Title: Waiting Rating: PG Author: Passion (passionjoshfan@hotmail.com) feedback welcomed!!!! Summary: Understanding the relationship of Monica and John... Acknowledgments: Thank you, Thank you, Thank you to my awesome beta reader, Karen. Your work is the BEST stuff and the fact that you actually think my stuff is half decent is a totally wonderful creative boost! Also to Kristine who runs the Vision....Thank you so much for being on top of DRR things...and for helping me keep up with our Gish groupie buddies!!! You two are the best!!! Waiting Monica: The musty forgotten smell of the basement rushes at her as the doors of the elevator slide open. Her heels click and echo off the cold cement floors. She pauses in the harsh stillness blinking back another life; steps previously taken, paths long covered by dust lay in front, barely visible in the flickering light of the lone fluorescent bulb. She waits, hesitating before entering the lone lighted office, trying to collect her scattered thoughts - as if she could file them in the same meticulous order as the files she carries. He is waiting. And so is she. Granted they both are waiting for different things. She does not know what he wants, cannot hope to know what is behind those intense yet private eyes of his, why he waits, but right now she knows what she can give. What she has already given once long ago. A lifetime ago. What she would like to give again. Sighing, she takes a step into the office, her face a mask of businesslike officiousness. He barely glances up at her, his face preoccupied as he talks to an unseen person in front of him, ear glued to the phone. She turns away, dark hair falling forward to hide her face as she tries to hold back the rush of feelings that always accompanies any sight of him, like a light that passes through her. She breathes in the faint, almost forgotten smell of him that lingers in the unmoving air of this basement office, mixed in with the dust and stale files that constitute the hours and minutes of their lives, spent in hopeless pursuit. "Mon?" His voice questions the turned back as he hangs up the phone. Quickly shaking her head, she pushes back her feelings and smiles, waving a file in hand, professed as an excuse, in front of him. "Just doing some reading on a case." Another wan smile, hoping that he won't notice the falseness, but praying that he does and questions it. Alas, her prayers are not to be answered today. "Anything interesting?" Another day, another charade. "No, not really," she says, folding the file closed quickly. She has no idea what the report was about anyway. Better to change this conversation before he starts asking for specifics. "Who was on the phone?" His broad shoulders lift easily and fall back. "Just some agent from New York following up on an old case, nothing too interesting." His eyes bore into hers; she can feel the steel blue penetrating her thoughts. Suddenly, feeling all her resolve breaking, she looks away as the heat threatens to scorch her face. It's the return of Motor-mouth Monica. The words spill out faster than she can speak them. "Oh okay. So, if there's not too much going on here, I'm going to go and... Uh...get some coffee!" She can't bear to look at him as she put the files away, more busy than she needs to be. "Do you want me to get you something? It's almost lunch..." She risks a quick glance in his direction before looking back at the gray metal file cabinets. 'Do you want to come with me? And for once we could talk, and I could find the courage to tell you how I feel...' The question remains unspoken. She waits. His eyebrows are raised at her sudden change in character. "No, I'm fine. But maybe a coffee would be good. I have some paperwork to catch up on here." His dismissal catches her breath. *No! That's not what you are supposed to say!* She bites back any response that might slip out in that moment of erratic panic that sweeps over her and instead tries to give him a smile. 'How many times will I have to send signals? How many times will I come so close and then have him turn away? It's all pipe dreams,' she thinks numbly, his rejection still ringing in her ears and settling around her heart. Replaying his dismissive words in her mind, she is flung back to reality. This room, this basement, this life. Her heart rate begins to slow its breakneck "adolescent-crush" rhythm. Forcing herself to look up, it's as if she is looking at him with the eyes of a stranger, completely composed now. Shrugging inwardly she sighs. 'Sure, he's a nice looking guy, a good friend. But that's all.' His face is buried in his papers again. He glances up to see her standing motionless. Waiting. "Something a' matter?" Once again the concern in those eyes threatens to undo her resolve. "No, no," chastened, she brushes invisible dust off her pants and walks towards the office door. Pausing in mid-step she turns, hoping against all hope... "I'll be back in 10 minutes." The sentence hangs in mid-air, A bridge between the both of them, a tenuous thread holding all their possible futures and pasts in limbo... Waiting for a response. "Sure, fine..." his voice is muffled and faint, lost in his papers, unknowingly severing the connection. She steps outside the door, out of his view and in the hazy darkness to collect her thoughts. What a joke. Enough of this. Never before has she been so affected by one person. Laughing inwardly, a wry smile bubbles up to her face. And the worst of it is that he doesn't even know that he is affecting me. What is it about him that makes me act this way? I want to reach out to him; I've done it once before and now...I'm bereft, dispossessed, a door slammed in my face. Does he even realize what he means to me? And still I wait, clinging to the hope that he will notice, that he will one day open his eyes and see me standing here. It's not like me to be so unassertive...but with John...she sighs again. All I can do is wait. This has got to stop. As she walks away, her thoughts tumble uselessly in the dark hall. Waiting for the Moment. Waiting for resolution. ___________________________________________________________ John: As she leaves, he looks up from yet another in a long unending line of reports that he is required to read, expecting to hear the sounds of her footsteps fall away. In the silence that greets his ears his inclination is to get up and see what has happened to her. Has she disappeared like the ephemeral fantasy she has become to him? Suddenly hearing her move away, his thoughts crash back to reality. She was probably counting change, he tells himself sharply to ward off any illusions verging beyond the realm of platonic affection. Illusions that tend to spring to mind whenever she is in the room. Turning back to the yellowing sheaf of papers on his desk, he still can't seem to shake off Monica's behavior. Sometimes she seems like two different people, laughing one moment and lost in thought the next. On top of that, he realizes at the back of his mind, that she has stopped looking at him. Oh sure, he knows that her eyes travel along his face, but she does not seem to see him. Those beautiful hazel eyes no longer focus on his. Absently, he runs his hands through his hair to flatten any possible tufts that aren't falling in place, all the while telling himself that she is the last person to care for such superficial concerns. She's seen me look a thousand times worse, seen me at my lowest. My mind is blockaded from musing further those events. It's in the past, let it be. If she wanted to go down that road again, and it's doubtful that she would, Monica would have told you by now...she's not one to hide behind traditional feminine reserve. Mentally shrugging, he cannot help but replay her latest actions in his head. Was there something in the files that caused her change in behavior? Nah, she's been like this for months. Maybe it's the whole move to Washington. After the sun and warmth of New Orleans, D.C. must seem like a frozen wasteland - and it can't help to be stuck down in this dark basement with someone like him for a partner and Follmer as boss. But she'd always said this was her dream job... Sighing his thoughts begin to wander again. Women. My wife I could understand...at least until I couldn't anymore. Scully I get, she is as skeptical of this stuff as I am. But Monica. She is a totally different kind of woman. Shaking his head he turns his eyes again to the reports in front of him but his eyes only flow through the first few lines before her face reappears in his thought, unbidden. Maybe I should have gone and grabbed some coffee with her...nah, she seemed really desperate to get out of here. He allows his rationalism to overcome the emotion which he knows deep down to be the truth, a truth that he cannot face at this moment. She probably can't stand being cooped up here, day in and out... A thought creeps unbidden into his mind. Maybe it is me. Always arguing with her about those outrageous theories she comes up with. The fact that I'm not respecting her as a partner. I don't know if I would ever say half the things to Scully that I do to Monica. Maybe she wishes I were more open to her suggestions and more respectful of her as a partner. Granted she is a good friend but maybe... His pondering stops as he hears her footsteps reappear, echoing off the cold basement floor. Absently he turns his eyes to the reports on his desk, yet is still completely attuned to here. She walks in slowly, hesitantly, balancing two cups of coffee, the smell of mocha java permeating the small office in seconds. He looks up and in her eyes he sees that his officious behavior hasn't fooled her in the least. Damn. A wry smile pulls at the corners of his mouth Her eyes sparkle, "I can see that you've been getting a lot of work done." He takes the proffered Styrofoam cup, "This oughta help...thanks." The coffee sits waiting on the desk as he stares into the hazy steam that lifts off it, taking his thoughts with them. Waiting to be untangled. In her eyes there is a guarded expression, unreadable, incomprehensible to him. But the part that refuses to read what it says there still prevails, the ambiguity of emotion wrestling within both of them. She seems to be wary of something. Immediately he thinks, "Did she meet Follmer on the way back? That Ken-doll of a director who would be more than willing to bend down and kiss Kersh's ass if he thought that it would get him brownie points?" Then, before he can catch himself, "What on earth could such an amazing woman like Monica have seen in him?" She catches him staring, and it's his turn to look away. This ping-pong game of eyeballs has to stop. He steals a look at her again and she has not moved. She seems to be waiting. For what? A sign? Always waiting. The silence grows uncomfortable; he can hear the quiet whine of the ventilation system escalating to a deafening pitch in his ears. She opens her mouth, forming words but no sound. Like a delayed reaction he hears his name, "John. Are you okay?" Those three words, so perfectly formed, so tenderly spoken. Unbidden emotions come tearing up his throat, constricting any other answer, but the truth, that he was prepared to give. Where do I start? Whaddya mean? Are you okay? Are we okay? Instead we stand here, not lovers but more than friends. Little more than strangers but closer than family, bound by our pasts and trapped in our future. Waiting. Waiting for her to speak. Waiting for him to take her in his arms. Waiting for the right moment. That fleeting fugitive instant of time when it is okay to say the things I feel. This moment is frozen, brimming to overflowing with aborted pauses; anticipation and fear of the next moment. _____________________________________________________________ Monica: So strange. I walked into the office to see a different man sitting behind that desk. Someone whose thoughts were threatening to overtake his reality. I could see them behind the intensity of those eyes, trying to get out. Why can't he see that I want to help him? _____________________________________________________________ John: Suddenly he reaches out his hand. An instinctive gesture that his thoughts have no control over, and takes her hand in his. He doesn't even realize that he has done so, how much he needed to do so, needed to make that human contact. The act that they had both been waiting for. Her hands perfectly entwine with his. No words need to be spoken. This is the moment. Partners, friends, lovers, and family. Within this one instant lies a world of possibilities for which they wait. But now they wait together.