Monica came out of her room dressed for work, still chuckling. The 
sight of her three colleaguess sitting around her kitchen table, 
steaming cups of coffee in front of them as they studiously avoided 
each other's eyes, was almost her undoing. She tried to compose 
herself as she poured a cup of coffee for herself. 

"Um, why the early morning visit?", she asked, her voice quivering 
with the effort not to laugh. 

"I had been trying to call John all night to check on him," explained 
Scully, "and when I couldn't get hold of him, I got worried. I called 
A.D. Skinner <Naturally, thought Monica> and he suggested that we go 
over and make sure he was all right. He just got out of the hospital, 
you know," she said, raising accusing eyes at Monica. 

"I was home all night," said John. "ALL night! I don't know why I 
didn't hear the phone. Or maybe I accidently turned the ringer off, 
who knows." 

"Anyway," continued Scully, "after Skinner picked me up, I realized 
we had no way of getting into John's house without breaking down the 
door, and I didn't want to..." Her voice trailed off as Monica turned 
and looked at her own door which was now being held closed by a chair. 

"Well, uh, anyway, we decided to come by here, hoping you might have 
a key to his place, but when we got here and there was no answer at 
the door, I guess," Scully cleared her throat, "I guess my imagination 
got the better of me, and I...had...Skinner...um...break...break 
down...the...uh...", she flapped her hand in the direction of the 
abused door. She gave Monica a weak smile, "I'll pay to get it fixed." 

"What ARE you doing here so early, Agent Doggett?", asked Skinner as 
he tried to take Monica's amused glare off Scully. "If I remember 
correctly, you're supposed to be resting, with no excitement," and he 
looked pointedly at John, "for a few days until the doctors are sure 
you're completely recovered." 

"Yeah, well, I know, but I had this...vivid dream that Monica needed 
my help, so I came over here to make sure she was all right. Sorta 
like you and Agent Scully did, only *I* waited until she answered the 
door," he said. 

"Just barely," murmured Monica. She sighed, "My poor door. My landlord 
is never gonna believe this. Luckily, my neighbors are out of town, 
otherwise they might have called the cops on all of you. NOW what am I 
going to do? I can't leave my apartment open like this, and I need to 
get it fixed today. My parents are coming tomorrow," she explained to 
Skinner and Scully. 

"I'll stay," offered John. Skinner and Scully exchanged glances. "I'll 
see what I can do about getting a carpenter over here as quickly as 
possible." 

"I don't know, John," said Monica, "it would probably be best if you 
went home to rest." 

"I can rest here just as well. All I'll do is use to phone to call 
someone, then sit here and wait for them to do the work. I won't do 
anything else, I promise." 

"Why don't you take the day off?", suggested Scully. "That way you can 
take care of any...little details that you feel need your personal 
attention." She smiled innocently at Monica. 

"I have an interview this morning with a man who says he has one of 
the Loch Ness monsters offspring living in his septic tank, and then 
I'm supposed to meet with Brad Follmer concerning that last case we 
had before John slipped into his coma." She looked over at John and 
saw that he was slowly grinding his teeth. "I should be finished by 
lunchtime," she said quickly, "then I think I will take you up on your 
offer and take the rest of the day off. I can get some cleaning done, 
and make sure John goes home to rest." 

"Well, then, let's get cracking," said Skinner, rising to his feet. 
"Agent Scully?" 

"Yes, sir." She picked up her cup and went to put it in the sink. She 
glanced over at Monica, who had also risen and gone to a drawer and 
pulled out a medicine bottle. 

Shaking out two tablets, she popped them into her mouth and swallowed 
them with a sip of coffee. 

"Are you all right?", asked Scully softly. 

"Cramps," said Monica, showing the bottle to Scully. 

"Midol? Oh. Ooooohhhh. Oh, dear! So, there was no..." 

"DANA!" Her shocked tone covered her embarrassed expression. No, she 
thought, nothing happened, but not because she hadn't wanted to; boy, 
had she wanted to. 

"I'm sorry!", said Scully, patting her friend's arm. "It's just that, 
well, when we came in here and he was, um, *saluting* us, I guess I 
just jumped to the obvious conclusion..." She put her arm around 
Monica's shoulder. "I'm sorry," she repeated. 

"He'd been asleep, Dana, and as a doctor you should know that when men 
sleep, they can have an erection, and, well, that proves nothing." 

"Monica that usually happens after they've been asleep for hours. And 
if you're telling me he'd only been asleep for a short while then I 
don't see how..." She stopped and pressed her lips together. "That man 
must have some very, VERY vivid dreams. And you seem to play an 
important role in all of them." 

Monica blushed, "I don't know what you mean." 

"Yeah, right," snorted Scully. 

******************

"Well, I guess we've seen a whole other side of Agent Doggett," 
chuckled Scully as she and Skinner walked down the steps of Monica's 
apartment building. 

"A little more than I ever wanted to see," muttered Skinner. He 
unlocked the passenger's door of his car and held it as Scully started 
to get in. 

She paused just before sitting down and placed her hand on top of his 
on the car door frame. "I'm sorry I got you into this," she said. "I 
just didn't know who else to call." 

"It's all right," he replied. "Anytime you need anything, you know I'm 
always available to help in any way I can." 

"I know," she said with a smile, "you've been a good friend to both me 
and Mulder and I appreciate it. Next time, thought, I'll try to be a 
little more cautious before insisting we go barging into someone's 
home." She laughed as she sat down and fastened her seatbelt. 

Skinner closed the door and went around to get behind the wheel. 
Mulder, always Mulder. Just once he'd like to have a conversation with 
her and not have that name come up. But, who was he kidding? As long 
as Mulder was gone, she would continued to pine for him. And Skinner 
would be there as a sort of stand-by, someone she could lean on when 
she needed it. But, the instant Mulder re-appeared in her life, if he 
ever did, Skinner would be relegated to the background, like extras on 
a movie set. There to fill in the blank spaces, but not really 
essential to the story line. 

As he put the keys into the ignition, he was startled by her as she 
leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. 

"Thanks for being such a good sport. I know how embarrassing that was 
for me, it must have been doubly so for you," she said as she wiped 
the faint trace of lipstick off his cheek. 

"Uh, well," he said, blushing not from the kiss, but from the thoughts 
that were running through his head, "I've become very familiar with 
Agent Doggetts strong points as an investigator, now I guess I know 
some of his shortcomings." 

She laughed out loud, "Oh, sir, that's what I love about you. You're 
so...adaptable." 

If I had any sense, he thought to himself as he pulled into traffic, 
I'd show her exactly how adaptable, and flexible, and creative, and 
patient. Lord knows, he was patient. If patience was a virtue, then he 
was ready for sainthood. 

************ 

John stood at the big front window of Monica's apartment and watched 
the interchange between Scully and Skinner. 

"What's so interesting?", asked Monica as she came to stand beside 
him, adjusting her jacket as she prepared to leave. 

"Do you think she knows the effect she has on him?", he asked as he 
watched Scully pause before getting into the car, placing her hand on 
Skinner's, then patting it just before she sat down. Then, when they 
saw her laugh and lean over to kiss Skinner's cheek, they turned and 
looked at each other, surprise on both their faces. 

"I hope she doesn't," said Monica. "That would be too cruel if she was 
intentionally playing with his feelings. But, I don't think she does, 
she's not the type to keep men dangling like that. She doesn't need 
that kind of affirmation of her desirability. She probably just sees 
him as a good, true friend and hasn't come to the realization that he 
loves her in any other way." 

"Poor guy," said John with a shake of his head. He turned away from 
the window, "So, I'll call a carpenter and get them started on your 
door. What time do you think your meeting with Follmer will be over?" 

"Why do you do that?", she asked with a puzzled frown. 

"Why do I do what?" 

"Anytime Brad Follmer's name is mentioned, you suddenly look like 
you're posing for the fifth head at Mount Rushmore. Don't tell me 
you're jealous?", she teased. 

"Jealous? Me? Of that low-life, sniveling, sneaky, underhanded, son-of-
a....." 

She laughed, "Oh, good. I thought you might actually dislike him." She 
wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her head against his. 
"I'll be back as soon as I can. And don't worry, you've nothing to be 
jealous of with Brad. I've got exactly what I want right here, and I 
intend to keep it for a while." 

"Only a while?", he asked as he kissed her temple. 

"Don't you know, Agent Doggett? Time is relative. A while could be a 
long, long time." She smiled as she turned her face to his. 

And as they kissed, time, indeed, did seem to stand still.

*****************

After elicting promises from John that he would sit quietly and wait 
for a carpenter, Monica left for work. He went to the window and 
watched her get into her car and drive away. He waited a couple of 
minutes, then went to his truck and got a 25-foot metal tape measure 
out of his glove box. 

He carefully measured the door frame, inspected the locks, deciding to 
replace the double-barrel deadbolt, and, if he could find the tools, 
adding a single-barrel lock. The chain, of course, was broken and 
dangling from the door. For a man his age, Skinner sure packed a 
whallop. 

He waited until he knew Monica was at work before leaving her 
apartment. Sure enough, she called to check on him. 

"Are you all right?", she asked. 

"Yeah, I'm fine. Sittin' here, bored out of my gourd, but I found a 
carpenter and he should be here in about thirty minutes. Don't worry 
about a thing, okay? Just, have a good time interviewing the Sh*t Ness 
Monster, or whatever. I'll see you later." 

As soon as they hung up, John went into action. He closed the door to 
Monica's apartment as carefully as he could, then dashed to his truck 
and headed for the nearest home improvement mega-store. Fortunately, 
he found a very knowledgeable employee <Would wonders never cease?> 
who helped him get all the things he needed to repair the door, and 
rented him the few power tools that would be required, he loaded 
everything and headed back. 

After three hours of steady work, he was at last able to stand back 
and admire the job he'd done. Impressive, he thought. I hate to brag, 
but, DAMN, I'm good. Smiling proudly, he put the tools back into his 
truck to return to the store, taking along a splinter of the old frame 
so he could get paint to match. It would be completely dry by the time 
she got home. 

When he returned to the apartment, he realized he was getting tired. 
And he hadn't eaten. But, first things first. He primed the new wood, 
and while he waited for it to dry, he cleaned up the mess he'd made 
putting in the new lock. When he checked the primer, it was still a 
little tacky, so he decided to find something to eat while he waited a 
while longer. 

He went to her cabinets and found...hmmm, well, a whole lotta nothing. 
He checked her freezer and she seemed to have a real love for *Lean 
Cuisine*. There must have been one package of each type of meal. All 
that sodium, he thought as he took out a package of some kind of 
chicken with vegetables and rice. He popped it into the microwave, 
then went to sit on the sofa until it was ready. 

The next thing he knew, he was being shaken gently. 

"John? John, are you all right?" 

He opened his eyes to see Monica's worried face close to his. "Hi," he 
smiled. "What time is it? What are you doing home so early?" He 
stretched and yawned. "I must have dozed off." 

She straightened up and put her hands on her hips, glaring at him. 
"It's three o'clock," she said sternly. "Exactly what have you been 
doing that would make you sleep so solidly that I couldn't rouse you. 
I was beginning to get scared." 

"Nothing," he said, wincing as he tried to stand. His muscles had 
tightened while he'd slept. 

"Nothing? Let me see your hands," she demanded. 

"Why?" 

"Just let me see them." 

"Monica, I'm not a child to be told what to...." 

"Let...me...see...your...hands!" 

He sighed and held them out for inspection. His palms were blistered, 
and one fingernail was turning blue where he'd dropped the wood on it. 

"I thought you were going to call a carpenter," she reminded him as 
she crossed her arms. 

"Uh, there were none available," he lied. "Besides, do you know how 
much they'd charge for coming out here on an emergency call? I got it 
done a whole lot faster, and a whole lot cheaper." 

"That's not the point," she said angrily. "John, you've just gotten ut 
of the hospital, after being in an unexplained coma for almost a 
month. AND after having seizures. You KNOW you shouldn't be doing 
anything that might cause you to get sick again. I can't believe you'd 
do anything so irresponsible...." 

"Look," he said, his own anger rising, "I am NOT going to become an 
invalid. I refuse to lie down and give up doing what I want to do 
because I was sick for a while. I feel fine, Monica, in fact, I feel 
great." 

"You sure as hell don't look it!", she snapped. "You're pale and look 
at your hands tremble. I bet you haven't eaten, have you?" 

His guilty look was confession enough. 

"Damn it, John!", she cried. "I don't want you to get sick again. I 
was so afraid that I was going to lose...I don't want you to get like 
that again." She swallowed hard. "I...I just want you to be all right." 

His anger started to subside when he saw the tears in her eyes. He 
took her in his arms and she held him fiercely, protectively. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered in her ear. "I just wanted to do something 
for you. You'd taken such good care of me in the hospital and I 
thought it was the least I could do. Maybe I shouldn't have done so 
much, quite so soon, but Monica," he pulled back from her a little, "I 
don't like being babied. I'm fine, and I'm gonna stay fine. Understand?" 

She nodded yes, even though she thought he was just being stubborn and 
entirely too macho. 

"Okay, Superman, whatever you say," she said. She started to step 
away, but he stopped her. 

"Not so fast," he grinned, "I think you need a lesson here, something 
so you won't forget." He pulled her back into his arms and began 
kissing her neck. One hand slid down her back to her backside and he 
squeezed it gently. 

"Sorry, but it looks like you're gonna be the one to suffer," she said 
with an sigh. "Or maybe, both of us." 

"C'mon, Monica, I'm not that bad," he muttered against her neck. "Let 
me show you before you jump to any conclusions." 

"Neither of us or jumping anything, for a few days," she said, finally 
breaking away. "Not to conclusions, and definitely NOT each other." 

"But...?...your family's not coming until tomorrow," he said, confused. 

"It doesn't matter. Surely you haven't been divorced so long that 
you've forgotten about those times each month when NOTHING happened?" 
She arched her eyebrows. 

"Each mon....?", he stopped, then the light went off over his head. 
"Oh. Oooohhhh. Oh, sh*t." 

**************

John arrived early at the restaurant he had chosen for dinner with the 
Reyes' family. He had decided on this particular one because it had an 
outstanding reputation for seafood. Monica had reassured him that it 
didn't matter where they ate, her parents were not picky, nor did he 
need to try to impress them. 

He assured *her* that he wasn't trying to impress anyone, that he just 
wanted to make sure they had a chance to try some of the best seafood 
that the East Coast of the United States had to offer. He could hear 
her smile into the phone, knowing he was not being completely honest, 
but forgiving him just the same. 

They had not seen each other since he had replaced the doorframe 
several days before, but she had called him at his place every day to 
give him an update on her parents' visit. Actually, she called because 
she missed him, although she gave no indication of that to her mother. 
As far as her mother knew, they were just co-workers; although, the 
reason why her mother insisted on meeting John stymied Monica. She had 
never asked to meet any of the other people her daughter had been 
partnered with. Except for Brad, her mother had been crazy about Brad 
Follmer and had taken it hard when they (okay, MONICA) had decided to 
call off their relationship. 

John approached the hostess and gave her his name. She ran her finger 
down the list of reservations, flipped to a second page to continue 
her search. She shook her head slightly as she turned back to the 
first page. 

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't see your name. What time did you say your 
reservations were for?" 

"Eight o'clock," he said, trying to remain calm. "I called two days 
ago and spoke to a Deanna. Would you mind looking again?" 

"And the name is....?" 

"Doggett," he sighed, "D*O*G*G*E*T*T. John Doggett, reservation for 
four at eight o'clock." 

"Ah, yes, here it is. I'm sorry, I thought it read *O'Gegh*. Yes, 
reservation for four. Your table will be ready in about 45 minutes." 

"For...? Wait a minute, why the long wait, if I've all ready made 
reservations?" The Reyes' would be arriving shortly, and he wasn't 
sure how they'd take to having wait that long. 

"I'm sorry, sir," the hostess said in voice that did not sound the 
least apologetic, "we have a rather large party that is taking a 
little longer than we anticipated. As soon as they leave, we'll have 
your table ready." She turned her attention from John, effectively 
dismissing him as she smiled broadly at the couple behind him. 
"Welcome, Mr. Carville, Ms. Maitlin. Please, follow me, your table is 
ready." 

John shook his head as the bald, squinty-eyed man and the dark-haired 
woman followed the suddenly subservient hostess did everything but bow 
and grovel as she led them to a corner table. 

Humpf, he thought, power and fame could get you anything in 
Washington. What the dark-haired conservative saw in that little 
rapid-talking, over-opinionated, son of the South liberal was beyond 
him. He guessed there were more bizarre couplings that politics 
brought together, but at the moment he couldn't think of any. 

His musings were interrupted by the appearance of Monica and her 
parents. He tried to keep his face impassive as he greeted them, but 
his eyes had brightened when he saw her for the first time in days. 

He clasped his hands behind his back to keep from taking her hand. 

"John," she said as they crowded into the tiny entrance to the 
restaurant, "I'd like you to meet my mother and father. Mom, Dad, this 
is my partner, John Doggett." 

"Juan Andres Reyes," said the tall good looking man as he extended his 
hand. "But everyone calls me Andy." He smiled broadly at John as the 
two shook hands. "May I call you John?" 

"Yes, please," said John. Monica obviously taken after her father in 
appearance. She had his eyes and the same mouth that would probably 
set in a straight line when he was angry or upset. 

John turned to greet Mrs. Reyes and realized this petite, blonde-
haired woman was going to be a force to be reckoned with. While she 
smiled politely at him, her eyes were steely, looking him over as if 
he were something unpleasant she'd found on the bottom of her shoe. 

"Mrs. Reyes," he said, trying to not appear intimidated by her. He 
took her hand in his, a rather limp hand that he shook delicately. 

"Enriqueta Reyes," she said, her accent somewhat more pronounced than 
her husband's. John noticed that she did not give him permission to 
call her by her first name. 

"Uh, are you enjoying your trip to the United States?", he asked. 

"I'm an American, Mr. Doggett," she informed him coldly. "Don't let my 
accent fool you. And it's not my first trip back, in case my daughter 
hasn't informed you." She looked around the restaurant, sizing it up 
as she had John. 

He cleared his throat, "It seems there's going to be a little delay 
with our table, but hopefully that'll only whet our appetites and make 
the seafood that more enjoyable. They have some of the best...." 

"Seafood?", interrupted Mrs. Reyes. 

"Y-y-yes," John stammered. "I..I thought you might like to have some 
fresh crabs, or lobster, or..." His voice trailed off. "Is there a 
problem." 

"I'm allergic to shellfish."

**************

"You are not!", laughed Monica. 
"Yes, I am," said Mrs. Reyes. 

"Since when?", asked Monica as she realized her mother was not teasing. 

"Since I had an allergic reaction to some crab ceviche I ate at your Uncle Humberto's. I broke out in terrible hives. The doctor could only come to the conclusion I had developed an allergy to shellfish." Mrs. Reyes patted her hair, making sure the twist of blonde hair had not come loose from its clasp. 

"Did he do any testing to make sure? Or is this one of those hand-patting techniques Dr. Cuellar has developed when dealing with well-to-do neurotic women? Mother, I've seen you eat enough shrimp to put a dock-worker to shame. How can you suddenly develop an allergy to something you have been eating for years?" Monica was upset, afraid that John would think her mother was always this difficult. 

"Nikita, please...", her father started. 

"I tell you what," interrupted John, "why don't we find somewhere else to eat? I'm sorry, Mrs. Reyes, if I had known I would never have chosen this place. But, luckily, here in Washington there are plenty of places we can choose from. What do you feel like eating?" 

"But..but *I* would like to eat here," protested Monica. "I've heard so much about this place." 

"Monica, if your mother can't eat seafood, there's no sense in staying," reasoned John. 

"No, please, do not let me ruin your plans. I'm sure the menu has some other choices besides shellfish. I can always eat a salad, or something. Besides, I need to watch my weight," Mrs. Reyes said as she adjusted the sleeves to the jacket of the size-4 pearl-gray suit she was wearing. 

Monica flushed and looked away. She had always felt like some kind of over-sized frump next to her mother. And even though the dress she was wearing was a very nice black sheath, a size 8, sadly, she decided she was had once again worn exactly the wrong thing. 

John noticed the tense interplay between mother and daughter. After his initial plea to this daughter, Andy Reyes had taken no part in the exchange, probably having decided years ago that it would do no good to get caught between his wife and his daughter. John, however, was bothered by the look of discomfort in Monica's eyes, and he wanted to somehow reassure her. 

"Sir," said the hostess, suddenly appearing at his elbow, "your table is ready." 

"Oh, I'm not sure we're staying...." 

"No, of course we're staying," said Andy Reyes. "Rikki, I'm sure this lovely young lady," and he smiled charmingly at the hostess, "can find something for you to nibble on while we feast. Now, let's sit down; I'm starving and I'm definitely on a seafood diet." 

"Oh, Dad," laughed Monica, "not that old joke." She slipped her hand into the crook of her father's arm and they followed the hostess. John held out his arm for Mrs. Reyes, and she took it reluctantly. 

"Monica would do well to watch her diet, don't you think, Mr. Doggett?" the older woman said as they followed after the others. 

"I think she looks fine," he said. "She's as every bit as lovely as her mother." 

"My daughter takes after my husband's side of the family. She's nothing like her sisters. She was always taller than the others, more...robust. She always preferred to be out with her father, digging in the mud, looking for potsherds. I never understood her fascination with finding out why things happened as they did." 

"I think that's what makes her such a good investigator," said John. "And, personally, I think she's a beautiful, intelligent woman." 

Mrs. Reyes arched one eyebrow in disbelief, then slid into the semi-sircular banquette the hostess had prepared for them. Monica and her mother sat in the middle, with Andy and John on the outside. When John slipped in to sit next to Monica, he took her hand under the table and interlaced his fingers with hers. He squeezed gently, and she returned the gesture. She turned her head slightly towards him and gave him a small grateful smile. 

***************