Title: _You, Me and a Miracle_
Author: Karen (snarky_freak@hotmail.com)
Rating: PG
Keywords: Reyes POV.  Reyesfic/Reyesangst;
Reyes! Reyes! Reyes!
Summary: 'Maybe, like you, I'm also waiting 
on a miracle.'
Spoilers: TINH; Empedocles, NIHT Iⅈ
Daemonicus
Disclaimer: Again, they are not mine.  
So, again, quit lookin' at me like 
that, `kay?
Archive: All are more than welcome, just
please notify me...
Author's Note: Post-ep for Daemonicus,
Basically.  An internal monologue, written 
in Reyesian fashion ;0)

---

You're a good man.

Nothing changes that-nothing.

Not even this.

Watching you in that room-with her-

It doesn't take a psychic.  It doesn't even take someone like me, one 
so sensitive to feelings and emotions and presences; one so familiar 
with your soul, your energy...  It doesn't take someone like me to 
know... To be sure.  To be stone-certain.

That you've fallen in love with her.  Head over heels.

New York.  The Statue of Liberty.  Hard-nosed cops who mock the few 
who fall for their attractive female partners.  You've left all that 
behind, John.

The torch you carry for her is too big for even you to carry all by 
yourself.

That torch-who knows when you picked it up and started running with 
it, to hell and back, and to god-knows-where?

I hope you know it's blinded you.

You must realize that.  I hope, for your sake, that you realize that.

She's in love with Mulder.  Nothing-not even your loyalty to her, not 
even your unblinking devotion to her and her son-will ever change 
that.

But you're a good man.

I know you won't do anything to interfere.  To break down whatever 
she has-whatever she has left-with Mulder.  You respect her.  You 
admire her.  You protect her.  At all costs.

So why don't you just admit it to yourself?

You're in love with her.  I'm assuming-

From the moment you laid eyes on her, there had always been something.

In you.  Something was triggered.  You let yourself give in to 
something.

If you can hear me right now, I know what you'd say.

There's nothing.  Absolutely nothing going on.  Where in hell are you 
getting this from, Monica?

You'd scowl and pout in that infuriatingly endearing way of yours, 
and you'd tell me in less hurtful words, that I'm a nutcase-that I'm 
certifiable.  Unfit to be making judgments and observations about 
other people, especially about you.  But...

I do know you, John.  So well.

Perhaps too well.  I know the frown lines on your face.  I know every 
inch of pain and suffering you've been forced to live through.  I 
know your eyes-what they want to say by simply looking down or 
looking away.  Sure, they're transparent to everybody, in their 
blueness, but I know them.  I know that with each and every blink, 
you remember your son.  You remember Luke.

I also know that lately, with each and every blink-

You think of her.

You think of her, and you wonder if she's okay.

And there have even been times, maybe at night or early in the 
morning, in bed, when you're too tired to fight it, too tired to 
resist and deny it-

There have been times, when you wonder if she's thinking about you.  
If you're okay.

Or if she knows that at the same time-right at that moment, in that 
very second, you're thinking about her, too.

Tough guy that you are, tough guy that you make yourself out to 
be...  I know you, though, John.

You're a hopeless romantic.  Deep down.  Somewhere in there, in that 
bottomless, grief-stricken heart of yours, there's still a fragment 
of Hope.  You want something from Life.  You still do.  You want to 
hear your heart beat again, just like before.  As worn out and 
overused and cheap as that sounds, it's true.  Laugh all you want, 
roll your eyes at me all you want, but you can't push this away.

You want your heart to beat again.  Not with the persistent beating 
of self-loathing and self-blame.  No, you're too acquainted with that 
already.  You hear and feel that in your chest every time you think 
of Luke.  It's not that; it's different.  You want something else.

That other kind of heartbeat.  The one you used to feel whenever your 
wife walked into the room, whenever your wife carelessly tucked a 
lock of blonde hair behind her ears.  That other kind of heartbeat, 
the one you yearned to feel again all those nights, when you'd wake 
up and remember the way your wife's body used to feel against your 
own.  That other kind of heartbeat that tells you, that reassures 
you, that you're in love and loved.  That you belong.  That you're 
wanted, and missed, and lusted after.  That other kind of heartbeat 
that tells you, above all things, that you're alive, that you exist, 
that your life has meaning and purpose and importance.  If not to the 
universe, then at the very least, to someone who lives and breathes 
the same life you're living.

That other kind of heartbeat.  You feel it, somehow.  Somewhere, down 
there, in your heart-it's there.  It's beating.

For her.

For Agent Scully.

For Dana.

I can't compete with that, John.  I won't.  I refuse to.

But I can't help feeling this way.

I know.

You're a good man.  You always have been.  You never think of 
yourself.

Nothing-not even the way you've acted lately-can change that.  Who 
you are.  Who you've become.  What you've meant-and will always mean 
to me.

I can't make you change your  mind.  I can't make you alter your 
feelings for her.

Like I said, I can't.  I won't.  I refuse to.

Whatever we have-whatever this is-call it what you will.

A bond.

A friendship.

A strange, twisted romance, where neither of us ever gets close 
enough to realize what's really going on in the other person's 
head... who knows?

Whatever we have-whatever this is-

It can't compare.

You won't let it.  You can't let it.  You refuse to let it.

It's funny.  Brad said a few things about you once.  About you and me.

Funny how things are.  He thought you and I were more than partners, 
more than friends.

There was no questioning the tone of his voice.  He knew what he 
wanted to say, he knew what he was asking.

Funny how things are.  My denial of having something with you-
tightness, closeness, call it what you will, a dalliance amidst Post-
it notes, even-made me blush all the more.  The image his words 
conjured in my mind-of you, and me, and something other than what we 
have now--damned me for all eternity.  I knew Brad sensed it from 
me.  I knew he saw me blushing.  I knew he noticed my hand tremble 
ever so slightly at the very thought of you... and me.

Funny how things are.  Brad looks at me now and smiles.  He knows how 
I feel about you, how I've always felt about you.  He smiles because 
he knows you don't know.  He knows you don't notice.  That you never 
have noticed, and perhaps never will.

Don't get me wrong, John.

It's hard to notice something like this when you're not looking for 
it, when it's the last thing you'd ever want in your life.  I know 
that, I understand that, and I accept that.

I know you care.

You always have.

You're a good man, and I know that.  I believe it.

You'd rather die than go out of your way to hurt someone.

You'd rather die than push away the one person who tried to help you 
find your son, the only connection you have left, the only one that 
brings you back to him, on that day, when everything in your universe 
fell apart.

You'd rather die than hurt your friends.  People you respect, people 
you owe part of your life to, people you think you owe.

But there's more to it.  In addition to all that-

You'd rather die than stand in the way of someone's happiness.

I know you.  That's how good a man you are.

That's why you won't tell her.  That's why you're living your life 
like this.

Waiting on a miracle.

A miracle that I can guarantee will never take place.

I care for you too much to lie.  You never lie to me-why shouldn't I 
do the same for you?

Do you know you're hurting yourself?  Are you willing to live like 
this?

For all your goodness, John, you can be so infuriating at times.

Infuriating.  You'd think that I would have a copyright on that 
word.  You don't have to admit it; I know how you feel about me, my 
beliefs, my worldview.  It's okay; you're not the only one.  I'm used 
to it.

But you-

Infuriating?

You'd be surprised.

Stubborn as a mule on Cinco de Mayo-as one of my aunts used to say.  
Whatever that means.

Whatever that means, somehow, it suits you.

You accept things, but you refuse to believe in them.

You look, but you don't see.

You hear, but you don't listen.

You sense things, but you refuse to feel them.

On the rare occasion that you do feel, though, you do something that 
probably would have forced my aunt to jump off the Grand Canyon.

You shake your head and you look away.  Or you shrug.  Or you run.  
Or worse-you bury your head in the sand and hide.  You willingly duck 
and let your soft brown hair and gorgeous blue eyes seek refuge in 
the dirt.

Tough guy that you are, tough guy that you make yourself out to be, 
John... I know you.

You're afraid.  So much so that it paralyzes you.

It nearly debilitated you this time around, with this case.

Daemonicus.

Satan.  Evil.  That thread of evil I was telling you about.

Somehow, it all comes back to you.

You can sit here, you can explain it all you want, but it's still a 
riddle, a mystery, a paradox to you.  It always will be.

I'm getting tired of trying, John.  To make you see, to make you 
understand.

I'm not asking for much.  Just an open mind.  And maybe, just maybe-

A little less resistance.

And a little less ingratitude.

After all, you asked me to join you.

Even though this is a dream assignment for me, I didn't ask for 
this.  You did.

And I wonder, guiltily I must admit-

I wonder whether you asked me here, to join you-

Just because.

For no reason.

I was the only one around, standing behind you, hanging around by the 
sidelines and waiting for something.

Is that why I'm here?

You're a good man, John, I know and believe that.  Every inch of me 
won't deny that, but I must admit that what you're doing hurts.

It hurts me.

Do you know that?  Does it bother you?  Do you lose any sleep over it?

You asked me here, to help you.  And that's what I'm doing.  That's 
what I'm trying to do.

But you push me aside and turn away from me.

I see no point in being here, aside from the fact that I can watch 
your back when you rush into buildings and break down doors-all for 
the sake of someone else.

Not me; not for my sake.

Not even you; not even for your own sake.

It's for her-her sake-that you do these things.

I watch your back, so you can watch hers, even when she's not asking 
you to, even when she doesn't want you to.

Maybe this is selfish, John-maybe this is cruel of me to ask, but 
who's watching my back?  Who's looking out for me?  Who's worrying 
that I might get hurt, that I might not make it?

Daemonicus.  He knows me.  It knows us.

Evil.  The presence of evil.

It's pervasive.  It's everywhere you look, and turn, and shine a 
light.

You and I can't make it go away.  But we should understand it.

I know you feel it too, you always have.

It's around us.  It's between us, behind us, in front of us.  It's in 
us.

I need more than a Sig and a badge to protect me.  I need more than a 
partner to watch my back.  This is not what I'd consider a quest for 
justice.  It's much more than that.  We're up against a force, here.  
Timeless, age-old.  Maybe we'll never win.  But I know we should try, 
at all costs.  I need you on this.  I need your help.  I need your 
gift-call it what you will... Bottom line is, we won't make it far if 
I do this alone.  I need your help just as much as you said you 
needed mine, all those months ago.

I took this job for two reasons, really.

The first being the fact that, well, I think you know.  You know, but 
again, you don't want to admit it to yourself.

So let me say it.  For both of us.

No need to mince words here, John, so here goes-

I'd like to think we're more than friends.  More than two people who 
simply share an overwhelming tragedy and console each other with 
their mutual grief.

You must have known, all those years ago.

If not, then you must have known, the very second I laid eyes on you 
when you met me in Montana, when you asked me to help you look for 
Mulder.

I wanted so much to help you, and all I did was stand there and 
watch.  And gape and gawk at these things you've gotten yourself into.

And still, even then, I held on to one thing-

I would do this for you, no matter what happened, because of what 
you've become to me.

Among other things... Like I said, I won't mince words; you know I've 
never been the kind to do that, anyway.  So here it is-

You're the man that every heterosexual woman dreams about.  Rescue 
fantasy or not-

You fit the job description well.  I'm surprised you've managed to 
keep yourself free from numerous female associations all this time.  
Being your partner now, I see the way some women turn their heads and 
look at you when we walk by.  I don't blame them; I'm sure that in 
the past, I've been guilty of doing that, too.  And if not for the 
irritated comment I know you'll throw my way, I'd probably still be 
eyeing you once in a while in the Bureau Chrysler, too.  

So I'll admit it; I'm in love with you-it's hard not to be...  But 
that's not all.  Honestly, it's not.

I care.  About you, about what happens to you.

A silly part of me... Well, the silliest part of me, wanted to 
protect you; I assumed that I could protect you.

I knew that what you'd be getting into wouldn't be for the best, and 
that I couldn't stop it, or convince you otherwise.

So I joined you.  Rescue fantasy?  Maybe.  Perhaps.  Probably.  Most 
definitely.

But I'm sure it's one of the better ones, John, really.

So now I'm here.

Now what?

You trust me.

With your life.

With your feelings.

You trust me.  You trust my trust in you.

I can, and can't explain why you're acting this way.

You're a good man, John-

You don't deserve to live like this.

You deserve so much more.

That look you give her-

Don't you know it's damning you?  For all eternity?

You're a good man, John-I know and believe that.

But why live like this?

Haven't you suffered enough?

Or is that what you think life's all about?

Ever since I got here, ever since I transferred, I've come to realize 
one thing.

You're as much a mystery to me now as when I saw you in that field, 
where we found Luke.

You remember that time?

When we saw it-that vision.

We saw it, John.  Together.

Both of us.

Me and you.

It's like we're right back where we started.

You.

Me.

And a deep, gaping chasm that stands between us.  It's threatening to 
swallow you whole.

Try as I might, I can't help you.

I never could.

But it doesn't stop me, does it?

From trying, from never giving up.

On you.

And in spite of everything that's happened lately-

I don't think I ever will give up on you.

Maybe, like you, I'm also waiting on a miracle.

A miracle that I know may not take place-

and perhaps never will.

END
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