw, hey, Monica..." He stepped forward and took me in his arms, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you..."

"John," I whimpered, "I-..." I attempted to use the palm of my hand to scrub the tears from my face.

He stood for a moment, holding me in an awkward hug. "Shh, it's okay, something must have messed you up good, are you sure you're not high?"

I pushed him away and yelled, "I'm not high! I've never done drugs in my life!" Wow. I actually finished an entire sentence that time. He held up his hands in a surrendering gesture, "Okay, okay, sorry!"

I sniffled, "I've-... been trying to-... tell you."

He raised his eyebrows at me, "Tell me what? The only thing I can figure out is that you've held up a 7-11 and you want to use my house as a hide out."

I gave him a half-hearted smile, "I didn't-... rob-... 7-11-... never even-... been to one."

John smiled at me, oh God, how good it was to have him back. How good it was to see him up and walking around and not depending on other people for everything...

I bit my lip to hold in a new wave of tears.

It finally must have dawned on him how much pain I was in emotionally. He took my hand and lead me to his living room; he sat down on an over-stuffed couch and pulled me down beside him. I looked around, I never realized before what a nice house he had, very well kept and certainly much cleaner then mine... but on the other hand, I just moved in.

And truth be known, I would have done anything to move out again.
John held my hand tight, "Now, why are you coming over to my house at all hours in the morning? You said someone tried to kill you, but I don't think that's the whole story..."

I sighed. Tears dripped from my chin, ugh, I had never cried in front of John before, why did I have to start now?

He did something that surprised me very much; he reached out and brushed the tears running down my face. My mom used to do it all the time when I cried, no big deal, but when John did it, he did it with such tenderness that made me want to cry too.

"Thanks," I mumbled, I tried to smile at him, but that just wasn't possible. His expression was unreadable, I was pretty sure he was thinking about calling the nut-house on me.

I wiped at my eyes, "I'm not crazy if that's what you think."

"I never said you were," he whispered. I gave him a side-long glance that read, "Yeah. Right." John reached out and brushed back my hair, "Monica."

I looked up at him, and answered, "Yes?" (Only it actually came out sounding like "Yesh?").

The corners of his mouth quirked into a smile, "I am glad you came to me."

"Oh, John..." I reached over and hugged him tightly; he hugged me back just as tight. I was powerless to stop my tears again.


Almost an hour later I finished with my story, towards the end, when I told John about me pulling the plug on him I almost started to cry again. John pulled me into a tight embrace and held me close.

"I'm glad you did," he whispered to me, "That takes a very strong person to do that, and if something like that happened to me in this life, I'd probably want the same thing."

I sniffled, "No. I couldn't do it, not again. Not to you." He rested his cheek on the top of my head and sighed. "Why not?"
"Could you imagine pulling the plug on me?" I countered. He stopped and thought for a moment. At last, he said, "No... I could never do it. Not in a million years, even if you begged me to, I couldn't bring myself to do it."

I smiled, "See?" John chuckled and nodded, "Yeah. Now I do." He was quiet again, and then all of a sudden he hugged me so tightly I swore my eyes come out of my head.

He brushed back my hair and kissed me on my temple, "How you did it is beyond me... I mean, I'm not saying you're not brave, because you are, but my God, I could never do that."

"I'm not brave," I replied, "I-... I just had to do it. To get back here, to you." I sat wondering for a moment, wondering if John was lamenting the fact that I was so brave to do such a deed or if he was amazed that I did it so I could get back to him.

All of a sudden I felt very stupid. I had poured my heart out to John, and all he could say is, "Wow, you're brave!" Gee, thanks.

I stood, "I'd better be going." John looked surprised, he jumped to his feet, "No, stay. Please?"

I couldn't keep that hurt feeling away, "Why?"

He blinked at me once. Twice. "Well, I-..."

I looked at my feet, "Thanks for listening to me John, I feel
better now."

John blinked again, "B-but! I want you to stay!"

"But why? Why do you want me to stay?" I asked.

He looked at me with sad eyes, "Because I need you."

Now it was my turn to blink. "You do?"

"Yes. I do. I always have," John put his hands on my shoulders and drew me close, kissing me. I was so surprised; all I could do was just let him kiss me.

He pulled back and looked into my eyes, "I love you, Monica." He said it with such sincerity; I knew it had to be true. I smiled a little bit, my voice came out in a whisper, "I love you too, John."

He held me tight and said, "I knew you did. I've always known."
I smiled as he held me; I could feel my eyes starting to droop. Maybe tonight sleep would come at last. I positioned my head on his shoulder and sighed. I think I might have drifted off because the last thing I remember hearing was John chuckling and saying, "I still don't know anyone who eats polish sausage with plates."

The End.
Sign up to rate and review this story