"So..." 
John looks up from the Xerox machine and raises his eyebrows 
at me.  "So...?" 
Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean against the wall and 
watch him carefully shuffling papers into a neat stack.  
"Will you behave yourself while I'm gone?" 
He chuckles briefly before he nods and picks up more papers 
from the plastic tray.  "And if I don't...?" 
I can't help but smile.  That smirk of his always has that 
effect on me.  "If you don't, then-" 
"Where you off to, anyway?" 
I swallow, no...  I gulp nervously at him, as though I'd 
been caught doing something I shouldn't be doing.  "I'm on 
holidays.  Three weeks.  Personal time.  Why?" 
He pouts at the pages in his hands, frowns at me, then looks 
away as he walks down the hall and back into the office.  
"Knew that.  I was askin' where, Monica." 
"Oh." 
John lowers the papers onto the top of a filing cabinet and 
looks over his shoulder at me.  "Oh?  That a place I never 
heard of 'til now?" 
"No, sorry, I'm..." I consciously straighten up and square 
my shoulders, as if the former Marine Sergeant standing 
before me is about to bark out some staunch order I can't 
disobey.  "Taking a trip, John."  A deep, calming intake of 
breath, before I smile shakily and start again.  "I'm going 
somewhere with Tanner." 
"Huh," he returns his attention to the filing cabinet before 
he continues in a more subdued and distracted voice, "Thought 
you were gonna go to Mexico, see your folks." 
"I'm not." 
"Huh." 
"I'm sure Tanner wouldn't mind that, though.  He likes 
Mexico." 
A pause looms heavily between us.  I shift my weight from 
one foot to the other, cringing inwardly to myself when I 
hear the linoleum squeak gleefully beneath the soles of my 
shoes. 
"John?" 
"`M sure your folks'll like him, huh?" 
There's nothing for me to do but nod. 
Yes.  It really does feel like I'm cheating on you, John.  
Or is it just me?  Probably.  Just me. 
Cheating on him, and he couldn't even care less...  So maybe 
I'm not really cheating, because he doesn't even look at me 
that way, doesn't even think of me in those terms.  He never 
will.  Why should he, when he's in love with a woman more 
suited to his tastes, his lifestyle, his conservative 
attitudes? 
Right.  John.  In love. 
Not with you, Mon. 
He's in love with her, not with you. 
He never was in love with you. 
He never will be in love with you. 
Never. 
I nod, with a confidence I don't even feel.  "They probably 
will.  I'm sure my mother would be-" 
"Yeah.  She would be." 
"John?" 
"Uh-huh?" 
Do you know how rude you are, how rude you can be?  I'm 
standing here, talking to you, trying to tell you something, 
anything, everything, nothing... 
And all you can do is turn your back and distract yourself 
with work. 
I know you don't feel that way.  About me.  But I never knew, 
never would have guessed- 
That you don't or can't or won't even respect me at times. 
"Monica.  What is it?" 
I shake my head and look up at him.  He's abandoned the 
photocopies and is now facing me, his hands placed 
demandingly, authoritatively on his hips.  "Sorry, John.  
What were you...?" 
He shrugs, before he sits down and straightens his tie.  
"You were sayin' somethin', or you wanted to say somethin'?" 
Again, I shake my head.  I'm tired of this.  Tired of 
pretending, and hiding, and telling myself to wait and hold 
and keep everything together.  Inside, bottled up.  That's 
not my style.  That was never my style.  Never has been, 
never will be. 
But... 
Well.  Here it goes.  Here it goes again.  And again and 
again.  And, yes... 
Again. 
But-- 
For his sake, I'll wait.  And hold and keep everything 
together.  Inside, bottled up.  Where he can't ever know, 
or find out. 
He doesn't need that from me, he never has. 
I'm a friend.  A colleague.  A helper. 
That woman in his life.  A woman in his life.  Who happened 
to be there when his life fell to pieces, when his own life 
broke his own heart. 
How could I even think he would see me in a different light? 
He looks at me, and he sees nothing but Hell on Earth, waiting 
for him.  A Hell that has no Luke, no wife, no family.  He 
looks at me, and he's reminded of everything he's lost.  And 
everything he's losing, too. 
His partner. 
His real partner.  Down here.  In the dark, quiet, musty 
basement of the Hoover Building. 
He's losing her.  And every day, when he walks into this 
office, I'm a reminder of that painful fact. 
At least, when she was still here, he could pretend and 
make-believe that maybe, just maybe there was still a 
glimmer of hope. 
He fell in love with her, and I can't hold that against him.  
It's only natural, and understandable, really. 
It just hurts. 
It hurts me. 
"Mon...?" 
A warm jolt of electricity suddenly shoots up my arm, and I 
am forced to look up at him in confusion. 
"Where were you just now?" His deep voice lowers to an 
impossibly soft whisper as he allows his fingertips to dig 
into my shoulder.  Like his voice, his blue eyes soften with 
concern and worry.  "Hey--you alright?" 
I'm his friend; he should, of course, be worried about me.  
But, something... Somewhere in there, in those eyes, 
there's something... 
Something I always assumed or thought would look at me 
differently...  Someday. 
But I'm tired.  And hurt.  And waiting. 
Tanner's waiting for me, too. 
He may not be you, John, but... 
He loves me. 
I think he loves me. 
I think, that when he looks at me, he isn't reminded of 
those things. 
Hell on Earth, waiting for him. 
Death. 
Loss. 
A partner you love. 
A partner who won't love you back.  Not the way you want 
her to, not the way you rightly deserve to be loved in 
return. 
For some reason, I gently shrug away from his grip and take 
a step back.  "I've gotta go, John.  I'll be late for my 
flight." 
His hand quickly drops to his side, and he gives me a curt, 
and almost professional nod.  The tips of his ears redden 
slightly, for some reason.  "Yeah.  Okay." 
I'm disoriented.  I can still feel the warmth of his touch 
on my arm, my shoulder, still feel those eyes I know so well 
looking me over with worry and concern...  "I-" 
He's turned his back on me again, his concern and worry for 
me apparently forgotten.  "Have a good time." 
"Yeah." 
John returns to the papers on the filing cabinet.  He clears 
his throat and resumes shuffling the pages. 
Purse and coat in tow, I stand at the doorway and watch him. 
It's like I've already left the office, and he didn't even 
notice. 
And doesn't even care.  That I've left.  That he didn't 
notice I've left. 
"I'll see you, John." 
Another glance over his shoulder.  His eyes don't even 
connect with mine; instead, they flicker restlessly over 
and around the space my body occupies. 
"Yeah.  Safe trip, Monica.  Wherever you're goin'." 
One final look--difficult to describe in the way it 
simultaneously pulls me closer and pushes me away--and 
then he turns his back on me for the last time. 
I can't explain it, but that one gesture actually gave 
me the strength to walk out the door with a confidence 
I couldn't genuinely feel. 
John and I... 
We're friends.  Partners. 
John and I... 
I was thinking...  Maybe.  Someday. 
I close my eyes and listen to the elevator doors slide 
shut. 
Someday. 
Maybe, just maybe-- 
I'm getting tired of waiting for it. 
--- 
-Love- 
Rain falling from the heavens never sounded like this 
before: pounding on the concrete sidewalk like artillery 
fire on a battered fortress. 
Heavy splashing of puddles from cars driving in haste 
through the wet curtain of raindrops- 
They, too, added to the tattoo of the hustle and bustle 
of water, and vapors, and thunder and lightning.  All 
working and playing together to form a chaotic, but 
paradoxically harmonious symphony. 
The electric dryness of lightning.  Setting off the warning 
grumble of thunder, which in turn summons the heavy storm 
clouds. 
And then- 
Rain.  Nothing but rain. 
Everywhere. 
The rain blanketed the atmosphere, until it became one big, 
wet Nothing. 
It was amidst this loud and imposing blanket of Nothing that 
he drove up, right in front of her apartment, and as close 
to the half-flooded sidewalk as possible. 
He looked quickly over his right shoulder to verify his 
suspicions.  The smallest of grins played across his sharp, 
flinty features before he sighed under his breath and 
looked at her. 
"Forgot my umbrella." 
She groaned briefly, then shook her head and returned his 
grin.  "I'm close enough.  I'll run." 
"Okay.  Your stuff's in the back.  See ya tomorrow." 
Her grin disappeared, only to be replaced by a mockingly 
reproachful scowl.  "I'm not going out there alone.  You're 
coming with me.  You said you'll help me, remember?" 
"_Did_ I say that?  `Cause I don't remember anythin' `bout 
me goin' out in that rain-" 
Her sudden burst of laughter was quickly drowned out by the 
storm outside.  She swung the door open and hopped off the 
pickup truck.  "Hurry up, John!  I'm gonna catch pneumonia!!" 
"I can't park here!  Monica-"  His protest was cut off as 
soon as she slammed the door shut and scurried over to the 
sidewalk. 
Less than five seconds out in the rain, and she already 
looked like a drowned rat. 
He shrugged, released the brake and drove a few meters down 
the street to an empty parking stall.  "Five more seconds 
can't kill her," he muttered to himself with a smile as he 
looked at her through the side view mirror.  Her drenched, 
huddled figure was still waiting for him in front of her 
apartment doors, trying to keep warm by stomping her feet 
on the ground.  "What's she doin'?"  He asked no one in 
particular as he climbed out and immediately scowled at the 
raindrops beating down on him.  "C'mere, Monica!" 
His loud holler took a few seconds to reach her.  He watched 
almost impatiently, all the while fumbling with the tailgate 
of the pickup. 
"Why're you yelling at me, John?" 
Doggett looked up from the suitcases before him and squinted 
at his approaching partner.  "You're yellin' at me, too.  
Here, take this," he returned brusquely as he handed her an 
overstuffed carry-all bag.  "God, I hate rain," he yelled 
again before he closed the tailgate and swung another 
carry-all onto his shoulder.  "What the hell d'you put in 
this thing-anvils?!" 
She smiled serenely and tossed her head to the side in an 
attempt to keep the damp wisps of dark hair from hanging 
limply over her eyes.  "Yeah, maybe." 
His grunt was drowned out by the incessant pounding of 
the rain. 
--- 
"How long were you gone for, Monica?  Two-three-weeks?" 
"Yeah.  Three weeks, why?" 
Doggett heaved a sigh and re-adjusted the bag on his 
shoulder for the fifth time since they reached her 
apartment building.  "Coulda sworn you're just movin' 
in now." 
"Be thankful you missed the movers when you did." 
"Huh." 
"Thanks for doing this, though, John.  I know it's a lot 
of trouble on your part, living in Falls Church and the 
weather being this bad..." 
He nodded to himself, still lost in thought.  "`S'nothin'.  
You know that.  So d'you have a good time, good vacation?" 
"With Tanner's parents in Cincinnati?  It was great, John.  
They're wonderful people." 
The two of them stopped in front of her door while Reyes dug 
out the keys to her apartment. 
"Cincinnati, huh?  Meetin' the doc's parents.  Wow," Doggett 
quickly shrugged and shook his head, and allowed his eyes to 
widen slightly.  "Didn't know that's where you were goin'.  
Where you went off to.  `M sure they liked you." 
At this, Monica smiled lazily at him and rolled her eyes.  
"What's not to like, right?"  Thankfully for him, she seemed 
only to have heard the last part of his remark. 
Doggett gave her a one-shouldered shrug and opened the door 
wider for her luggage to fit through.  "Hey, I'm just sayin'.  
I mean-" 
"Well, Tanner was there to straighten things out, in case 
there were any misunderstandings, John." 
"So what gives, huh?" 
Reyes placed her bags on the floor by her bedroom and looked 
at him quizzically.  "What gives what, John?  I don't know 
what you mean." 
"I dunno," he said with another shrug of his shoulder.  "I 
just thought maybe, y'know...  How're things lookin' between 
the two of you?  Any..." he sniffed slightly and lowered his 
share of her luggage onto the floor by his feet.  "Long-term 
plans yet?" 
A small chuckle escaped from the bedroom, where Reyes had 
disappeared to in order to get some towels.  "I don't have 
an engagement ring on my finger, if that's what you're 
asking, John." 
"Not yet," he shot back more boldly than he had intended.  
"Hey, forget it.  None of my business, right?  I should-" 
"I think it's perfectly understandable that you'd be 
curious," she said before she emerged from the door to her 
dimly-lit bedroom. 
Doggett nodded meekly, at a sudden loss for words. 
She looked good tonight.  Changed quickly out of her wet 
clothes into sweatpants and a t-shirt, drying her hair like 
that with that yellow towel in her hand, her make-up and 
messy mascara wiped clean from her face... 
Yeah. 
She looked really good tonight. 
"John?" A hint of amusement was evident in her voice. 
Doggett shook his head once and squinted at her.  "What?" 
She opened her mouth to say something, but she changed her 
mind and smiled instead.  "Let me get you a towel and put 
mine away." 
"Thanks."  He looked down, suddenly startled by the large 
puddle his shoes and clothes were forming just outside the 
entrance to her kitchen.  'Shit...'  "Makin' a mess out 
here, Monica..." 
"Don't worry about it." 
He sighed and studied his surroundings motionlessly.  The 
rain was still atrocious outside.  Her apartment was 
slightly cold.  Then again, it could just be his wet 
clothes.  'Bring an umbrella next time, stupid idiot...' 
"Here." 
A large blue beach towel hit him square in the face.  "Ow." 
Monica's vainly suppressed laughter immediately wafted 
across the room and lingered in his ears.  "Sorry.  Guess I 
missed." 
He chuckled, despite the stinging sensation on his face.  
"What were you aimin' for?" 
Her silence caused him to look up and drag the towel down 
his chin.  She was staring at him. 
"What?" 
"I missed you, John." 
"Really?" 
She nodded and walked towards him.  "Really."  Another smile, 
before she reached over and picked up the bags he had 
lowered onto the floor.  "I wanted to call you, but I 
figured you might have been busy." 
He bundled the towel in his hands thoughtfully, then rolled 
it over before unfurling it again.  "You should've," he said 
before he rubbed the towel against his damp hair.  "Called, 
I mean." 
She nodded and turned to carry the bags into her bedroom. 
"Missed you, too." 
She glanced over her shoulder and allowed one corner of her 
mouth to quirk upwards.  She turned her back on him again 
and resumed moving the bags. 
Do something, you son-of-a-bitch.  After the way you acted 
in the office three weeks ago, before she left... 
She probably thinks you're still mad at her for somethin'. 
You gonna let her think that tonight, too? 
Maybe it's not too damn late.  Yet. 
Who cares? 
Just do something. 
Now.  You son-of-a-- 
"Monica?" 
She emerged from the bedroom again, arched an eyebrow at 
him, before she busied herself by turning on a lamp in the 
living room.  "Hmm?" 
"You an' your... boyfriend-" 
"He's got a name, John." 
"Fine.  You an' Tanner-" 
"What about us?" 
"Well, just...  It's a big thing...  Goin' all the way to 
Cincinnati for three weeks to meet an' get to know his 
parents..." 
"He wanted me to meet them.  They wanted to meet me, and I 
guess I wanted to meet them, too.  We didn't stay with them 
that long, actually." 
"You sure `bout this guy?" 
"John." 
"No, seriously.  I mean, you really thinkin' of-" 
"Why are we talking about this?  Why are you talking about 
this?" 
"Nothin'.  I just...  I mean..." 
"You're stuttering, John--it's not like you.  What--" 
"He's that important to you.  Huh?" 
She suddenly looked away, and shuffled through the mail her 
next-door neighbor was gracious enough to collect for her.  
"We've been together for a while, John.  Of course he is." 
"You gonna marry this guy, when he asks you?" 
Her head snapped up and her hazel eyes danced with an uneven 
mixture of surprise, confusion and amusement.  "If, John.  
You're jumping to conclusions here." 
"_Are_ you?" 
She bowed her head for a moment or two, and he wasn't sure 
whether to leave now or push her any further than he already 
had. 
God.  Three weeks.  Three weeks without you around. 
I missed you, Monica. 
The hell am I sayin'? 
I miss you. 
Still. 
Don't ask me to explain it, alright? 
I just do. 
"Monica?" 
"What do you care, John?" 
"Huh?" 
"You heard me.  Really--what does it matter to you if I do 
or if I don't?" 
His eyes flickered over and around her, but refused to look 
directly at her all of a sudden.  'The hell was this?  Is 
she kidding or not?  Havin' that fun she always has at my 
expense, tryin' to get me to lighten up, or what?  Maybe 
she's just--'  "We're partners-" 
"And that's going to change how?" 
'Funny, I didn't know this was an interrogation room...'  
"I dunno, I just-" 
"He asked me, actually.  Already.  On the way to his parents'.  
To Cincinnati." 
"So how come?" 
"How come?  How come what?" 
Another shrug on Doggett's part, before he gulped inaudibly 
and looked at her from under his eyebrows.  "How come you 
said no, turned him down?  `Mean, I thought you were--" 
A weary sigh escaped her slightly parted lips.  "You make 
it sound like capital punishment, turning him down, John." 
"Sorry.  Didn't mean for it to."  He watched cautiously as 
his partner squared her shoulders, abandoned her mail and 
perched on the arm of a nearby sofa.  "Monica.  I'm sorry." 
To his surprise, she looked up and smiled at him.  "It's 
okay, John.  Really.  I mean, I'm just..." She waved a hand 
in the air before she laughed lightly and lowered it to her 
lap.  "Emotional."  She paused, sighed and started again.  
"More emotional than usual." 
Doggett rubbed the back of his neck with the towel, all the 
while watching her every move discreetly.  "Wanna talk about 
it?  You need to talk about it?" 
"With you?" 
He squinted and cocked his head to the side, not hearing her 
mumbled words.  "Huh?" 
Reyes shook her head and slid down from the arm of the sofa.  
With legs tucked beneath her, she closed her eyes and 
inclined her head where he was still standing motionlessly.  
"What was it like for you?" 
"For me what?" 
"You know..." Her eyes fluttered open and immediately 
connected with his intense, steel-blue gaze.  "Asking your 
wife.  Proposing."  She watched his body stiffen, as if 
caught and cornered by a rabid creature, before she exhaled 
and shook her head again.  "If you don't mind my asking." 
Doggett shrugged and jammed a hand in his pocket.  "I was..."  
A faint, wistful smile crept up to his face, as he slowly, 
gradually remembered.  "Scared shitless, to tell you the 
truth.  Didn't think she was gonna say yes." 
"How come?" 
He shrugged again, all the while cringing at the chill 
running up his spine.  He was cold, and soaked to the skin 
with rain.  Now she's asking about this, of all things?  At 
the same time, his skin felt prickly, too, with heat, sweat 
and a sudden attack of irrational nervousness.  But, all the 
same, all in all...  He still felt cold.  Colder than ever 
before.  "I dunno.  Just thought she'd turn me down." 
"She didn't." 
He shook his head and barely stopped himself from shivering.  
"No.  She didn't." 
Monica nodded back and stared at the rain pounding against 
the large windows of her apartment.  "You think I did the 
right thing, John?" 
Ouch.  He was the right person to ask, wasn't he?  He really 
had to shiver at that.  Good thing she wasn't looking... 
"Turnin' him down, you mean?  Sayin' no?" 
Her doe-eyed gaze re-focused on him again before she blinked 
and closed her eyes.  A long, uncomfortably heavy pause hung 
in the air, waiting for her to say something, anything, 
everything.  "No.  Calling it off with him." 
"You what?" 
"You heard me." 
"Why d'you do that?" 
His partner simply stared at him, and he was forced to nod 
to himself and look away.  None of his business.  None.  
"I'm sorry to hear that." 
"Yeah.  I know." 
Doggett cleared his throat, and watched her rise from the 
couch and walk across the living room.  He couldn't help but 
smile slightly at her bare feet, padding noiselessly first 
on the rug, and then on the worn hardwood floor.  He was on 
the verge of saying something when she spoke up once again, 
this time with a distant voice that seemed to blend in with 
the rain. 
"But the thing of it is, I'm not." 
"You're not sorry?" Doggett squinted at her figure, all of 
a sudden so small and frail-looking against the large windows 
and the backdrop of lightning and thunder.  He didn't know 
what else to do, but repeat her words.  He didn't know what 
else to say, but echo back her very own sentiments. 
She shook her head, her damp hair swinging heavily like a 
big, wet paintbrush against her shirt, leaving faint 
watermarks on the fabric and on her back.  "It wasn't 
right." 
He fought the urge to prod her, to ask and inquire as to 
the meaning behind her words.  What wasn't right?  How come?  
Why not?  What happened? 
"Look at you, John, you're soaked." 
Doggett re-focused his gaze on her again, and noticed that 
she was now looking over her shoulder and studying him 
quietly, with her arms crossed over her chest.  "`S nothin'.  
I'm okay." 
Reyes smiled faintly and walked slowly back to the sofa.  
"So how have you been?" 
Curious.  Curious why you don't want to tell me, why you 
don't want to talk about it any more.  Why you never said 
anything about this, or about him and his parents, or about 
the two of you, before you left three weeks ago. 
He shrugged, before he folded and re-folded the wet towel 
in his hands.  "Good.  Busy.  You wouldn't believe it, 
Monica.  I've been swamped with paperwork for a while now, 
I've-" 
"How's Dana?" 
Funny she should ask, at a time like this.  His eyebrows 
furrowed in confusion, and he shrugged again.  "Fine, I 
guess.  I haven't seen her." 
"You've spoken, though, haven't you?" 
"No.  Not lately.  Like I said, I've been real busy." 
Doggett watched her lips protrude slightly in a thoughtful 
pout, her eyes drift off to a spot just left of the coffee 
table in front of her.  "Monica-" 
"It's nothing, John.  Don't worry about it.  Really.  I'm 
okay; I'm good, it's... Okay."  As if to prove her point, 
she shook her head and allowed one of her winning smiles to 
reclaim her face slowly.  She stood, glanced at her watch 
and tugged at her T-shirt before she grinned gratefully at 
him.  "It's getting late, John.  I've kept you long enough.  
Sorry; I know you still have quite a drive--" 
"Don't worry 'bout it; it's nothin'." 
She craned her neck and indicated the storm with her chin.  
"Rain's pretty much stopped." 
Seeing that he didn't have much of a choice, he looked out 
the window and nodded in agreement.  "Yeah.  Guess I should 
get goin'.  Before it starts up again." 
"Are you sure?  I mean, you're pretty drenched-" 
"Just my jacket.  I'll take it off in the truck and blast 
the heat.  Be tropical in no time," he lied smoothly, 
easily.  As though he were merely reading from a script 
that either he or she had written for the other person to 
act out. 
Mechanical.  Routine.  Expected.  He bit down on his tongue 
and nodded at her again, for no reason at all. 
She wordlessly followed him to the door and watched him 
crumple the towel in his large hands.  "Thanks for picking 
me up, John.  I-" 
"No problem," his voice practically rumbled from somewhere 
deep in his chest.  "Wanted you here; least I coulda done 
was take you home."  His left hand offered her the blue 
towel, and she took it without looking at him.  "Welcome 
back, partner." 
She stood at the doorway, staring absently at the gray 
sweater under his jacket, waiting for him as he waited for 
her to say something, anything, everything... 
She really should say something.  She should tell him.  She 
should talk, and speak, and say those things that kept her 
from agreeing to do something lifelong with someone else.  
With Tanner.  Someone who truly, shamelessly cared about her.  
Someone who made it a point to say so. 
She didn't owe John anything, she knew that.  But, still...  
It wasn't right for her to shut him out.  It was rude.  He 
was trying, and she was thankful for that. 
Partner.  He had called her his partner. 
He missed her, too. 
Wanted her here. 
Took her home.  Despite the rain, and the storm, and the 
fact that his suede jacket was ruined because of her and her 
habit of toting anvils in her luggage. 
All anvils aside- 
He welcomed her back. 
Called her in the nick of time at the airport, right before 
she herself was about to phone for a taxi. 
It was funny; he didn't know when exactly she would be 
coming home, didn't know exactly which flight she was taking, 
on which plane, and at what time.  She had been that 
secretive, that mysterious, that worried about what he might 
think of her, should he have found out before she went away. 
But he had called her at the airport, in the nick of time.  
It was uncanny, strange, freaky--dare she say it?  Yes.  
Paranormal. 
Thought you'd be comin' back tonight.  Figured I'd try and 
call, see if you needed a ride? 
I'm sure you told me, before you left.  An' before you ask, 
no, I didn't go trackin' you down.  I sorta remember you 
tellin' me three weeks ago which flight...  Anyway...  
You're there already. 
Pick you up or not? 
John Doggett, the ignorant, reluctant psychic.  She had to 
smile at that, had to feel the weight of the past three weeks 
temporarily lifted off her shoulders as she raised her eyes 
to meet his. 
He had said something to her. 
Welcome back, partner. 
"Hey, there's no place like home," she grinned and tilted 
her head to the side.  "Partner." 
His small frown faded, and he smiled back.  "Call if you 
wanna talk, Monica.  I mean it." 
She nodded.  "I will.  I know.  Thanks, John." 
"Yeah," his gaze quickly flickered over and around her, 
for some reason never entirely settling on anything.  
"G`night." 
"`Night," she replied, and watched him walk down the 
deserted hallway and out the front entrance of her 
apartment building.  After a few seconds, the glass doors 
clattered shut, and total, utter silence permeated her 
surroundings. 
You think I did the right thing, John? 
Turnin' him down, you mean, sayin' no? 
No.  Calling it off with him. 
I'm sorry to hear that. 
I know.  But the thing of it is... 
I'm not. 
It wasn't right. 
She closed the door. 
Long night.  Long three weeks. 
You're home.  Where you belong. 
She unfurled the towel before her and allowed the blueness 
of the fabric to take her in. 
If she could stand close enough to him, she could look into 
his eyes and be taken in, too. 
She sighed, snorted at her cheaply poetic musing and turned 
off the lights in the living room. 
Makin' a mess out here, Monica... 
Don't worry about it. 
Ow. 
Sorry.  Guess I missed. 
What were you aimin' for? 
She sat on the sofa and thought. 
Of something.  Anything.  Everything. 
I don't know what I'm aiming for any more, John. 
Her hands and arms absently draped the towel over her 
shoulders, allowing it to hug her together, keep her 
whole. 
Welcome back, partner. 
She fell asleep in the dark, with nothing but the memory of 
blue eyes and blue towels to keep her company. 
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