The Memory Remains

by agent myers

Rating: R, for a few bad words and implied pre-X sex.

Keywords: DRR, Reyes POV

Summary: A conversation after "John Doe".

Spoilers: John Doe

Disclaimer: They're not mine. Duh.

Feedback: I live for it.

Archive: Gossamer, XFMU, yes. All others please ask, I'm sure I'll say
yes!

Author's Notes: John Doe was a great ep, and I was inspired to write
this after watching Doggett break down at the end, although it has
little to do with Luke. (if you want Luke angst, I've got plenty of
'em) It's just clear to me that Reyes is completely devoted to
Doggett. She cares a lot for him and would obviously be the one to see
to his care after getting the crap beaten out of him.

Recommended Listening: "Crash" by Dave Matthews, "It's Been Awhile" by
Staind, "Strong Enough" by Cheryl Crow




The Memory Remains by agent myers





We're finally back in the states, though not far from the border. It
feels good to be on US soil again. Safer. It's getting late, so I stop
the car at the first motel I see.

It resembles the Bates Motel, but it's called The Landing. I put the
car into park and look over at John. He's sitting quietly, with a
thoughtful look on his face. Lord knows he's got a lot to think about,
so I don't press him to talk. I just go in the office and get the
room.

The only rooms they've got left are a single with a twin bed and
another room with two beds. I pay for the two beds, take the key, and
go out to retrieve John. His face is a sight to see, covered with
bruises, cuts, and a black eye that's swollen half-shut. He gets out
of the car. God, he smells awful, but I can only think about taking
care of him until we can get home.

We walk into the room. It's pretty modest, but clean.

"We'll have to share this one." I say to him. He nods his head.

I look him over. I shake my head and laugh slightly. "Jesus,
John...you look like shit."

He looks down at himself, and then up at me again, smiling a little.
"Is it that bad?"

"You look like you've gone a fifteen rounds with Sugar Ray Leonard." A
beat. "Without the gloves."

He sighs tiredly. "Man, don't I feel like it."

He plops down on the bed. "I guess I should take a shower." he says,
running a dirty hand through his disheveled hair.

"I'm going across the street for a minute. There's a variety store
there. I'll get you some clean clothes, and a toothbrush." I say,
opening the door.

"Hey..." He says. I look back at him.

"Thanks. Thanks for coming to get me." He says. I smile at him, and
leave.

I hurry through the store, picking up everything I think he might
need. Underwear, socks, a toothbrush, some antiseptic, a pair of jeans
and a pack of white t-shirts.

I pick up a pair of tennis shoes and throw them in my basket.

I swing through a McDonald's and grab us some dinner, and head back to
the motel.

When I get in, the first sound I hear is the running shower. I'm sure
he'll be in there for a while. Ten minutes later, the shower shuts
off. I hear him fumbling around in the bathroom for a minute, and then
the bathroom door opens, and John emerges in a cloud of steam, a motel
towel wrapped around his waist.

And I thought I couldn't feel any worse for him. His torso is covered
in bruises and cuts. His arms too.

"Oh, John..."

He looks down at himself. "It doesn't look as bad as it feels. But I'm
happy to be clean."

I smile, and take the items I've purchased out of the bag. I hand them
to him. He takes them gratefully. "Thanks." He says. And then he looks
unsure of what to do. He stands there for a moment, and then goes back
into the bathroom A minute later he comes out, dressed only in the
boxers and t-shirt.

We eat in silence. I'm starving, and I can only imagine that John is
too. He wolfs down the burger and fries in a few minutes.

"Don't eat so fast...you'll get a stomach ache."

He stuffs the last bite into his mouth anyway. He's got ketchup on his
face, so I lean over and wipe it off with a napkin. He stares at me,
but lets me do it.

Then there's a comfortable silence. "I picked up some antiseptic and
bandages. Why don't you let me take care of those wounds?"

He nodded, and I gestured for him to come and sit closer to me. He sat
with his back to me, and pulled his shirt over his head. I went to
work. I know the antiseptic had to sting, but John didn't make a
sound.

"Monica...I know I said I remember everything, but I don't. It's
coming back to me in bits and pieces. Maybe you can help me out."

"What do you want to know?"

He cocks his head to the side for a minute. "Well...I want to know if
we're just partners."

I look up, surprised. What does he mean? "We're...friends, too. Good
friends, I'd like to think."

He nods slowly. "And we've never been...involved?"

"Involved." I repeat.

"Y'know...intimately."

I stop working for a moment, and then continue. "When Luke...died, we
worked together for a few weeks. We...slept together."

He didn't speak for a moment.

"I...had a wife, didn't I?" He asked.

"Yes." I answered. "She died about two years before Luke was..." I
paused. "Breast cancer."

I placed a bandage over one of the cuts and smoothed it out with my
fingers.

"Her name was Linda." He said. "I remember her."

Good, I thought. I would hope that he could remember her.

"So...nothing else ever happened with us?" He asked.

I shook my head, though he couldn't see me. "I was reassigned back to
New Orleans. We kept in touch, but you know how that goes."

"We didn't try to make a go at it?"

I hesitated. "I...felt that if it was supposed to happen, then we
would find each other again. I guess it's just crap, but that's how I
felt at the time." I said, putting emphasis on 'at the time'.

"But we did find each other again."

"As partners, though."

He nodded. I sighed, and he turned around to look at me. "I take it
that it wasn't something you wanted, then."

I looked down at my hands, careful with my words. "To tell you the
truth, John...I did. Very much." There. I told him. It was something
I'd wanted him to know for a very long time.

"You've never told me this before, have you?"

"No."

"Why not?" He asked.

I swallowed. "Fear of rejection, I guess. I've never been able to read
you, John. I still can't. I didn't know if you returned the feeling."

I looked into his bright blue eyes, trying hard not to get too lost in
them. And then I went to work on the wounds above his eyes, the cuts
on his cheeks. He was looking at me in the most thoughtful way.

"I wish I could remember...so I could tell you." he said.

"You will." I said. I hoped, anyway.

And we didn't talk for at least ten minutes after that. I considered
the matter closed. I felt tired and strung out from the last few
weeks, and I wanted to sleep. I went into the bathroom to change into
shorts and a t-shirt and thought on our conversation. I'd told him so
little about how I felt about him, but that was because I knew that
he'd regain his memory soon enough, and I didn't want to feel like an
idiot. I was a little scared that he knew, and a little relieved, too,
to finally have it out in the open.

When I came out of the bathroom, John was already in bed. I switched
the light out and got into the other bed. I laid awake in the silence
of the room for a long time. I could hear John breathing. He was
probably thinking, regaining new memories one at a time as he did.

I was almost asleep when I heard him say:

"Monica...I remember."

"Hmm... remember?"

"I remember that night we spent together." He said. I wasn't quite
sure how to answer him. I remembered it too. It was a bittersweet
moment for us, with John still hurting for Luke. John wasn't much of a
crier, but he cried a lot in those first few weeks. We had become
friends, and my instincts told me that I should hold him one night
when he broke down into tears. It went a little farther than we both
expected, and I don't know if it made his ordeal any easier. All I
know is that I don't regret it. And I hope he doesn't either.

"Monica?"

"Yeah."

"Would you think it was inappropriate of me to ask you to come and
sleep next to me?"

"No, John. Of course not."

"Then would you?"

I didn't answer him. Instead, I got up in the darkness and slipped
into bed next to him. With my back to him, I rested against his body
and let him put his arms around me. God, it felt good. I was too tired
to think of anything but sleep. At least that would keep us out of
trouble.

I smiled in the darkness as I put my arm over his, and my hand over
his. I could feel his breath against my ear. It was the last sensation
I felt as I drifted off to sleep in his arms.



~end