Title: The Call
by SLS
Classification: S, Flashback
Rating: PG
Spoilers: This is Not Happening
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me...yada, yada, yada.

Summary: "...it seemed their paths were destined to cross 
again following a simple phone call."

Notes: This is what you might call a "follow-up" to a 
previous story, "Let Me Take You Home Tonight," which you 
don't *have* to read for this story to make sense. But I 
wouldn't mind if you did. ;) It takes place shortly before 
we first meet Agent Monica Reyes on-screen in "This is Not 
Happening."

Feedback: I'd love it. Send to siriasl@yahoo.com.

Archive: IWTB, XFMU, The Vision, Gossamer, Spookys. 
Everyone else, please let me know so I can come see. 

Thanks: A big thanks to my fantastic betas - sallie and 
MeridyM. Many grateful HUGS to you both. :) And sallie - I 
promise that a smut romp is soon-to-come! ;)

The Call
by SLS


A red, blinking light greeted her as she plopped down into 
her desk chair. 

Monica Reyes rubbed her eyes and debated whether or not to 
check her voice mail before leaving. It was after 6 p.m. 
and she'd been out in the field since 5 o'clock that 
morning. She was tired. She ached. She just wanted to go 
home, run herself a warm bubble bath and relax her sore 
muscles while drinking a glass of wine.  

Something told her to check the messages--just a feeling 
she had. She couldn't explain it. It nagged at her though.  

Hitting the voice mail button on her phone, the automated 
voice said she had one message from an outside number. She 
didn't recognize it save for the area code - 202 - 
Washington, D.C. However, she recognized the caller's voice 
from the first, raspy, New York-accented word of the 
message.

"Agent Reyes, this is John Doggett," he began. Monica took 
a short breath when he said his name. "Someone in the New 
York office gave me this number as a place I could reach 
you. I'm probably the last person you expected to hear 
from." 

'You could say that,' she thought to herself, a flutter 
building in her stomach. 

"Anyway, I'm at the FBI myself now, working on an 
investigative unit called the X-Files in D.C.," he 
continued. "I'm on a case out in Montana that I thought you 
could give me some insight on. Please give me a call when 
you get a chance. 202-404-1960. Hope to hear from you 
soon."

Monica stared at the wall in front of her and slowly placed 
the receiver back on the cradle. John Doggett. She took 
another breath - this one a bit deeper - and leaned back in 
her chair.  

She and John hadn't seen nor spoken to each other since 
shortly after their one night together nearly four years 
earlier. After that night, she'd only seen John briefly at 
the police station as they tied up loose ends on his son's 
murder case. Luke's memorial service had been small and 
private, so Monica had sent a small bouquet of flowers to 
the chapel. 

She heard he'd left the NYPD about the same time she was 
transferred to the New Orleans field office, but she didn't 
know where he had gone. Now it seemed their paths were 
destined to cross again following a simple phone call. 

Monica picked up a pen and began twirling it absently 
between her fingers. Hearing his voice again sent a flurry 
of thoughts and images to the forefront of her mind. John's 
deep, piercing blue eyes as he looked into hers that night. 
His rough, weathered hands caressing her face as he 
urgently kissed her on the sofa.  The intense rush of 
pleasure she felt as they came together in her bed with 
abandon. Despite the years that had passed since that 
night, she shivered, reliving the memories of that time as 
if it had occurred only the previous night.   

They'd never spoken about their brief encounter in the few 
times they'd seen each other after that night.   Monica had 
known from the moment John left her bed that it was a one-
time moment of escape for both of them.  The guilt John 
must have felt afterwards was something she could only 
imagine, and was almost certainly more intense than the 
guilt she herself felt. He was an honorable man, and it 
wouldn't have surprised her in the least if all he did 
after that night was try to forget about her, in an attempt 
to move on regain his life somehow.

She had moved on with her life as well. Shortly after Luke 
Doggett's case was closed, she'd begun a relationship with 
a fellow agent, Brad Follmer, her supervisor in charge of 
the New York field office.  He was charismatic, attractive, 
and ambitious, and she had fallen hard and fast for him. 
Theirs was a passionate and intense affair that was exactly 
what she had needed at the time. 

However, after only a short two years, Monica abruptly 
ended the relationship and accepted a transfer to New 
Orleans. The word was that Brad was soon promoted to an 
assistant director's position at FBI headquarters in D.C. 
She grinned at the possibility of John and Brad passing one 
another in the hallway at the Hoover. 

Shaking herself out of the trip to the past, Monica's mind 
returned to the present. She set the pen down and picked up 
the phone receiver. Dialing the number he had left, she 
tried to calm the nervous jitters in her stomach while she 
waited for him to pick up on the other end.

"John Doggett," he answered.

"John, hi, it's Monica Reyes," she said, a small smile 
forming on her lips. "I got your message."

"Glad you were able to call me back tonight. I wasn't sure 
if you'd get my message before you went home for the day," 
he said. "How are you, Monica?"  

She took a breath before answering. "I'm good," she 
answered. "Been working hard down here in Bayou country. 
Don't miss those New York winters too much either," she 
chuckled. "How's work in Washington? Like being among the 
big wigs now?" she asked.

"It certainly is a whole new world down here," he said, his 
voice flat. Monica sensed there was more to his new 
assignment in D.C. that was he wasn't saying, but she 
didn't want to push him for more information now.   

"So, what's this case you're working on right now, John?" 
she asked.

"Actually, it's a long-running investigation that's been 
going on since last spring," he explained. "Another agent, 
a man named Fox Mulder, went missing from Oregon last May, 
and his partner and I have been searching for him since 
then. We think we might have caught a break, though. 
Someone else who disappeared shortly before Agent Mulder 
did - in much the same fashion - recently resurfaced."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Monica fidgeted in her 
seat and wrestled with what to say next. 

"So, what can I do for the investigation?"  she finally 
asked, eager to get the conversation going again before she 
had too much time to let her mind wander.

"Well, the other abductee we found had signs of what might 
be ritualistic abuse. Since she was taken around the same 
time as Agent Mulder and in the same way, we were hoping 
that clues from her being returned could help us locate him 
somehow," he continued. "However, she's disappeared from 
the hospital, so we're back to square one, trying to find 
her again."

"I'm still not sure what it is you think I can do for your 
case, John," Monica said. "What expertise do you think I 
could bring?"

John took a deep breath before answering. "I was hoping you 
could take a look at her x-rays to see how her injuries 
might compare to other signs of abuse you've seen before," 
he said.  "Maybe use your previous experience to work up a 
way to not only find the person who took her but maybe even 
help discover a way to find Mulder as well."

Monica picked up her pen and began to doodle on a notepad. 
"Well, I'd certainly like to help if I can," she said. 
"When and where do you need me?"

"I'm in Helena, Montana, right now," he told her. "How soon 
could you get out here?"

She looked at her watch. It was now nearly 7 o'clock.  
"I'll try to catch the first flight in the morning from 
here," she said. "Want me to give you a call when I land?"

"Sure," he said. "I really appreciate this, Monica."

"It's my pleasure," she said warmly. Then, that 
uncomfortable silence was back. "I hope I can help with 
your case."

"I'm sure you will," he replied. "I'll look forward to 
seeing you tomorrow when you arrive. Have a safe trip. 
'Night." 

"Thanks. Bye." With those few last words, she hung up the 
phone and leaned back in her chair again. 

Her mind was racing in so many directions. Agreeing to help 
out John with his case was one thing - a professional 
courtesy she was happy to perform. But now she was more 
concerned about how she would feel seeing him again face-
to-face. She thought she'd put the past behind her when it 
came to John, but now - having talked to him and knowing 
she'd be seeing him again after so long - she wasn't so 
sure.  

Gathering up her coat, she made her way out to her car. 
Driving down the dimly lit streets of downtown New Orleans, 
Monica realized that her mind was wandering again. 

After she and John had discovered Luke's body, the very 
next time she'd seen John was when they'd crossed paths in 
the police station two days later.  She'd stopped by to 
sign off on their joint report from the autopsy on Luke. 

"How are you, John?" she had asked, trying to make simple 
conversation as comfortably as she knew how.

"Uh, I'm okay. Busy planning the memorial service on 
Saturday," he'd said, avoiding her eyes. Before Monica 
could ask her next question, he'd offered the information.  
"It's going to be a private ceremony. Barbara and I decided 
to have Luke cremated."      

Monica had sighed. "Well, you both have my deepest 
condolences."

"Thanks, we appreciate that," he said quickly. Glancing 
down at his watch, he then said a hasty good-bye and 
hurried out the double doors of the station. Monica's last 
look at him was him walking off toward his car, his wife, 
and the life he'd had before he met her.  





Monica pulled up to her apartment. Inside, she shed her 
clothes and ran herself a bath to help her relax.  Maybe it 
would help her sleep better.  She had a long day ahead of 
her.  





Delta Airlines Flight 793 took off from the runway at the 
New Orleans International Airport at 7:25 a.m. on its way 
to Helena. Monica leaned her seat back and closed her eyes 
for a brief nap before the first stopover in Dallas. 
However, they drifted back open as she began to wonder what 
exactly she was doing. 

On one level, she knew she was going out there to do a job. 
Despite not knowing what she was heading into, she felt a 
loyalty to John that was somewhat unexplainable, 
considering how briefly they'd actually worked together.  
But it was this professional fidelity, she reasoned, that 
was drawing her out to help him now.

Looking out the plane window, Monica smiled at the thought 
of seeing John again. The last image she had of him was a 
man physically and emotionally haggard, yet undeniably 
attractive in the strength with which he carried himself.  
His face had been stubbled, not in a reckless, unruly way, 
but in a rough fashion that reflected a man whose 
priorities at that time hadn't included his appearance. 

At the conclusion of their investigation into Luke's death, 
several suspects had been questioned, but no one was ever 
charged.  Monica knew that ate away at John, a tough-
natured, stubborn New York cop who wasn't satisfied until 
he solved a case completely. She wondered now - four years 
later - how John would approach another missing person's 
case. 

Surely he had worked on them before and after Luke's death, 
but Monica sensed from his voice on the phone that this 
case was different. Perhaps it was a similar situation, 
where the person taken had a very personal connection to 
the person left behind. If that were the case, she was sure 
that John's experience with his own son would drive him 
even harder to find this Agent Mulder - quickly, and alive. 

"Guess I'll see for myself soon enough," she said aloud 
softly, opening her eyes long enough to pull down the 
airplane window shade. Reclining her seat back, Monica 
closed her eyes once again, and tried to picture John's 
face, not as it was in her memory, but as it would be when 
once again they met.  He'd be a little more worn, both 
physically and emotionally, but had he changed a lot?  Had 
she?  Monica took a deep breath and slowly drifted into 
sleep as the plane continued its way towards Dallas.





Monica had been sleeping so soundly she didn't even notice 
when the plane landed on the ground in Helena. When she 
heard the "ding" of the seatbelt sign, she rubbed her eyes, 
unbuckled her seatbelt, grabbed her coat and overnight bag 
and headed off the plane onto the jetway. Once in the 
terminal, she sat down and pulled her cell phone out of her 
coat pocket.

She dialed John's cell phone number, glancing at her watch 
while it rang. Only 1:22 p.m. local time though she felt as 
though she had been flying for days.  

"Doggett," his voice picked up on the other end, catching 
her off-guard. 

"Um, hi, John. It's Monica," she said, standing up to walk 
towards the sign that read 'Baggage Claim/Ground 
Transportation.' "I just got off the plane."

"Great. Glad you made it in all right," he said. Monica 
noticed a sense of heaviness in his tone. "Do you have a 
car yet?"

"I was just on my way to get one now," she replied, making 
her way amongst the other travelers. "Do you have an 
address for me?"

There was a short pause. "Yeah, let's meet up at the Helena 
Police Department to start," he said. John then gave her 
the directions and told her to ask for him when she 
arrived. "From there, I'll take you to the site where the 
first missing person was found."

"Great. I'll see you, hopefully in the next hour." She 
pressed the "End" button on her phone and kept walking 
towards the rental car agency desks. 





She turned her Alero into the small parking lot of the 
Helena Police Department.  Looking into the rearview 
mirror, she felt a little like she was about to meet a 
blind date - anxious and excited all at once. Smoothing 
down her dark hair, she opened the door and walked in. 
Looking around the lobby, she was unable to spot John 
immediately. 

"Agent Reyes!" a voice called out from her left. She turned 
and saw John walking down the side corridor towards her. 
Giving him a pleasant smile, she waved slightly and walked 
to meet him. Once he was closer, she felt the urge to hug 
him, but stopped herself short. Her demeanor around him in 
the past had been openly warm and friendly, but she could 
feel that maybe it wasn't quite appropriate in this case. 

Gazing at his appearance, Monica saw much of what she was 
expecting - a few more years in John's face, a slower pace 
to his walk, slightly different haircut and style. But she 
also saw the same deep blue eyes she remembered.     

"So, this is exciting Helena?" she joked awkwardly when he 
stood right in front of her. 

John laughed softly.  "Yeah, you're right in the center of 
it," he said with a slight smile. "Looks like New Orleans 
has been treating you well."

"I could say the same about you and D.C.," she said, 
returning the smile and relaxing a bit. "I'll bet you'll be 
running the show up there at the Hoover soon." 

"Uh, I don't know about that," he said, looking down for a 
moment as if a bit embarrassed by the flattery.  He looked 
back up, right into her eyes. "Seriously though, Southern 
living looks good on you, Monica."

At that, the flutter returned to her stomach. She wasn't 
sure what to say next, so she asked the first question that 
came to her.

"So, where are we off to now?" she asked, absentmindedly 
tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

John cleared his throat and walked past her towards the 
front door of the station. "We found the first missing 
person - Teresa Hoese - in a field about 15 miles from 
here," he said, pushing the door open.  "We'll start there, 
and I can go through what we have on the case so far. Then 
if you don't mind, I'd like you to talk to Agent Scully 
about what your initial thoughts might be."

Monica nodded as they headed towards their separate cars. 
"You lead the way," she said, unlocking the driver-side 
door. 

John nodded, climbing into his own car. As they drove out 
of the parking lot, Monica took a deep breath for the first 
time since walking into the station a half-hour earlier. 
Whatever might yet happen in that field - or on this case - 
at least she had gotten through seeing him for the first 
after all these years. 

Still, she couldn't help but let her mind wander again. Did 
he ever think about the night they had spent together?  And 
if he did, did it give him pleasure to remember it, or was 
it a cause for recrimination and self-doubt?  Given the 
opportunity, would he have changed what happened that 
night?

Would she? 

Monica sensed there were still some rough times ahead for 
both of them.  Time had passed, but she felt that same 
weight of sorrow she'd felt four years earlier. John was a 
little older, maybe a bit wiser, but his eyes told the same 
story, and then some.