Title: Some Things Never Change
Author: Scifinerdgrl
Rating: PG-13
Classification: SRA
Spoilers: S9
Keywords: Doggett/Reyes Relationship, Doggett/Other (Barbara),
Follmer/Reyes Relationship (married), X-File, AU, Mytharc

Summary: After accidentally activating a mysterious device,
Doggett and Reyes find themselves in a world where neither has
broken off their previous relationship. Even if they can figure
out how to restore their reality, will they want to? Rated PG-13
for adult themes and a little violence. If you don't know how
babies are made you won't understand this story.


CHAPTER ONE

John Doggett looked across the office to his partner. "Almost
quitting time," he said with a wink.

Monica Reyes looked up from her computer. "Yeah?" She checked
her watch then said, "Since when is one more hour 'almost?'"

"You think anyone would notice if we left early?" he asked,
smirking suggestively. For the past six months they had found
that hiding their relationship was surprisingly easy, making them
wonder if it wasn't a matter of their fellow agents not noticing,
but of nobody caring.

"Probably not," she agreed, presenting a deliberately
professional demeanor except for a slight smirk. "And we *were*
up late on that stake-out last night."

"Good point," he said, stretching his arms in a badly faked yawn.
"I should get to bed early tonight."

"Awww," she said with mock disappointment. "I was going to
invite you over for some authentic home-cooked Mexican food."

"Aw, gee, Agent Reyes," John said, feigning disappointment as
well. "I'd love to, but Mexican food always keeps me up."

"Well, then..." She walked to his desk and put her hands on it,
leaning forward until her face was only inches from his. "I
*definitely* think you should come over."

He looked into her eyes, but his mind was on the cleavage that
was right at his eye level. Running the tip of his index finger
just under the collar of her V-neck sweater, he urged her forward
until their lips were just brushing together. "That sounds like
an offer I just can't refuse," he whispered.

"I'd better leave now, then. The frijoles might take awhile."
Monica sighed and closed her eyes as his finger continued teasing
her neckline.

"Can't have bad frijoles," he agreed.

"No, can't have that," she whispered.

"But I'll need to borrow your truck. I left my car at home this
morning...." She gasped when the knuckle of his finger grazed the
skin of her chest, then trailed it upward until it was stroking
the underside of her chin. "I got a ride to work with a friend."

"Sure," he growled, then pulled her chin that last
millimeter toward himself for a tender, breathless kiss.

When they pulled apart, neither had any sense of how long the
kiss had lasted. It could have been a second, could have been an
hour. Time had been stretching and bending like that a lot
lately. He pulled some keys from his pants pocket and held them
out for her. "Here, you'll need these," he said.

She made a point of covering his hand with her own while she took
the keys. Though they had been together for six months the long
wait before that incredible first touch made every touch after
that as magical as the first, and like teenagers in the flush of
first love, they lingered over every sensuous moment that passed
between them.

Time stood still as the pair held their breaths, their eyes
closed as they focused on the feel of the other's hand.
Electricity surged from the touch of the other's hand, making
them smile and the linger over the feeling. But suddenly the
touch felt almost painful, and John pulled his hand away, leaving
Monica holding what should have been his car keys, but instead
was a small, oddly shaped metallic object. The object buzzed
loudly and vibrated in her hand, then became silent when she
raised it to get a closer look.

Monica looked at John in amazement. "How did you do that?"

"I didn't do anything," he answered, trying to see what she was
peering at.

"Is this a gift?" she asked coyly. "A toy for tonight, maybe?"
She smiled then turned what looked like a tiny knob.

The object hummed, then buzzed, then let out a high-pitched
electronic whine that made the two partners instinctively cover
their ears. Monica dropped it, and when the object fell to the
desk it started to glow, its light growing until it was so bright
that they had to close their eyes. When they opened them again
the object looked as it had before, and it was silent once again.

"What the--" John started.

"You didn't do that?" Monica asked.

"No," he said, reaching for the object. From the corner of his
eye he noticed a picture frame sitting on his desk, one that had
never been there before. He moved his hand away from the strange
object and picked up the frame instead. "And I didn't do this,
either."

He turned the frame towards Monica, showing her a studio-style
family photo of John, his ex-wife, Barbara, and two young
girls.

Their eyes locked over the picture for a long moment, then Monica
went to her desk and looked at the pictures she found there. One
stood out. It showed her and her former lover, Brad Follmer,
standing under a rose-covered arch, their hands locked and their
faces radiant with joy. She'd never seen a more beautiful wedding
photo.


CHAPTER TWO

"Monica?" a voice rang out from the doorway.

The two partners looked up. "Brad," Monica said nervously. The
last she knew, Brad had gone into the witness protection program
after murdering a mob hit man. He would never risk his life to
show up at the Hoover Building.

"Follmer," said John carefully.

"Am I interrupting something?" Brad asked innocently. "I need to
see my wife, if you don't mind." He turned toward Monica then
said, "Got a minute?"

"Sure," Monica answered. She followed Brad into the hallway,
glancing over her shoulder at John as she turned the corner. As
soon as they were alone, Brad grabbed her head and pulled her
in for a long, passionate kiss. Monica pulled away, saying
"Brad..."

"What? A guy can't kiss his wife after almost a week away?" he
said, laughing. "Look around, Monica. Who's going to see us?"

She glanced around. Everything seemed different. Different file
boxed crowded the storage area, the ceiling tiles had dark water
stains, and the paint was peeling. This couldn't be fake, she
realized. "The fire..." she gasped, stroking the walls that
should have been repainted a few years earlier.

"What fire?" Brad asked.

"The fire in the X-Files office..." She inspected the boxes, and
when she opened one she found files dated 1994, files that should
have burned. "It never happened."

"No," Brad said, wrinkling his brow. "There's never been a fire
down here." He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to
him, then playfully pushed his hips against hers and said,
"Except the ones we've started."

Before she could answer, his lips engulfed hers for a passionate
yet oddly tender kiss. He paused for a moment to whisper, "God,
how I've missed you," then tangled his fingers in her hair and
kissed her again.

Despite her initial revulsion her body began to respond and she
found herself playing along, wrapping her arms around his ribcage
and massaging his shoulders. By the time she felt the breath
from a very loving sigh brush her cheek she had been transported
over three years into the past, to a time when she was sure he
was the love of her life.

Looking lovingly into her eyes, he stroked her hair, smoothing it
back behind her ears. "Did you miss me too?" he asked.

Hearing his voice brought her back to reality, and she pulled
back in horror. "Brad, what...?"

He pulled her closer as she struggled to break free, then said,
"You didn't miss me?"

The hurt in his voice betrayed the playful smile on his lips, and
Monica realized this was no joke. "Of course I did," Monica
said, looking down and placing her hands on his chest.

The palms of Brad's hands moved to her jaw line, where they could
tilt her face toward his. She reluctantly looked into his eyes,
then remembered. His eyes. They'd had such power over her once,
and he seemed confident that they still did. She managed a
slight smile and he smiled wistfully back at her. "That's my
girl." He kissed her again briefly then added, "I'm afraid I
have some bad news. I know I just got back, but I have to go to
Chicago tonight. More task force business."

She sighed with relief then caught herself and feigned
disappointment. "When will you be back?" she asked, rubbing his
chest in imitation of a woman missing her man.

"Tomorrow, if everything goes well," he answered. He grabbed her
left hand then brought it to his lips and kissed her knuckles
tenderly, so tenderly that Monica almost forgot to feel
revulsion. "I know you need me to be home with you, but it can't
be helped. What was your temperature this morning?" he asked
solicitously. "Is it time? Because if it is, we can go back to
my office, and..." Brad interrupted himself to look down on her
hand. For emphasis, he turned it as he held it. "Where are your
rings?"

Monica pulled her hand away and put it behind her back. "I must
have taken them off to do the dishes," she said.

"Is something wrong with the dishwasher?" he asked. "You should
have told me..."

"No, just washing a few things..." she stammered.

"Honey," he said with saccharine sweetness. "I can't help
wondering what people will think if they don't see your rings.
There have to be dozens of guys in the bureau eating their hearts
out that the most beautiful woman in the world is married to a
chump like me..."

He kissed her knuckles again, and she couldn't help blushing.
"You're not a chump," she said as she pulled her hand away. "And
I'm sorry about the rings. I'll wear them from now on."

He stooped slightly to look more directly into her eyes. "That's
my girl. And I want you to know I've thought about what you said
before I left. You're right, it does seem like I leave town when
you're fertile. But it's just coincidence, I promise. If it
makes you feel better, I can make a little deposit with your
doctor in case this happens again." He smiled, expecting her to
smile back.

She knew that smile. It was the habitual smile of a
lifelong charmer trying to get his way, and she couldn't believe
there could be a version of herself who hadn't learned to see
through it. She smiled weakly.

"I want this as much as you do, Monica. In a year we'll be
parents. You'll see."

Tears came to Monica's eyes as she felt the gravity of what he
was saying. Parents? She and Brad would be parents? She
prayed silently to wake up from her nightmare, and Brad, noticing
her expression, pulled her into a tight hug, whispering, "I adore
you, Monica. You'll make a wonderful mother. But no matter what
happens, I want you to be happy..."

She pulled away and said what she knew he wanted to hear. "I am
happy, Brad. Really."

He smiled smugly then ran a thumb under her eye, wiping away a
tear. "Glad to hear it. And soon you'll be even happier." He
looked at the moisture on his thumb then rubbed it against the
tip of his index finger. He looked more closely at her eyes, his
lips gradually pursing in disgust. "But let's look happy, okay?
Just because I'm out of town, don't let yourself go. No make-up?
Your hair isn't done? And this sweater..." he said, fingering
the yarn as if it were strands of mucus. "You can do better than
this. We've set a standard, Monica. Let's live up to it, okay?"

She nodded then asked hopefully, "See you soon?"

"That's my girl," Brad said, pulling her in for another kiss.
"I'll call you."

She pulled away from him as quickly as she could, and returned to
the X-Files office. Her partner was examining the contents of
his desk, and he looked up when she entered. "Something tells me
we're not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy," he said.

"I'll say," she said, standing just inside the door. She
listened until she heard the sound of the elevator door closing,
then locked the office door and approached him. "What's going
on?" she sighed. "I could never marry him."

"Beats me," he answered, moving to meet her. They stood together
next to his desk, looking at the strange object. John's arm
automatically went to her waist, and she settled into his
embrace.

"This is all wrong," she said, shaking her head.

"What did your *husband* want?" John asked, pulling her around
to face him, his hands now holding her sides as if to keep her
from escaping. "Did he notice anything different?"

"I don't think so, except the rings are missing," she answered,
then when his quizzical eye questioned her sudden blush, she
added, "And he didn't like my hair and make-up..."

John's ire went up immediately, realizing she'd been insulted,
but not knowing how to soothe her, he took a deep breath, then
forced a weak smile and said simply, "Good."

"He's going out of town on a case," Monica added, stroking John's
arms. "We don't have to worry about him until tomorrow."

"Let's hope we can set things straight before anyone notices,"
John said softly. He stroked Monica's hair as she nodded, a
gesture that had become habitual for him. He'd never paid much
attention to Barb's hair, but with Monica it was a magical,
almost spiritual gesture. Comforting her somehow comforted him,
which comforted her even more.

She smiled at the gesture, then picked up the object and said
slowly, "I turned this, but I don't remember how far..."

"It was 'on' when it arrived here," John mused.

"How did this happen, John?" Monica asked, her brown eyes looking
for answers in his crystal blue ones. Even though she knew he
would have no answers, looking into his eyes as if he understood
everything made her feel safe and protected. She'd never needed
a hero before, but with him it was different.

"And where did it come from in the first place?" John
interjected, picking it up and examining it himself.

"Or when?" Monica said. "Is it from the future? Or the past?"

"And why?" John sat on the edge of the desk, looking into her
eyes. "Was it an accident?"

"Things don't just appear out of thin air, John," Monica said.

He smiled. "That sounds like something I'd say."

"Maybe someone sent this to us," Monica suggested. "Or maybe we
sent it to ourselves."

Before he could offer another theory, the phone on John's desk
rang. "Doggett," he said mechanically.

"Teresa's piano teacher is running late," his ex-wife's familiar
voice said. "I'll pick you up at the Metro at 6:00, okay?"

"Uh, sure, Barb..." John said cautiously as he set the object on
his desk. "Which station? West Falls Church?"

"Where else?" Barb said with an annoyed sigh that brought back
unpleasant memories for John. Some things never change, he
thought.

"Hey listen, Barb," John started, keeping his eyes on Monica's.
"Mind if Monica stays the night? We're working on a case, and
Brad is going out of town..."

Barb sighed loudly. "So what else is new?"

"So it's okay?" he asked hopefully.

"Sure," Barb answered. "Is she there in the office?"

"Yeah," John said, afraid he'd made a mistake. "Is there a
problem?"

"We've talked about this, John," she scolded. "Brad doesn't want
her coming over so often. It's too hard on her."

"It's just for..." John eked out, but Barb cut him off.

"And I tend to agree. The last thing she needs right now is to
be around Teresa," she said in the authoritative yet uncannily
insightful voice John recognized from years of dead-on
neighborhood gossip. "But rattling around all alone in that
big house can't be easy for her either. If he's not going to
spend time with her..." She sighed again, and John closed his
eyes, picturing the face that went with the sigh. Even after
all these years apart, he knew this woman too well. She
sighed again when he didn't fill her silence, then added, "It's
okay with me as long as you take the heat when he gets back. I'm
tired of explaining ourselves to him."

"Works for me," he said cheerfully. "See you at six, then?"

"Fine," she said, not fooled by his false cheer. "Be at the Kiss
n' Ride at six."

After hanging up the phone, John looked at Monica. "I hope you
don't mind coming over. Apparently rattling around in that big
house is no fun for you."

"Big house?" she said, raising her eyebrows quizzically.

"I don't think you're happy here, Dorothy," he said, gently
touching her hair. "I don't think I am either."


CHAPTER THREE

For the next hour they pored over reference books, old files, and
the internet looking for clues about what had happened, but to no
avail. Theories of multiple universes abounded, but the
technology to switch among them seemed impossible even to the
most eccentric scientists, and they couldn't find drawings or
prototypes that resembled the device.

Monica pulled a Rolodex card from its roller then held it up for
John's inspection. "He seems to be the best in the area. Let's
give him a call."

"DOE?" John asked suspiciously. "I dunno, Monica... I can't
see how the Department of Energy would be making..."

"It takes a lot of energy to break the laws of physics," Monica
said matter-of-factly. She pocketed the card then started
putting on her coat. It was a beautiful leather trench coat,
lined with silk, and topped with a fur collar. She paused to
stroke the fur before putting her arm into the first sleeve.

As John helped her into it, he couldn't help but wonder if Brad
had paid for this coat with dirty money, and he felt a twinge
of envy that Brad had given her the expensive coat. "Nice
coat," he said.

"Beautiful," she sighed, stroking the leather. "But it's not
*me.*"

They carefully packed the mysterious object in a worn leather
briefcase they found under John's desk, then squeezed both of
their laptops into a high-fashion bag they found under Monica's.
As they stood in the crowded subway they kept their eyes on each
other, each afraid that the other might disappear at any moment,
each wondering what the others' life was like in this reality.

John almost didn't notice the SUV honking at the Kiss n' Ride,
but Monica noticed and tugged on his sleeve. When he opened the
passenger door John made a point of leaning toward Barbara for
the perfunctory kiss he assumed she'd expect.

"She's not looking," Barb muttered. "Save the show for later."

John looked over his shoulder. It was true. Monica was standing
at the rear door peering through the window at the two children
who were smiling at her. He rolled down the window and leaned
out. "Monica? Get in."

Monica squeezed into the rear between the girls then smiled
awkwardly at them. The older girl looked at Monica suspiciously
for a moment, then said, "Aunt Monica? Are you okay?"

"Yes, fine..." Monica said. "I did my hair differently today.
Like it?"

The younger girl broke in, saying, "You look pretty Aunt Monica."

"Thank you," Monica answered, smiling at the little girl.

Monica guessed the older girl was about six, and the younger one
four. They both had their father's dark hair and light brown
eyes. They were the opposite of Luke, who had his mother's blond
hair and his father's blue eyes. A good thing, she thought.
Best for the new children to be as different as possible from
their deceased older brother.

The younger girl wrapped her arms around Monica's and held it
tightly. "Are you going to stay over tonight?" she asked.

"She is, Mon-Mon," the older girl interrupted angrily. "And
she's staying in *my* room this time! I already put the sheets
on the bottom bunk."

"MOM!" yelled the girl who was apparently named Mon-Mon. "Tell
Teresa it's *my* turn!"

Monica squirmed, unused to being the center of anyone's
attention, much less small children's. John turned around and
smiled at the childish outburst, then his eyes lingered on each
child's face. Monica watched his features soften as he looked at
his newfound children, and her heart went out to him for the loss
he would have to suffer when they set things right. Suddenly,
John looked into Monica's eyes, and his own misted over as he
came to the same conclusion.

Barbara seemed oblivious to the silent communication between her
husband and her children's "aunt." "John," she sighed in
exasperation, signalling that this problem was his to fix.

"Girls," he scolded as convincingly as he could.

Barb sighed and rolled her eyes.

Teresa cried out, "It's not fair!"

"It's okay," Monica said awkwardly. "Don't fight over me. I can
sleep on the couch."

"Then where will Daddy sleep?" Mon-Mon asked.

"We'll work things out later," John said firmly, exchanging a
glance with Monica. "Aunt Monica doesn't want you to fight."

When Barbara pulled the SUV into the drive, John recognized the
house. It was the one that he and Barb had bought just before
their divorce, the house that he still lived in. But once inside
it seemed like an entirely different place. The kitchen was
cheerful, with children's drawings covering the refrigerator,
doors, cartoon-decorated utensils on the washboard, and brightly
colored decorations everywhere. The two girls each grabbed one
of Monica's hands and then pulled her toward a corner of the
living room where a Barbie doll house had been set up.

John started to follow them, eager to see what the rest of the
house looked like, but Barbara grabbed him by the sleeve and held
him back. "Did Monica leave Brad?" she asked bluntly, as only
she could.

"No!" he stammered. "It's what I told you. He's out of town on
a case..."

"Don't lie to me," Barbara scolded. "No make-up? Her hair? And
those clothes? Monica would never leave the house looking like
that unless something were wrong."

Hair and make-up had never been John's strong suit, so he knew
the difference must be striking for Barbara to expect him to
notice. "Oh really?" he said, trying to be nonchalant as he
opened the refrigerator door, then used it to block his face from
her view. He found a twelve-pack of beer, his favorite brand.

Barbara pulled on his arm and whirled him to face her. "Come on,
John. What's up?"

"Brad was out of town, then he stopped by to tell her he had to
leave again. That's all I know." He popped the top on his beer
then took a sip. "I didn't want to pry." He wasn't sure she
would accept this, but at least it was honest. He hadn't pried,
and unless he was a very different man in this universe, Barbara
wouldn't expect him to. That was her domain.

Barbara edged him out of the refrigerator space. "Having a baby
won't fix that marriage," she declared authoritatively as she
reached for food. "Just look at us."

He was relieved to find that the bottle-opener was just where it
belonged. He sighed inwardly after taking his first sip of beer.
It tasted just the way it should. Yes, some things never change.
He leaned back against a counter and continued taking small sips
as he watched Barbara puttering around the kitchen.

"She's just driving herself crazy wanting a baby," Barbara said.
When a peal of laughter came from the living room, Barbara's
shoulders sagged. "And spending all this time with Teresa... She
shouldn't be here, John."

He watched in amusement as Barbara worked efficiently, moving
back and forth between the refrigerator, sink, and stove
without missing a beat in her monologue. "Why not?"

Barb wheeled to face him briefly, then graced him with one of
her patented "You're kidding me, right?" looks. She turned her
back to him again and continued her monologue. "I don't blame
her one bit for wanting a baby. Every time I look at our two
little girls I realize how lucky we are, and who could blame her
for wanting the same?"

John nodded and took another sip. He knew she didn't need him to
answer. She never had.

Barb sighed heavily and turned to face him again. "Brad says
she's always down after spending time with us, but I don't
know... You know and I know and I bet Monica knows he doesn't
have to take all these trips. Wanting a baby, it's about more
than just being a mother for her. She'll expect Brad to stay
home more, like you did... But he won't..."

At the sound of more laughter coming from the other room, Barb
walked to the doorway and leaned against the frame. More to
herself than to John, she said softly, "Maybe this whole thing
was a mistake. We're not happy. They're not happy...."

John said lamely, "They'll work things out."

But Barb seemed not to hear him. With a faraway look she said,
"Teresa looks more and more like Monica every day, and she has to
be seeing that too. If she doesn't have a baby of her own soon,
she's going to start regretting donating her ova for us to have
Teresa."


CHAPTER FOUR

John choked on his beer. Monica donated her ova?!?!? She was
Teresa's mother?!?! His face was almost purple by the time Barb
glanced over her shoulder. After deciding he would live, she
looked again at her children and mused, "And Mon-Mon will learn
soon enough the difference between being adopted and being the
result of a donation from her favorite aunt. She already feels
inferior to her older sister. After she learns the truth it will
be even worse for her..."

Before she could finish, Mon-Mon ran into the kitchen and grabbed
John around the knees. "What's wrong, Daddy?" she asked
plaintively.

He coughed the last of the beer out of his lungs and squatted to
be on her level. "Nothing, honey. Just choked a little is all."
Mon-Mon wrapped her arms around his neck, and instinctively, John
wrapped his around her tiny body. After an awkward silence, he
tried to pull her off of him, but she clung even more tightly to
him. "It's okay," he repeated. "Daddy's fine..."

But still, she wouldn't let go. Her desperation was so endearing
he wanted to laugh, but instead he looked to Barb for some sign
of what Mon-Mon expected. Barb closed her mouth, her lips
forming a tight seal, and marched to the stove.

"Mon-Mon," John gasped. "What would it take for you to let go
of me?"

"Come see Barbie's new garden!" she whispered into his ear.

Somehow her breath wafted to his nose and as he took in her milky
scent, she brushed her cheek against his then kissed him. His
knees threatened to turn to jelly. A daughter. He'd always
dreamed
it would be like this. "Okay, let's go," he said, then stood up
slowly. She allowed him to shift her to one side, then together
they lumbered toward the Barbie set-up in the living room.

He found Teresa and Monica kneeling in the corner in front of an
elaborate set-up that combined pink and purple plastic doll
accessories with crude cardboard craft projects. Teresa was
holding forth with a running commentary on their dolls'
activities as she acted out the story. Monica, holding the
brown-haired friend of Barbie, followed along. Seeing them
together, their outstretched arms bouncing their dolls up and
down in perfect synchrony, John could see that they were mother
and daughter, and he stood staring for a moment, not wanting to
intrude.

"Daddy?" Mon-Mon asked sweetly. "Don't you want to see it?"

He snapped to attention and smiled at the tiny face looking into
his. "Of course I do. Now, show me what you want me to see."
He set Mon-Mon on her feet then followed her to the doll
set-up. "Now, whatcha got here?" He squatted in front of the
elaborate set-up, and when Mon-Mon leaned against him he put
his arm around her tiny waist.

Mon-Mon rattled off a list of her contributions to the set-up,
making him think about what it was like to have two sweet little
daughters. A few years before Luke's death they'd given up on
their dream of having another child, and John never thought that
those dead fantasies could come alive after fifteen years. But
here they were. Barbie dolls. Pattering girl-talk, so much
more descriptive and verbal than Luke's talk at that age. A
purple convertible instead of a red fire truck. Barbie's house,
not G. I. Joe's fort. It was beyond even Barb's ideas of what
having a little girl would be like.

When she was finished she took a deep breath and said, "What do
you think, daddy?"

Her eyes searched his for signs of approval, and her earnestness
tugged at his heart. He forced back the lump in his throat and
said, "It's wonderful, Mon-Mon!"

Without warning, Mon-Mon threw her arms around his neck and
kissed his cheek, then pulled back and said, "Thank you, Daddy."

Before he could respond, Teresa interrupted with a list of her
own contributions, each one apparently superior to anything
Mon-Mon could have done. Uh-oh, John thought. This is going to
go downhill. Teresa finished her monologue with a very
triumphant announcement that "Aunt Monica says my horse stable is
the best thing she's ever seen!"

"So what!" Mon-Mon cried out.

"It's better than your stupid trees!" Teresa shot back.

John looked down at the trees. He had to admit that they were
clumsy, but considering the age difference...

Mon-Mon broke free of his embrace and ran to the cardboard horse
stable, then kicked it over and started jumping on it. Teresa
screamed and started stomping on Mon-Mon's trees. And before
either John or Monica could interrupt, the two girls were in an
all-out knock-down wrestling match.

"GIRLS!" Barb shouted from the doorway.

The two girls instantly stopped fighting and up, wide-eyed with
fear. "Sorry, mommy," Mon-Mon said in a breathy, high-pitched
voice.

"Me too," Teresa said, bowing her head.

"Time to set the table," Barb ordered. "Teresa, you do the
plates and glasses. Mon-Mon you do the silverware." When the
girls didn't move she added, "NOW!"

After the girls ran to the kitchen, Barb shot John a brief, angry
glance, then followed the girls, leaving John and Monica looking
into each others' eyes for a long moment. Monica took a deep
breath then started picking up the debris left by the dueling
daughters. John began helping her then leaned over to say,
"The Lollipop Guild isn't happy here, either, Dorothy."

"All sisters are like that," Monica said quietly. "Or so I've
heard." She reached for Teresa's ruined cardboard stable and
tried to straighten it, and John picked up one of Mon-Mon's
mangled trees.

"A long time ago, before you and I met, Barb and I tried to have
more children," John said, rolling the tree between his fingers.
"And we always wondered what it would be like to have a
daughter."

"This is a nice family, John," Monica whispered thoughtfully.
She stood up and surveyed the tornado-ravaged dream house.
"They're sweet little girls, despite what they just did."

John glanced toward the doorway then sneaked a hand behind her
back and stroked her hair gently. "Yeah, they are. There's just
one thing though..."

"John," she said, pulling away. "Don't..."

Just then Barb appeared at the doorway and said, "Dinner's
ready."



CHAPTER FIVE

To John and Monica's relief, the seating arrangements at dinner
had long ago been established. Monica sat between the two girls,
with John attending to Mon-Mon and Barb keeping an eye on Teresa.
When Mon-Mon spilled her milk, John and Monica together mopped it
up, taking turns soothing the distraught little girl. This
seemed to have the effect of making Teresa look for ways of
demanding attention, but Barb silenced her with a glance every
time she whined or kicked the table leg. After dinner another
fight broke out as the girls loaded the dishwasher. Barb grabbed
Teresa and John grabbed Mon-Mon, leaving Monica feeling very much
the fifth wheel and John feeling very much at sea in his new
environment.

But all the girls' disagreements seemed forgotten when the
combatants went to their "corners," Teresa retreating to the
living room to practice her day's piano lesson and Mon-Mon
working quietly in the kitchen making new trees for Barbie, with
a little help from her mother.

Monica set up her laptop on the dining room table and started
making notes, starting with a list of "different" and one for
"same." "Most theories of alternate universes hinge on the idea
that individual events caused new time lines to branch out," she
said. "If we can just figure out what that pivotal moment
was..." He started typing notes in each column, and soon the
"different" column was twice the length of the one marked "same."

John looked over her shoulder. "Whatever it was, it happened a
long time ago. Look how many things are different."

"We'll never figure it out," Monica sighed.

"Never say never," John whispered. "I used to think I'd never
fall in love again."

She flushed at his use of the L-word and wondered if she would
ever tire of hearing it from him. "Me too," she whispered back.
"You have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now!"

"I have some idea," he grinned.

They gazed at each other for a long moment, then Monica sighed in
frustration and stood up. "Be right back," she said, answering
the question on his face by waving the rolodex card she'd taken
from the office.

When she returned, she announced that they had an appointment the
following afternoon. She returned to her computer and started
going through "her" files. "Let's see what history is in here,"
she said hopefully. But the files told her nothing new about
her life in this universe, and just like any stranger's files,
they were boring to someone who hadn't lived them. Soon her mind
started drifting, and she found herself listening to Teresa's
surprisingly accomplished piano playing.

"Fur Elise," she sighed. "I played that when I was a little
girl."

"You played piano?" John asked in disbelief. Somehow he never
figured her for the musical type. After all these years, why
hadn't he known?

"It was something all little girls of a certain economic class
were expected to do," she admitted. "Along with ballet, tennis,
and English."

Movement in the doorway caught John's attention, and he saw Barb,
dish towel in hand, looking at him quizzically. "You knew that,
John. That's why Teresa had her heart set on taking piano
lessons."

John glanced at Monica then at Barb. "Sure, I just..."

"Well, enough small talk," Monica broke in. "We need to figure
out what we're going to ask Dr. Schulmann tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Barb yelped. "You're working tomorrow too?"

John turned in his seat to look more directly into Barb's eyes.
"Yeah, is that okay with you?"

"No it's not okay!" she snapped. "You have to take Mon-Mon to
Gymboree and I'm taking Teresa to ballet class. Then there's
groceries, laundry, and you promised to take a look at the
car..."

"Can it wait?" John asked.

Barb crossed her arms over her chest, her dish cloth drooping
from one hand as if to signal her reluctant surrender. She
sighed and studied his face as he stared unflinchingly back at
her. Finally she broke the silence. "If it's absolutely
necessary for you two to meet with this..."

"He's a physicist," Monica broke in. "And he's very busy. We
were lucky to get an appointment with him."

"A physicist?" Barb's eyebrows went up. "Well, I suppose it's
for a good cause if he's going to debunk one of those silly cases
of yours."

"So it's decided," John declared.

"I'll take Mon-Mon to gymboree, you can take Teresa with you to
see this physicist. She'll behave herself, and she might find it
interesting," Barb said as she turned on her heel and left the
doorway.

That's Barb, John thought. Gets in the last word and leaves
before I can open my mouth. Some things never change.

"That won't be so bad," Monica assured him. "If Teresa 's a
distraction she and I can go off somewhere and play Barbies."

John grinned. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

"Yeah," she admitted, a slight blush crossing her cheeks. "I
used to play with Barbies when I was her age. It brought back
memories."

John leaned across the table and whispered, "About Teresa,
there's something you should know."

She looked at him expectantly but before he could say anything
Teresa came running in with a scrapbook under one arm and a
purple backpack dragging behind her. She climbed onto the chair
next to Monica and threw the scrapbook on the table. "Mommy says
I'm going with you tomorrow!" she said excitedly. "Can we bring
my scrapbook and work on it in the waiting room?"

"He's not that kind of doctor," Monica corrected.

"We're going to see a scientist about a case. I don't know if
he'll have a place for you to do a project," John explained.
"Aunt Monica thought you might want to take your Barbies..."

Teresa frowned at Monica. "But you *said* we could work on it
the next time you came over!"

"How about if we bring both and decide when we get there?" Monica
suggested.

"I think we should work on it NOW!" Teresa insisted. "How can
you make me a book if my pictures aren't in order?"

John pulled the scrapbook toward his side of the table and opened
it to the first page. Barbara's careful handwriting captioned
the pictures of a lifetime, a very young lifetime, from a
sonogram print-out to a birth announcement, to pictures from her
christening... first birthday..... But soon the neatly
organized and captioned pages gave way to hastily penciled marks
followed by pages stuffed with photos and mementoes. Yes, this
would be a major project, John thought.

"John.... John.... John...." Monica's voice finally penetrated
his consciousness. "Let me look too."

With a wistful smile he slid the scrapbook to her side. "She was
such a beautiful baby..." Monica cooed.

"Of course," John said admiringly. "She takes after her
biological mother." He looked up from the scrapbook, his eyes
seeking hers.

Monica looked at him for a moment, then realized with a start
what he meant.



CHAPTER SIX

"It's Mon-Mon's bed-time," Barb interrupted. "She wants her
story."

A sweet little face peeked at John from behind Barb's legs.
"Mon-Mon wants her story," she repeated.

John smiled at the idea. Bedtime stories. He hadn't done that
in years. He was on his feet in an instant, and Mon-Mon rushed
toward him, leaping into his outstretched arms. "So you want a
story, do ya?" John asked.

"I want *my* story," she said emphatically.

John chuckled. "Any story you want, you got it. Just show me
the way!"

At the top of the stairs, John reached for the first doorknob and
asked teasingly, "Is your story in here?"

Mon-Mon giggled. "No, Daddy! It's not in Mommy's room!"

"Is it in here?" he asked, aiming for the bathroom.

Mon-Mon squealed, a little too loudly, right next to his ear. "No
daddy! Not in the bathroom!"

He took a few jaunty steps toward the next door, bouncing Mon-Mon
as he went. The girl was now giggling uncontrollably, and she
could barely get out, "NO! Not Teresa's room!"

After teasing her with the linen closet door and the door to the
attic, John went to the last and smallest room, then stood by the
door. "Is it this one?" he asked.

"YES!!" Mon-Mon squealed. She squirmed out of his arms, and ran
to her little bookshelf, withdrawing a computer-made book,
printed on thick paper. She presented it to him proudly then
threw off her clothes and wriggled into her pajamas. She leapt
into her bed and commanded, "Okay Daddy. Start reading!"

"The Story of Monica Doggett, by Monica Follmer," John read
aloud.

***************

"Mon-Mon adores her daddy," Barb sighed. "She's definitely
Daddy's little girl."

"What about me?" Teresa asked.

"Oh, Teresa," Barb's face crumpled in sympathy. "I didn't
mean..." She went to the pouting child and smoothed her hair.
"You don't play favorites. You're Daddy *and* Mommy's little
girl."

Teresa seemed placated for the moment. "Because I'm your
biological daughter?"

"Where did you learn that word?" Barb asked.

"Daddy," Teresa answered.

Monica blanched and hoped Teresa wouldn't repeat John's exact
words. She shrugged when Barb stared questioningly into her face
Barb was about to say something when their silence was
interrupted by a loud ring. She shot a warning glance at Teresa,
then picked up the phone.

She overheard Barb say "Hi Brad," then started preparing her
story. It had been difficult enough when she could see Brad's
face...

"Calm down," Barb continued. "She's right here... she's staying
the night..." There was a long silence, then Barb said sharply,
"You'll have to discuss that with John. It was his idea." After
another pause, she said, "You want to talk to her or what?"
After an exasperated sigh, Barb handed the phone to Monica and
said, "It's for you," then she turned to Teresa and said, "Let's
let them have some privacy and get you ready for bed."

After Barb had ushered Teresa out, Monica took a deep breath and
said, "Hi honey".

"Monica," Brad said, sighing his annoyance at her. "We've talked
about this."


"Talked about what?" Monica asked, turning the pages of Teresa's
scrapbook.

"I'm a thousand miles away, you didn't have to sneak around,"
Brad said accusingly.

"Sneak?" Monica bristled. She came to the last filled-in page of
the book then closed it. "I wasn't..."

"Then why didn't you call me? I was worried sick," Brad said.
"Your cell phone isn't working, you weren't answering at home,
nobody's at the office..."

"I'm sorry," she sighed. "I wasn't thinking." She didn't even
have his phone number, she realized. "I'm glad you found me."

"The one place you shouldn't be," he scolded. "What are you
doing there anyway?"

"Working on a case," Monica said, a little more defensively than
she'd intended.

"That's all?" Brad seemed a little skeptical.

"Ate dinner, played Barbies with Teresa, started helping her with
her scrapbook," Monica said, though she wanted to say something
quite different.

There was a long silence, then Brad said, "Monica, she's not
yours. You have to stop doing this. She's Barbara's daughter."

"Please, Brad, spare me the lecture," Monica shot back.

After another long, deliberately exasperated sigh, Brad said,
"Never mind that we're trying to conceive our own. Just think of
what it must do to Barb when you go over there. I love those
kids too, but you have to give the Doggetts their space. Being
Teresa's biological mother doesn't give you extra rights to her,
just as I don't have extra rights to Mon-Mon for arranging her
adoption."

Slack-jawed, Monica offered no resistance to Brad's continued
tirade. "We have other friends, Monica," he said, his tone
softening. "If you're lonely when I'm away, they'd be happy to
spend time with you..."

"I don't need a babysitter," Monica retorted. And having found
her voice, she launched into a tirade of her own. "And
furthermore, what I do when we're apart isn't any of your
business. Barb's fine, John's fine, the kids are fine, so I
don't get why you're upset anyway. I'm your wife, not your
child!"

It was Brad's turn to be silent for a moment, and when Monica was
finished, he said, "I'm sorry... But you know how I worry."

Monica hmmm'ed a very skeptical hmmm.

"I have some good news, honey," he said excitedly. "I think
we've had a real break in the case and I can come home earlier.
I'm going to try to catch a red-eye," he announced, then waited
for her to respond.

"That's good," she said, supposing it was what he expected.

She could hear the grin in his voice as he said, "And then we can
stop arguing about other people's kids and take another stab at
making one of our own." He paused, and when she didn't respond,
he added, "I love you Monica. Let's not fight, okay?"

"Um, okay," she said, looking up to see Barb peeking around the
doorway. "I love you too, honey. See you soon." She answered
his phone smooch with one of her own then hung up.



CHAPTER SEVEN

The Story of Monica Doggett, by Monica Follmer

Once upon a time there was a very nice lady who had a sweet
little girl.

Mommy and baby went everywhere together. They went to the store.
They went to the bank. They went to the park. They were very
happy.

Then, one day, the baby girl was in the park all alone, without
her Mommy. She cried and cried and cried because she wanted her
Mommy. The police came and said, "Little girl, what happened to
your Mommy?"

But the little girl was very little, and she could only say,
"mama" and "more!" and "NO!" The police took her to the police
station and tried to find her Mommy, but her Mommy never came for
her. So they called someone from the FBI to try to find her
Mommy.

"We can't keep her," the police said. "We only keep bad people
here, and this little girl is very good."

The FBI man said, "I know a family she can stay with. They have
a Mommy, and a Daddy, and a big sister for her to play with."

So the police let the FBI man take the little girl away to be
with the family.

"What a beautiful little girl!" the Mommy said.

"Little girl, you are welcome to stay here as long as you want,"
the Daddy said.

"Wheeeee! A sister!" their daughter said.

The Mommy picked up the little girl and hugged her, and right
away the little girl called her "mama."

After a time, it looked like her first Mommy would never come
back. She couldn't take her to the bank. She couldn't take her
to the park. So the judge said the little girl could stay with
her new family forever. That's called "adoption."

The new family named the little girl "Monica," after the FBI
man's wife, who is also adopted. Her name is Monica Follmer.
And the little girl's new last name is "Doggett" because that is
the Mommy, Daddy, and sister's last name.

*******

John turned the last page of the book and saw the family photo
he'd seen in his office, and in a gravelly voice read the
caption: "The Beginning." By now his lower lip was quivering and
his eyes had filled with tears. "Goodnight, Mon-Mon," he managed
to say, then stood and walked quickly to her door. "You forgot
something, Daddy," Mon-Mon's tiny voice said plaintively.

"What, sweetie?" he asked.

"My nite kiss!" she pouted.

He hesitated, wondering how he could bravely observe an autopsy
or stare down a suspect with a gun, but feared that kissing this
little girl would be too much for him. "Daddy?" she implored.

Reluctantly, he obeyed and bent to give her a peck on the cheek.
She surprised him by reaching around his neck and holding his
face next to hers. "I love you, Daddy," she whispered.

"I love you too," he responded, pulling away from her. "Now, go
to sleep."

********************

"John's upstairs giving equal time to Teresa," Barb explained as
she took a seat across from Monica. "I thought we could talk for
a minute."

Monica felt exhausted suddenly. "Brad and I are fine, Barb,
really."

Barb studied Monica's face intently, then asked, "So where are
your rings?"

"I left them at home," Monica stammered.

"And why didn't you drive here yourself?" Barb quizzed her.
"Where's your Mercedes?"

Mercedes? Monica did a double take but didn't answer.

"And why do you look like you just came from the gym? Why no
make-up?" Barb continued.

"It's this case," Monica sighed. "I'm not myself. I don't think
John is, either."

Barb's face tilted upward, as if she were listening for John's
voice through the ceiling. "Teresa's going to talk his ear off.
We have enough time for you to tell me what's really going on."

"I told you..." Monica started, but Barb interrupted.

"It's about your coming over here, isn't it?" Barb guessed. "He
doesn't want you to spend time with Teresa."

Monica nodded, then quickly added, "But don't worry. We're still
okay."

"Monica," Barb said gently, reaching her hands across the table
and capturing one of Monica's. "I know what you're going
through. Believe me, I know! When John and I were trying it put
a real strain on our marriage, and if it weren't for you, we
would probably be divorced by now."

"I don't know..." Monica said, trying to pull her hand out of
Barb's. "You have a solid..."

"Monica, you know it's not ideal," Barb admitted. "But we have
our kids, and that's what our marriage has always been about."
Barb paused, checking Monica's reaction. "Please don't take this
wrong, but it seems that you and Brad are going that direction.
What will happen if you two don't conceive?"

Monica pursed her lips defiantly, but Barb was undaunted.
"Monica, I'm saying this as a friend, as your *best* friend..."

"Barb, don't..." Monica tried to protest.

Barb leaned forward and said with sympathetic seriousness, "Maybe
it's time for you to see Dr. Parenti."


CHAPTER EIGHT

"Dr. Parenti?" Monica repeated. The name sounded familiar, but
she couldn't place it.

"He's the best," Barb continued. "He was so good to us when you
donated your ova to help us have Teresa..." For the first time,
Monica saw a crack in Barb's facade. Barb gulped, then briefly
turned to check the doorway. "We owe you and Brad everything,
Monica. We can never repay you for giving us the family we've
always wanted. And of course, I can't do for you what you did
for me. But, if the problem turns out to be Brad's..."

"Barb, please," Monica held up her hand in an effort to silence
her.

"No, Monica," Barb pressed on. "Please hear me out. If the
problem is Brad's, it would be okay with me if you asked John for
a donation."

I don't want to hear this, Monica thought. This was getting just
a little too personal. "Barb, please..." she repeated, unable to
think of a response.

At the sound of John's footsteps on the stairs, Barb whispered,
"Just think about it. It would mean a lot to me. To *us.*"
Then she winked and hurriedly added, "As long as it's in vitro.
I'm not *that* generous!"

The two women looked up at John when he burst through the
doorway. "Boy, Teresa can spin a yarn!" he said gleefully. "She
could have kept going all night!"

"What was it this time?" Barb asked.

"Barbie and her friend went camping, then there was this bear..."
he chuckled then turned to Monica and asked, "Is that what you
two were doing earlier?"

"Something like that," Monica replied nostalgically. "Did Ken
rescue them and take them home in a boat?"

"That's the story!" John grinned. He flopped down in front of
his laptop, draped an arm over the chair between him and Monica,
then sighed. "She made it seem so real, like it really happened.
How much of it was your doing, Mon?" he asked.

"Well, I'll let you two get back to work," Barb said pointedly.
She turned to John then said, "You can have the bedroom, John.
I'll sleep in Teresa's room. Which bunk did she take?"

"The top," John answered. "She said she likes it up there."

"She was hoping you'd take the bottom, Monica," Barb said. "But
for the sake of a peaceful morning, I'll do it. And Monica,
please don't sleep in Mon-Mon's spare bunk. There'll be hell to
pay if you do." She stood and gave John a possessive peck on the
cheek, then looked across the table at Monica. "I'll put some
fresh linens on the couch for you."

After Barb left, John was still grinning from his experience with
Teresa. "She's a great kid, Mon," he said, reaching for her
shoulder and rubbing it affectionately. "You did a great thing
there."

"Thanks, but *I* didn't do it," she said, sighing. "John, don't
get too attached. We need to go home."

"Ya know, Monica," John said, closing his laptop. "I was
thinking... We've been assuming that there's some point in time
when universes diverged, but what if there's only one time line?
If we activate that thing we'll just be changing the time line
again, we won't be restoring it."

"John," Monica sighed. She knew where this was headed, and she
didn't like it.

"Now hear me out, Monica," he insisted. "What if the reality we
knew was gone forever and this reality is the only one?
Something changed in the past -- we'll never know what -- and
now there's a new time line. This could be it, this could be our
new reality!" He lowered his voice to a whisper and added, "We
could still be together. I'd divorce Barb. You can divorce
Brad..."

"John, this isn't about us, and you know it," she said sternly.

"It's about reality, Monica. It's about what's real, and well,
this all seems pretty damn real to me," he challenged.

Her voice softened but he could still hear her determination.
"John, this is one reality, but it's not *our* reality. It's not
right for *us.* We have to go back."

"But what if trying to go back would only make things
worse?" John started to argue.

"And what if there *are* multiple universes and some other
version of you has landed in a place where he's childless again?
Losing one child was devastating enough. What would losing two
more be like?" Monica countered.

He thought for a moment, then said, "It will be terrible."

"It will, I know," she said, reaching for his hand. "And as bad
as it will be for you when we go back, imagine what it must be
like for him now."

He looked toward the ceiling, moving his gaze from one girl's
room to the other, then said, "Yeah." He hated it when she was
right, and she was often right.

"But," she said soothingly. "Let's hear what the expert says
tomorrow before we decide, okay?"

He couldn't help himself. It had become habit, and even if it
hadn't been, he would have leaned over and kissed her for saying
that. One arm went around her shoulders as the other reached for
her jaw. He felt no fight when he turned her face to his. And
just in case he didn't get the message, Monica whispered, "I love
you," as he pulled her towards him.

It was a brief kiss, and afterward he was about to repeat her
words when they heard a little voice say, "Aunt Monica? Can I
have a nite kiss too?"



CHAPTER NINE

"Mon-Mon!" John leapt to his feet and ran to the little girl,
stooping to her eye level. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"I want a nite kiss!" she answered, looking at Monica. "Pweese?"
she begged.

"Aunt Monica, do you want to give Mon-Mon a nite kiss?" John
asked over his shoulder, but it was unnecessary. Monica was on
her way.

Mon-Mon accepted her kiss then wrapped her arms around Monica's
neck and refused to let go. "Mon-Mon," Monica gasped.

John started pulling her off, but the little girl shouted,
"NO!!!"

"What do you want," John sighed, letting her go.

"Tuck me in Aunt Monica?" Mon-Mon's voice asked breathily.

Monica grimaced at John over the girl's shoulder, but John just
smiled. "Well?" he asked. "I don't think you have much of a
choice, Aunt Monica."

"Thanks," she hmphed.

John stood Monica struggled to free herself from the little
girl's grasping arms. "Mon-Mon," she whispered. "It's okay, I
won't let go."

"Pwomise?" Mon-Mon begged.

For an answer, Monica tightened her grip around Mon-Mon's waist.
This seemed to satisfy the child, and the two walked slowly up
the stairs behind John. Monica tucked the girl into her bed,
gave her a 'nite kiss,' and returned Mon-Mon's whispered "I love
you."

"Aunt Monica?" Mon-Mon asked when Monica turned to leave. "Read
me my story?"

"Yes, Aunt Monica, read Mon-Mon's story," John said. He picked
up the book and showed Monica the cover.

Monica eyed him warily. He hasn't given up, she realized. He
wants me to feel what he does. But though she knew he was
manipulating her, she went along with it. As she read the story,
John tip-toed downstairs, leaving the two Monicas alone to bond.

"John," Monica sighed when she returned to the dining room. "You
did that on purpose."

"Yep, I did," he grinned. She moved to his side and looked down
on him accusingly.

"You want me to consider staying here," she declared.

"Did it work?" he asked unabashedly.

She sighed again and tears started to well in her eyes. "We can't
just come crashing into these lives and turn them upside-down,
even if they *are* our lives in a sense. It wouldn't be right."

"I wantcha to see something, Monica," John said, turning his
laptop to face her.

"What?" she asked skeptically, sure it would be a picture of the
children. Instead she found a freemail window, and a list of
messages from John to one of his old friends in New York. He
clicked on one and she read:

"I'm gonna have to ask for a transfer. One of these days I'm
gonna lose control and just throw Monica down on the desk and
ravish her. And damn if she isn't lonely and wanting to get
pregnant to boot. Shit, I'd be doing her a favor! And I swear
sometimes it seems like she wouldn't mind. I may be imagining
things, but sometimes when she looks at me I could swear she's
thinking the same thing. It's just a matter of time."

"Well," he asked, triumphantly. "Ya see? Some things never
change."

Monica wasn't sure what to think. One hand went to his shoulder
as the other clicked on other messages. It was true. John the
devoted family man was in love with his partner. "John, this
doesn't mean..."

"Check your e-mail," he nodded to her computer. "See if it
really is just a matter of time."

She logged on to a freemail site and tried the name and password
she was using in her world. They worked, and she found messages
to and from her college friends, friends from New York, and a few
from Mexico. She clicked on the latest message and read aloud:

"Brad's out of town again. Secret mission again. This task force
that I know doesn't exist again. I don't know what to think,
Mandy. He says he wants a baby, but every month, just when he
should be staying home, he goes away. Something's up. I don't
want to believe he could be cheating on me, but what else could
it be?

And lately John's been giving me *that* look again. I swear,
Mandy, if Brad keeps this up, one of these days I'm going to jump
John's bones. When I look at Teresa and see what a wonderful
child John and I produced together, it makes me want him all the
more. I'm not sure how much longer I can take this. I've been
thinking of asking for a transfer."

"Ya see?" John repeated enthusiastically. He reached around her
waist and pulled her close. "In any reality, in any universe, we
were meant to be together! We wouldn't be changing something that
isn't already destined to happen. It's fate!" he added, pulling
her closer.

Monica closed her e-mail. "John, we don't know what they'll do.
One of them might get a transfer. Brad might start staying home
more. You might work things out with Barb."

"And maybe you and I will fall in love," he suggested, nuzzling
her neck.

She inhaled deeply, then caught herself and said, "Not here,
John."

At the ringing of the phone the pair reluctantly pulled apart,
and John grabbed the phone. "It's Brad," he said, holding out the
cordless phone.


CHAPTER TEN

"Hi honey," Monica said softly, looking away from John's
inquisitive gaze.

"Hi sweetheart," Brad said. "I missed the plane. I won't be
coming in on the red-eye after all, but they put me on the first
flight
out. I'll be in DC by ten."

"Oh, okay," Monica said, trying to sound disappointed. "See you
then, I suppose..."

"Wait!" Brad said. "Is that it?"

"Oh, sorry, honey," Monica murmured. "John and I are still
working."

"Monica, those cases... Nobody will care if you don't solve
them," Brad sighed.

"The victims will care," Monica replied. She leaned back in her
chair and looked at John, letting him see the full force of her
anger.

Brad sighed loudly then said, "I know you care, sweetheart, but
your health is more important. You need your rest, your
vitamins, your work-out..."

"I'm fine, Brad," Monica snapped.

Brad was silent for a moment, and Monica sulked, refusing to
break the silence. She won, and Brad said, "Monica, love, I've
had a major break in my case. This task force should be wrapping
up soon, and I'm going to want to make up for lost time."

"That's good," she said noncommitally.

"You don't sound happy about it," he said accusingly.

Monica rested one elbow on the table, and put her free hand
to her forehead. "Brad..." she sighed. "I am, I'm just
distracted..."

"Can you meet me at the airport?" he asked hopefully.

"We have an appointment in the afternoon," Monica said. "And
anyway, I don't have a car. John drove."

"Where's the Mercedes?" he asked in a panic. "Did you leave it
in the garage?"

"No, I just..." Monica stammered. How could she explain
misplacing a Mercedes? "Brad, can you just wait until later?"

"I'll pick you up," Brad said with parental condescension. "I'll
rent a car, and then you and I can have a little talk. See you
at ten-thirty."

Monica sighed as Brad disconnected the phone. "He's angry," she
announced. "He'll be here in the morning to 'have a little talk."
She turned off her computer then said, "I'm tired. Let's hope
tomorrow we get some answers." She gave him a peck on the cheek
then said, "Nite, John."

"Nite," he said. He watched her as she left the room, wondering
whether having her here drove his alter ego as crazy as it was
driving him.

John lay for hours in his bed, studying the cracks in the
ceiling. They were all there, right where they were supposed to
be. And just as he'd done many sleepless nights before, he found
his mind returning again and again to Monica. Was she sleeping
well? Did she miss him? Was she as hungry for his body as he
was for hers? And what about his other self? Did that John lie
awake thinking about Monica? Did he plan to stay with Barb? Did
he really have any hope of forgetting about Monica, even if he
transferred?

A sliver of light appeared on the ceiling, then grew wider.
John's eyes followed the sliver until they came to the door,
which seemed to be opening by itself. He gasped and raised
himself up on his elbows, ready for anything, then sighed when he
looked down.

"Mon-Mon," he sighed. "What are you doing up again?" The tiny
door-opener padded to the bed then jumped onto it with practiced
grace.

"Daddy?" Mon-Mon asked, pausing halfway in her crawl toward
parental comfort.

"Are you looking for Mommy?" he asked gently. "She's in Teresa's
room."

"Can I sweep here?" Mon-Mon asked. "I had a mare."

"A mare?" John repeated.

"A night mare," Mon-Mon said, taking pains to enunciate.

"Tell me about your mare," John invited, reaching out an arm and
pulling her to his side.

He listened as Mon-Mon described a bright light, then the
disappearance of Aunt Monica. "It was just like what happened to
my first mommy," Mon-Mon announced.

"What?" John asked, then when the little girl nodded seriously,
he swept her into his arms and ran downstairs to the living room.

"John?" Monica called out cautiously in the dark.

After setting Mon-Mon down John ran to Monica. "You okay?" he
asked in a panic.

"Sure," she said. "Fine. Why?"

"Tell Aunt Monica about your dream, Mon-Mon," John urged.

Monica sat up, which Mon-Mon took as an invitation to climb into
her lap. She told the story of her dream, this time with more
elaboration. After she was finished, Monica said, "Wow! That
was a scary dream! But see? I'm okay. I'm right here, and I'm
not going anywhere."

Mon-Mon's arms flew to Monica's neck, and the two namesakes
hugged each other tightly with John soon joining the hug.
"Everything's okay, Mon-Mon," he whispered, though he was
reassuring himself as much as her.

"Aunt Monica?" Mon-Mon asked sweetly as she pulled away. "Can
you sweep with me tonight? You always keep the mares away."

Remembering Barb's warning, Monica said, "No, sweetie. I'm
sleeping downstairs tonight. Maybe daddy can keep the mares
away," she suggested.

"You take the top, I'll take the bottom," John added. "I'll make
sure the mares stay away." He was looking into Mon-Mon's face,
but his hand was stroking Monica's back, telegraphing his
anxiety.

"I'll be fine here," Monica said, looking at the pair. "I have
my gun. I'll shoot anyone who tries to take me away!"

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Monica awoke with a start, not sure where she was. She heard a
thunderous rumble on the stairs, accompanied by high-pitched
screams and shouts. "The monster's coming! The monster's coming!
Eeeeeeeeeee!"

Two little girls in pajamas ran down the stairs and grabbed her
by her arms. "Aunt Monica! Save us from the monster!"

She let them pull her to her feet, but their giggles told her who
the monster really was.

"I'm gonna get you! Here I come!" John growled as he came heavily
down the stairs."

The girls' screams rose another notch, and they clung to Monica's
shirt. "Save us!" they giggled.

Monica couldn't help giggling herself when she saw John. He had
pulled his T-shirt up over the back of his head, and he had
shaving cream smeared on his face.

"Stay back, girls," Monica ordered with mock seriousness. She
turned toward John, held up her hand, and shouted, "STOP! I'm a
federal agent!"

"I'm a monster! I don't stop for federal agents!" John growled,
taking many quick, noisy steps toward the girls but making little
progress.

"I have a gun!" she countered. "I could shoot you!"

"Guns can't kill me!" he growled. "I'm a *monster* remember?"

"Well, girls?" Monica asked. "What do you think?"

"I know!" Teresa giggled. "Let's tickle him!"

"Yeah!" Mon-Mon added. And within seconds, the three girls had
their monster pinned on the floor, his legs thrashing wildly as
they tickled him.

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" John cried out finally. "I'll do anything you
want!"

"GIRLS!" Barb shouted over the din of the giggling group. The
girls instantly stopped tickling their father, and looked up.
"And you, Monica, I can't believe you're encouraging them.
Honestly, as it is it's like having three children..."

"Sorry," Monica said, surreptitiously winking at Teresa.

"Sorry Mommy," Teresa said contritely.

"Sowwy Mommy," Mon-Mon chimed in.

"Sorry Mommy," John couldn't resist adding.

Barb stood at the foot of the stairs as her brood stood up, then
said harshly, "Teresa, help Mon-Mon into her gymboree clothes.
And you," she nodded to John. She opened her mouth to speak, but
then closed it again and just shook her head and followed the
girls up the stairs.

John was still panting, but he managed to grin broadly at Monica.
"Good morning, Aunt Monica," he said.

She grabbed a pillow and swatted him across the stomach with it.
"What a way to wake up!"

"Better watch it," he joked. "If I don't get tickled again, I'll
turn back into a monster."

Monica glanced toward the top of the stairs. "Better not," she
said impishly. "I'll do more than tickle you if you let me touch
you again,"

"Yeah, like what?" he asked moving toward her.

"Ewww!" she cried out. "Get away from me with that stuff on you!"

He dipped a finger into his shaving cream, then smeared some on
her face. "This stuff?" he asked.

"Yes!" she said, pushing against his chest. "Get yourself cleaned
up before *I* turn into a monster!"

After scooping up another gob of the cream, he threatened her
again, and just as he was about to smear her other cheek, the
doorbell rang.

"That's my husband," she said, her face immediately serious
again. She stood still as John wiped the cream from her cheek,
then added, "I guess I need to let him in."

"I'll do it," he said. He pulled his shirt down and went to the
door.

"John," Brad said stiffly.

"Brad," John returned the compliment.

"May I come in," Brad asked when John didn't move. John responded
by opening the door fully then stepping aside. "Thank you," Brad
said.

"Brad," Monica said timidly.

"There's my girl!" Brad said with exaggerated enthusiasm. He ran
to her and swept her into his arms, lifting her several inches
off the ground.

"Brad, put me down!" she laughed.

He obeyed, and his mouth was immediately on hers. Monica opened
one eye to check John's reaction, and saw him trying to look away
as he closed the door. Brad's hands moved to her hair, combing
through it sensuously as his lips tried to force her mouth open.

She pulled away and scoldingly whispered, "Brad...," nodding to
John.

"John, don't let us keep you from finishing your shave," Brad
said, waving him toward the stairs. John obeyed grudgingly, and
when they heard him reach the top, Brad said, "It's not like he
hasn't seen us kissing a million times before, honey."

"I know, but we're in his house," Monica said lamely.

Brad studied her face for a long moment, trying to decide what
was different about her, until they heard a brief series of
footsteps coming down the stairs.

"Uncle Brad, Uncle Brad!" Mon-Mon called out. Brad turned and
reached for her, letting her jump into his arms.

"There's little Mon-Mon, my favorite little Bon-Bon," Brad said
gleefully. "How are you this morning?"

Mon-Mon said, "I'm good!" She kissed him on the cheek then said,
"How are you?"

He kissed her on the cheek then said, "I'm good too."

Monica was struck by the genuineness of Brad's smile and the
gleam in his eye. Earlier, his speech about wanting children had
seemed so phony to
her, but he seemed so delighted to see Mon-Mon, and they seemed
to have a long-standing game going.

Still, something wasn't adding up. It was just an instinct, and
she didn't plan on staying around long enough to see, but Brad's
fondness for Mon-Mon intrigued her. Could he have been sincere
about wanting children?

She watched as he let Mon-Mon crawl all over him, and couldn't
help smiling at some of their well-choreographed routines. A
favorite seemed to be for Brad to hold his arms outstretched, his
hands firmly gripping Mon-Mon's, as she walked up his legs, then
his stomach, then his chest, then did a back-flip, landing on the
floor to repeat the whole procedure.

From the corner of her eye, Monica saw Barb coming down the
stairs, and found herself tensing in anticipation of the scolding
Brad and Mon-Mon would receive. Instead, she saw Barb smiling.



CHAPTER TWELVE

"Hi Barb," Brad said cheerily as he hoisted Mon-Mon into his
arms. The girl wrapped her legs around his ribcage and her arms
around his neck.

"Hi Brad," Barb said warmly, moving to take Mon-Mon.

Mon-Mon shook her head vigorously as Barb held out her arms.
"She's no trouble, Barb," Brad said, pulling Mon-Mon to one side
and supporting her with his arm.

He leaned forward to give Barb a peck on the cheek then said, "I
can spend a few minutes with my favorite nieces before we go
home."

Barb looked at Mon-Mon with maternal pride. "She's so fond of
her Uncle Brad."

On cue, Mon-Mon kissed Brad on the cheek and said, "I love you,
Uncle Brad."

He hugged the little girl and said, "I love you too, sweetheart."

Thundering footsteps down the stairs and cries of "Uncle Brad's
here!" heralded Teresa's arrival. She took the last few steps
two at a time, then ran to Uncle Brad and stood before him,
jumping up and down. "Uncle Brad! Gimme kissy!!!"

He obeyed, leaning over although precariously unbalanced with
Mon-Mon weighing down the other side. Teresa turned her cheek
for him, then quickly gave him a peck on the cheek in return.

As he straightened, Teresa held up her arms to be picked up and
when she tried to grab onto him, Mon-Mon batted Teresa's head
with her free hand. Teresa retaliated by pulling Mon-Mon's hair,
making the little one squeal in exaggerated agony until Barb
pulled Teresa back and swatted her backside.

"She started it!" Teresa yelled. She ran towards Brad and
Mon-Mon and managed to yank her sister's foot.

Mon-Mon screamed, making Brad take a step backwards and bring her
round to his front. He patted her back, saying "there, there,"
as Barb pulled Teresa backward and swatted her again.

"I hate you!" Teresa screamed, then ran up the stairs.

"Sorry about that," Barb said to Brad, oblivious to Monica, who
stood by awkwardly.

"She's still adjusting," Brad said compassionately. "It'll take
time." As if to reinforce his words, he hugged Mon-Mon tighter
and whispered into her ear, "It's okay, she went upstairs." When
Mon-Mon continued crying, he asked her, "Want your Mommy?"

"No," Mon-Mon sniffled, hugging Brad's neck so tightly he had to
pull one arm away.

Barb sighed, then looked toward the stairs. "I'd better check on
Teresa," she said quietly.

"Barb," Brad said gently. "I still can't imagine a better home
for Mon-Mon."

"Thanks," she said, glowing under the spell of his charm. She
turned back toward the stairs and tiptoed up with a slight spring
in her step.

Monica wanted to vomit. She went to the kitchen and started
packing up her laptop, making a point of not looking toward the
doorway. When she couldn't justify turning her back any more,
she looked up, and was surprised at her own disappointment at not
seeing Brad. She picked up her bag and poured a cup of coffee,
then went to the living room to see him lying on his side at the
Barbie set-up, examine Mon-Mon's trees.
"Monica," John whispered from the bottom of the stairway.

She jumped then tip-toed to her lover. They stood together,
watching her *husband* playing with Mon-Mon. Brad seemed
oblivious to anything but the little girl and her toys. John and
Monica exchanged glances then tip-toed to the kitchen.

"He's here to pick me up," she whispered.

"I know," John said, looking into her eyes as if he might never
see her again. "Want me to talk to him? Make sure we get to our
appointment?"

She raised her eyes to his, giving him the look that never failed
to melt his heart. Did she know she had that effect on him? Did
she know that every time she looked at him he went weak in the
knees? He resolved to tell her sometime, but for now merely
said, "Okay, I'll do it."

In the living room John found Barb standing a respectful distance
from the Barbie set-up, her arms folded across her chest, smiling
broadly as she watched the pair. Brad asked all the right
questions, and Mon-Mon seemed happy to answer them.

"Where's Teresa?" John asked.

"In her room, sulking," Barb said with disgust.

"You know, Mon-Mon *did* start that fight," John pointed out.

Barb sighed. "Why am I not surprised that you're taking Teresa's
side again?"

John was taken aback by her response, and stared at her,
slack-jawed.

"Oh, come on, John," Barb said. "You can't pretend you don't
play favorites. And Teresa knows you'll cave in whenever she
appeals to you. It's a wonder Mon-Mon hasn't figured that out.
In ten years this house will be World War III."

"Sisters are like that," John said. "They'll be alright."

Barb shot him a skeptical glance then turned away from him and
walked up behind Brad. "It's almost time for Gymboree, Mon-Mon,"
she said.

"And Aunt Monica and I have an appointment to work on our case,"
John pointed out.

Brad and Barb exchanged glances, the kind of glances that John
and Monica frequently exchanged. The kind of glance that told
John that the two knew each others' minds very well.

"It's very important," Monica added. "Come to think of it, maybe
Aunt Monica should just stay here until..."

"No dice," Brad said, jumping up. "We haven't been together in
almost a week!"

"Brad," Barb warned, nodding toward Mon-Mon.

"I'm coming too!" Teresa announced from the stairway. Everyone
turned to look at her, which delighted the little drama queen.
"I'm grown-up enough! Mommy said so!"

Mon-Mon started to run toward Teresa, her hand raised for a
retaliatory blow, but Brad caught her by the sleeve. In one
smooth movement he lifted her to face him and said, "My Mon-Mon
will be a good girl today, won't she?"

Mon-Mon nodded contritely, and Brad added, "And Mon-Mon will be a
good girl at Gymboree?"

Again Mon-Mon nodded, and Brad set her on her feet. She ran to
her mother and reached for her hand. Barb smiled at Brad, whose
grinning gaze moved from daughter to mother. "Have fun, little
one," he added, then threw a kiss to her.

Mon-Mon threw a kiss to Brad then turned to John and threw a kiss
to him. "Bye-bye, Daddy!"

John waved meekly, suddenly aware that he might be saying goodbye
to her forever. He ran to her, then took her into a very
parental bear hug. "Bye, Mon-Mon," he sighed over her shoulder.

"Oh, for Pete's sake," Barb said, yanking Mon-Mon away from John.
"We're going to be late."



CHAPTER THIRTEEN

In the car Monica sighed frequently as she watched the neat
suburban lawns roll by. Haunted by the vision of John's
teary-eyed farewell to Mon-Mon, she knew what leaving this life
would mean to him. And Teresa... Monica couldn't help wondering
if she and John might produce a Teresa themselves some day. But
even if they went "home" things just weren't right for having
children, and they might never be. She sighed again, this time
more heavily.

"Monica? Monica? MONICA!" Brad shouted, finally getting her
attention. She snapped to, but just pursed her lips in an
awkward grin. "See," Brad scolded. "This is why I don't like
you going over there. It's always like this when you leave."

"Like what?" she asked, a little too dreamily for his liking.

"This," he said, not making any attempt to temper his
exasperation. "Mopey, weepy, depressed..." He sighed, a grand
sigh that mocked her latest one. "I know you're lonely at home,
and you've been having those nightmares, but at least when you're
home you're, well... you!" he finished.

"I'm sorry, honey," Monica said. She'd been saying that a lot,
she realized. She wondered if her other self did too.

"And you see what's going on between those two girls. The last
thing Barb needs is a wild card when she's trying to get Teresa
to accept Mon-Mon." He made the turns and lane changes on their
route absent-mindedly, as if it were a well-worn groove and the
car were just following its track. "Barb is an excellent mother,
Monica. But she doesn't need the competition," he paused,
thinking he may have erred, then quickly added, "I mean, the
complication, of having you over there so much."

"You're right," she sighed, though she wasn't sure she agreed.
"But John and I did work on our case. I think we have our
questions for Dr. Schulmann ready for this afternoon."

"And that's another thing," Brad said. "Since when does Mr.
Perfect Family Man work on the weekend? Wasn't that the whole
point of working in the X-Files office? To have cases that
didn't need solving?"

Monica's nostrils flared to accept the deep breaths her rising
anger demanded. "Well, *this* case needs solving," she
countered. "And soon." She crossed her arms and leaned against
the window. "The sooner the better," she sighed.

When they arrived at their 'big' house, Monica was stunned to
find it only slightly bigger than the Doggett home, much in need
of repair, and far away from the prestigious subdivisions of
exurbia.

Brad pulled to the rear, where a Mercedes, *her* Mercedes sat
where a garage might have stood years earlier. It was an older
model, but clearly well-loved and cared for.

Brad eyed her curiously. "You forgot that the car was at the
house?"

"Brad, let's not fight," she said, grabbing her bag and opening
the car door. "I just want to take a shower and get ready for..."
Brad ran around to her side and took her elbow as he closed the
car door gently.

"I love you, honey," he said, the saccharine tone of his voice
making Monica's stomach turn.

"I know," she said meekly. "Don't worry about me. This case is
distracting me, and I didn't get much sleep last night. Mon-Mon
had a nightmare and woke me up to tell me about it."

"Mon-Mon's having nightmares?" Brad asked with concern. He opened
the door with gentlemanly bravura then ushered her to the kitchen
table.

The kitchen had clearly been decorated by a different Monica
Reyes, but she liked it. Ferns hung in the windows and potted
herbs sat on the windowsills beneath. The cabinets had been
stripped and whitewashed, letting previous generations of women's
thinking seep through just enough to give the cabinets a homey
glow. Stenciled ivy and floral patterns decorated the borders,
and mismatched knobs completed the look. Garage sale furniture,
stripped down and whitewashed to match the cabinets, gave the
impression of a true set, and the tabletop sported some of the
same stenciling as the cabinets. It was a far cry from the urban
sleekness of her Georgetown loft, but somehow she felt instantly
at home. Children would feel at home here too, she thought.

Brad made a beeline for the coffee maker and asked, "Want some?"

She nodded and sat at one of the chairs, making Brad scowl
slightly. Uh-oh, she thought. Which of these chairs is 'mine?'

After starting the coffee, Brad came around behind her, nuzzling
her neck in his favorite spot. "Brad..." Monica protested.

He hummed into her ear. "This is the effect being around children
has on *me* but if you'd rather wait..." He sat down opposite her
and asked, "What kind of nightmare did Mon-Mon have?"

Monica described the dream briefly, and Brad responded with a
despondent shake of his head. "Now she's having your nightmare?
Really, Monica, you need to spend less time with her too."

"She said it was what happened to her real mother," Monica
replied defensively. "I don't think I had anything to do with
it."

"You're sure?" he demanded, his forehead knotted in confusion.

"Thanks for the coffee, Brad," she said, standing with both hands
around her mug. "I'm going to take my shower now." She knew it
was a non sequitur. She knew he wouldn't be satisfied. But she
also knew she couldn't fake this. He seemed a little more attuned
to his spouse than Barb was. The less time she spent with her
'husband' the better her chances of keeping up the charade.

Before he could react, Monica had found the stairway, and once on
the second floor found their quaint, old-fashioned bathroom. The
tub was a classic cast iron model with claw feet, and the shower
was an add-on, surrounded by a shower curtain that hung suspended
from the ceiling on copper tubing. She quickly stripped off her
clothes and stepped under the steaming spray.

As she ran a soapy hand over her breasts, she remembered the last
soapy had that had run that course. Only a day earlier, she had
shared an intimate and sensuous shower with John, the perfect end
to a morning that had begun with languid groggy morning sex.
Without meaning to, she started retracing the path of John's
soapy hands, sending her hands, then her fingers, into the
sensitive places that yearned for his touch, doing the things he
would do if he were there...

And just when she thought she would lose control, the shower
curtain flew open, and there was Brad in all his glory, sporting
what she used to affectionately call his "flagpole."


CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"Awwww," Brad pouted. "You started without me." He reached for
her hand, but Monica leapt over the side of the tub, pulling part
of the shower curtain with her.

"No, that's okay," she gasped. "I'm finished. The shower's all
yours."

She grabbed a terrycloth robe from a hook near the door then
dashed into the hall, where she saw a king-sized bed through the
one open door. She dashed inside then slammed the door, putting
all her weight against it as she tried to decide what to do.
Hearing no footsteps in the hall, she took a deep breath. He was
probably finishing what *he'd* started, she thought.

After taking a deep breath, she grabbed the bedside phone, which
she was happy to see had the Doggetts' phone number
pre-programmed. "John Doggett," she was heartened to hear.

"John," Monica gasped. "I have to get out of here! Come get
me?"

"Monica, what's wrong?" he asked. Teresa sat at the table,
coloring quietly. John took the phone into the living room for
privacy. "What did he do?"

"He wants to have sex," she whined. It wasn't like her to whine,
but she couldn't help herself. "John, he really does want kids.
I don't think I can hold him off much longer."

John glanced at the Barbie set-up in the corner and smiled
wistfully. Who wouldn't want kids after seeing that?

"John?" she asked when he didn't answer.

"Sorry," he said, still looking at the Barbie set-up. "It's only
a few hours. Can't you just have a headache?"

"Monica?" Brad's voice rang out in the hall.

"Got to go," she said hurriedly to John, then hung up before he
could answer. She opened the door to see Brad, his hair wet and
tousled, wearing only a towel around his waist.

"What's this?" Brad demanded, holding up a folded piece of paper.

Monica crossed her arms and sighed. "I don't know," she said.
"What?"

He tossed the paper on the bedside table and said, "Your
temperature was perfect yesterday when I came to your office, and
just now..." He crossed his arms and studied her face. "What's
going on, Monica?"

"It's just this case," she said, pulling on the knob of a closet
door.

"Is that why you're wearing my bathrobe?" Brad asked.

The closet door swung open, revealing a neat row of men's suits
and shirts. Monica slammed it shut then hung her head and
sighed. Brad came up behind her and put his hands on her
shoulders. "What is it honey? I thought we told each other
everything."

She whirled to face him and said, "Is that so?"

"Why?" he asked nervously. "What did you hear while I was gone?"

Leaning against the closet door, Monica studied Brad's
expression. She could almost see the cogs working in his mind
as he concocted his cover story. "We tell each other
everything," she reminded him. "What could I hear that I
wouldn't already know?"

He stared at her for a moment then said, "There is something."
He took her hand and led her toward the bed. "Sit down."

She looked at him expectantly, breathing shallowly as she watched
him compose himself. "It's something big," she said.

"Yes," he admitted.

"There's someone else," she suggested.

"Oh, no, Mon..." he sighed, putting an arm around her shoulders.
"No, I could never... there's nobody... Oh, Mon, I can't believe
you thought that..." He pulled her head to his chest and held
her tightly, kissing the top of her head. "I love you more than
life itself," he said when he'd let her right herself again.

Her eyes were shining in sympathetic relief for her alter ego's
sake. "But there's no task force... I thought..."

He shushed her with a finger to her lips. "Monica, honey, I've
been meaning to tell you this. Really, I have." He took a deep
breath then looked into her eyes, perhaps judging her readiness
for the truth, perhaps judging her willingness to believe a lie.
She wasn't sure.

"Monica," he said, taking a hand in his. "Remember seven years
ago when you donated half your ova for the Doggetts to have
Teresa?" Monica was taken aback but nodded for him to continue.
"Well, Dr. Parenti didn't take half your ova, honey. He took all
of them."

"All of them?" she repeated hoarsely. "I'm sterile?" she
whispered, looking away, but not at anything... or maybe just at
endless blackness.

"Honey," Brad said, squeezing her hand.

"And you knew? You knew all along and let me... let me
believe...????" she cried, pulling her hand away from his. She
stood and looked down on his terrified face. "You played along
with this," she said, angrily picking up the temperature chart.
"All along you knew it was impossible? And you let me
believe...?"

"That's why I've been timing my trips, honey," he said lamely.
"I couldn't stand to see you disappointed month after month."

"So these trips? This fake task force," she spat out. "It was
all a lie? Everything was a lie just to keep me from finding out
something I had every right to know?" She started pacing as her
'husband' contritely sat on the bed, listening to the diatribe he
fully expected and knew he deserved. "Oh thank you," she
sneered. "Thank you very much!" She went to the dresser and
started pulling at drawers, finding only Brad's clothes in the
first two.

A pair of panties appeared before her eyes, and Brad said,
"Looking for these?"

She snatched them away and started working them up her thighs,
then started pulling at drawers looking for a bra. He came up
with a bra, too, and while she clasped it under cover of his
robe, he sat at the foot of the bed and said, "Are you going to
leave me now?" he asked.

"I don't know," Monica yelled, moving to the door she supposed
was her closet. She was wrong. It was a door to a small
balcony.

Brad jumped up and grabbed her shoulders, gently leading her
toward her own closet. "I understand why you're upset," he said.
"You have a right to be..."

"It's not that you kept *this* secret from me," she whirled,
throwing off his hands. "It's that you kept *any* secret from
me! You just don't get it!" she sighed when he shook his head in
confusion. "Why didn't you trust me? Why couldn't you tell me?
I would have been there for you, didn't you know that? I can
handle the truth no matter where it comes from. But lies... lies
coming from you...?" She turned around then pounded her head
against the closet door, letting her head come to rest on it. As
she blinked back angry tears, she stood silently for a moment,
then said softly, "You could have told me, Brad." She felt his
hands on her shoulders again, and this time she let them stay
there as she breathed deeply. "I thought we told each other
everything," she said finally.

He moved his hands to her waist, then wrapped his arms around her
tentatively. "I wanted to," he whispered.

"No you didn't," she said dejectedly.

He turned her around, and although her body was limp in his arms,
her features were still hardened in anger. "What do you mean?"
he asked, letting her see the hurt in his eyes.

"You like sneaking around," she stated matter-of-factly. "You
like the lies and the secrets and the cover stories. You liked
it when we were first seeing each other, but now that..." she
paused, looking around their bedroom for the first time. It
brought her up sharply, as she realized she was venting against
*her* Brad, the Brad who was on the take, the one who had taken
bribes while they were dating, the weasel who wouldn't even admit
to his wrongs when she confronted him about them three years
later. "And when you didn't have to keep secrets *about* me, you
started to keep secrets *from* me." She turned back to the
closet and grabbed a pair of pants. "And now that I know this,
there'll be something new..." she sighed. Brad stood by as she
started getting dressed, keeping her back to him and working the
pair of slacks over her legs under cover of his robe. She
reached for a blouse then sighed, realizing she would have to
shed the robe. He helped her off with it then put the robe on
himself and helped her with her blouse as she kept her back
toward him.

"Don't you want to know what happened to them?" he asked quietly
as she fastened the blouse.

"Happened to...." she started to ask.

"Your ova," he answered. "Don't you want to know what Dr.
Parenti did with them? I've been tracking them down for almost
three years."



CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"Three years?" she repeated.

He nodded. "Every time I think I've found the last of them, I
find more. But after this last trip, I really do think I've
found the last ones. And, honey," he added optimistically. "The
ones I found yesterday haven't been used." He exhaled, smiling
broadly. "I had them sent to a different doctor, in a
refrigerated..."

"What? The others have been used?" she asked. "Used how?"

"Fertilized, Monica," he said seriously. "You're the biological
mother of dozens of children."

"How many?" she stuttered.

"Last count? he raised his eyes as he counted for a moment.
"Seventy-three. I've met a few, too. They're beautiful," he
sighed. "Just like their mother."

Monica sat down on the side of the bed and sighed. "Over
seventy? Who are the fathers? Do the mothers know? How did you
find them?"

Brad sat down next to her and draped an arm across her shoulders.
"I know you have a lot of questions. See why I didn't tell you
right away?" he asked hopefully. "I wanted to be able to bring
you some good news too."

"Which is...?" she asked, then remembered. "Oh, the ones you
found yesterday..."

He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. "Anytime
you're ready," he whispered. "But the sooner the better."

She pulled back and looked into his eyes, which were glistening
with joy and hope. His eyes. They were starting to have some
power over her again. "Okay," she whispered, but not right now,
okay?"

He hugged her, burying his face in her hair. "I was so afraid
what you'd do," he sobbed. "I've been holding this in for so
long...." A broken sigh blew her hair away from the back of her
neck, making the skin underneath goose bumpy. "After seeing
those other children... I know ours will be beautiful too."

"About those other children," she asked, trying to free herself
from his grasp. "Tell me more. Over seventy? That sounds like
a lot."

"I've wondered that myself," he said, composing himself. "Too
many, in fact. Like I said, every time I thought I'd tracked down
the last, I found more. I thought there might be some kind of
cloning program going on, but they're all perfectly heathy,
Monica. No birth defects, no learning disabilities, no physical
deformities. Cloned babies shouldn't be this healthy. I don't
understand it."

"Go on," she urged, her investigative curiosity taking over.

"Then it occurred to me that they might have cloned your ova.
There are clusters, children born at about the same time, as if
they'd been fertilized at the same time. And if they were
cloning, the cloned ova would be mature at the same time..." he
shook his head. "It's the only explanation."

"Are they all coming from the same labs?" she asked.

He nodded, then added, "The same *few* labs, which is how I know.
I've had a little help hacking into their computers, and I've
been tracking their activities. And then yesterday..."

"You found more?" she queried with raised brows.

"They were about to fertilize them. It was our big break, and we
did it!" he announced triumphantly. "We broke in, and..."

"We?" she asked. "I thought you were working alone."

"I've had some help," he admitted. "Three paranoid geeks who
were investigating Dr. Parenti too. They hacked the computers and
helped me, um, rescue your ova."

"The Lone Gunmen," she said softly.

"You know them?" he asked.

"I've heard of them," she said cautiously. "So," she said,
changing gears. "That's everything? The truth? the whole truth?
and nothing but the truth?"

Brad gulped then said, "There's one more thing..."

She waited, expecting the worst, expecting to hear about his mob
connections, expecting his excuses why it was justified, or how
nobody could prove it.

"Mon-Mon's one of them," he blurted out.

"Mon-Mon!" she gasped, then thought back to the sweet little face
she'd so recently grown to love. "Yes," she said when she'd
caught her breath, "I can see the resemblance..." She searched
his eyes, silent questions in hers going unanswered by his. The
power of his eyes was still one-way, she realized, not like the
mutual communication she had with John.

"Why didn't I bring her home for us?" he asked on her behalf. "Is
that your next question?"

"Well, I..." she whispered.

"John is her biological father," he said. "She and Teresa are
full sisters," he smiled, then grew more animated as he proudly
debriefed her on his hard-fought findings. "Dr. Parenti and some
other doctors were experimenting, and they liked Teresa's DNA
profile. Mon-Mon's profile is the same."

"They're sisters?" Monica repeated. "Or is Mon-Mon Teresa's
clone?"

"When we took Mon-Mon's blood to match DNA with Jane Does who
might be her mother, I compared it with Teresa's. They're full
sisters, but not twins. Not clones."

Monica sighed. "She was fertilized with cloned ova?"

"It's just my theory," he said. "...based on the number of
children. There are girls *and* boys, hon. They can't be clones
of Teresa."

"And Mon-Mon's mother?" Monica asked.

"I don't know what happened to her, or how," he said, with
growing concern. "Or why your nightmares are so similar to
Mon-Mon's memory of that day." He stroked her back and smiled.
"But from now on I'll be home every night."

"You'll keep the mares away?" Monica asked.

"Nothing but sweet dreams every night," he assured her, then
kissed her cheek tenderly. "Feel better now?" he asked. "I'm
sorry I was so secretive, but now that you know everything," he
said, his hand moving in sensuous circles on her back. "We can
get pregnant." He nuzzled her neck, making her sigh in spite of
herself, then kissed the hollow of her collarbone. "And now that
we don't have to worry about your temperature, every day is a
good day for..."

She leaned back into his embrace, feeling a little dizzy.
"Brad," she sighed as her head lolled backward. "There's
something you should know."



CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"What, honey?" Brad asked, making a trail of tiny kisses upward
from her collarbone to her earlobe.

Monica sighed then remembered herself and jumped up. "Get
dressed. I can't tell you in here," she said, then ran out of
the room.

She stood in the kitchen, hugging her coffee mug and staring out
the window over the sink. How could she have let him tell her
all that, she wondered, yet not tell him who she really was? She
prayed for John to rush in and rescue her from this nightmare,
but she heard only the sound of warbling songbirds in the
branches near the window. No knight in shining armor. Well,
turnabout's fair play, she thought.

She took too big of a sip and burned her tongue. She had to tell
him, she told herself. The other Monica would be returning to a
Brad who thought she knew his secrets. For both their sakes she
had to do the right thing. But for her own sake, she wished she
didn't.

He came down the stairs dressed in a light purple polo shirt and
khaki chino pants. She smiled in recognition of a
long-forgotten difference between him and John. Ever the
preppie, Brad looked like he'd just stepped out of an L.L. Bean
catalog. In contrast, on his days off John always looked like a
Levi's ad. She preferred the Levi's style, but she had to admit,
Brad was a handsome man.

"So it's not just about me being gone so much, is it? There's
something else wrong, Monica," he stated, challenging her with
his eyes. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. I'm a big boy. I
can handle it..."

After the way he'd snapped when he found out that Regali had
killed Luke Doggett, Monica knew better. If this Brad were
really the same Brad, and so far he seemed to be... She shook
the thought from her mind, then took a stenciled seat and went to
set her coffee on the table. Just more rationalization, she
thought. Looking for an excuse not to tell him. She mustered
her courage and said, "Sit down, Brad."

Brad poured a mug of coffee then took a seat, the one she'd sat
in earlier. He looked at her appraisingly. "Something's
different since I've been back. It was different yesterday,
too."

"Yes, I tried to hide it, but you know me too well," Monica said
with a hint of appreciation.

He nodded slightly, as if confirming his own suspicions. "Now
that you know you're infertile, you don't want to have sex
anymore," he concluded. "Our sex life... Jesus, our whole
marriage... it's just about having children. It's not about *us*
anymore." He took a gulp from his coffee then added, "Maybe it
never was..."

"I don't know," Monica answered. "I'm not your wife."

"What?" Brad said, spraying coffee onto the table. "You want a
divorce?"

"No, that's not what I said," Monica said, reaching for a towel
to wipe up the mess. It came far too naturally to her, she
thought, but she couldn't help herself. It was *her* kitchen
somehow. "I'm not your wife," she insisted. "Another Monica
Reyes married you, and I've taken her place."

"You mean," he said, trying to hold his rising anger in check.
"That you've changed, and you don't feel married to me anymore?"

"I mean," she sighed. "Something strange happened at work
yesterday. John and I activated some kind of device that must
have opened up a parallel universe. In my universe, I'm not
married to you. We've never been married. *I've* never been
married."

Brad stared at her, his shoulders rising and falling as he
struggled to control his breathing. Like a true investigator, he
was waiting for her to give herself away, and he knew that she
would be waiting for him to give himself away too.

After staring back at him for a long moment, she said, "I realize
this must sound crazy to you, and it was hard for John and me to
accept. But it's true. We don't belong here." She glanced
around at the homey kitchen, then said, "I have a loft in
Georgetown that my parents helped me buy. John lives in the same
house, but he lives alone. No wife. No kids. Teresa and
Mon-Mon don't exist there."

Brad stared at her in disbelief. "Monica, if you want a
divorce..."

Monica sighed. "Why do I even try?" she said to herself.

"You've come up with some outrageous ideas, honey, and I've even
believed some of them, but this..." he stood and started pacing,
waving his hands as he spoke. "This takes the cake. You expect
me to believe that my loving wife doesn't love me and isn't my
wife? That's just great... just..."

Momentarily speechless, Brad huffed around the room, running a
hand through his hair. She knew from experience that he would get
his tongue back if she just remained silent, so she remained
silent, watching him with detached concern.

"Do you want a divorce? Is that it?" he said finally. "Because
if you do, if you *really* do, I won't fight you. I love you
with all my heart, but if you'd be happier..."

"Please, don't make this any harder," Monica said.

"Harder? Oh, that's rich, Monica. This is hard for you? The
love of my life announces that she's from some other galaxy and
doesn't want to be married..."

"Another universe," she said patiently. "Your Monica is probably
in my universe, trying like hell to get back home."

Brad sat down, laying his arms across the table and capturing her
hands. "Honey, what year is it?"

Monica rolled her eyes. He was giving her a field test for
insanity? "2003," she answered.

"And who is the president of the United States?" Brad asked.

"Oh come on, Brad..." she protested, but his eyes bored into
hers, telling her he was serious. "George Bush," she answered.

Uh-oh, she thought. Wrong answer.

"Honey," he said tenderly. "Al Gore is the president. The
Supreme Court..."

"Voted against him where I'm from," she said. "Five to four.
Want me to quote Sandra Day O'Connor's comments about stupid
people who don't know how to vote?"

Brad swallowed, hard, and his eyes began to tear. "Honey, Sandra
Day O'Connor was assassinated three years ago. Don't you
remember?"

"That didn't happen where I'm from," she said. "I'm telling you
the truth, Brad. Haven't you ever heard of parallel universes?"

"So where you're from," he said slowly. "What else is
different?"

She sighed. "You don't want to know, Brad. All you need to know
is that John and I want desperately to go home."

"And where is this magical device?" he asked, giving her hope
that he might be coming around.

"John has it," she said.

"How convenient," Brad sneered. "And this all-important
appointment you have with some doctor?"

"Doctor Schulmann, a physicist who works at the Department of
Energy," Monica corrected.

"THE Doctor Schulmann?" Brad asked. "Nobel Prize winning Doctor
Schulmann?"

Monica nodded. "He's our best hope of getting home."

They heard a rap on the window of the kitchen door, then turned
to see John, Teresa in his arms, smiling broadly through the
small panes.


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Monica looked to Brad, hoping for some indication of how he was
feeling, but he had already closed himself off. Nobody would
ever know what had just transpired between them. That's Brad,
she thought. She took a deep breath and tried to create the same
emotional shield, but instead found herself sniffling.

After Brad opened the door, John said cheerily, "I hope I'm not
interrupting anything. Teresa and I wanted to hit the road so we
wouldn't miss our appointment with ..."

"Don't worry," Brad said coldly. "You'll make it."

John set Teresa down and she ran immediately to her "Uncle Brad."

Brad lifted Teresa into his lap then turned his cheek for the
little girl's kiss. "Something wrong, Uncle Brad?" Teresa asked.

He hugged her tightly then relaxed his grip and smiled his most
charming smile. "Nothing's wrong, honey. Aunt Monica and I were
just talking about some serious things before you came. Nothing
for you to worry about, though."

When John and Monica exchanged glances, John saw that she had
told Brad everything, and when Brad could saw their exchange he
realized what the missing piece of her story was.

Teresa seemed oblivious to the silent communication of the
adults. "That's good," Teresa said, apparently satisfied. She
jumped off his lap and ran around the table to give "Aunt Monica"
a kiss.

Monica smoothed the little girl's hair and asked, "Did you bring
your scrapbook with you?"

"Yup" she answered, then dropped her purple backpack to the floor
and fished out a piece of paper. "And I brought this!"

Monica unfolded a piece of child's drawing paper, then smiled at
what she saw: chunky outlined people with John's handwriting
labeling Uncle Brad, Aunt Monica, Teresa, Mon-Mon, Daddy, Mommy.
"Thank you, Teresa!" Monica exclaimed. "It's beautiful!" She
showed it to Brad, then folded it up and put it in her pocket.

"Aren't you going to put it on the frigerator?" Teresa asked
plaintively.

"No, honey, I want to be able to look at it again later. I'm
going to keep it with me," Monica asked, rubbing the girl's arm.

Teresa beamed and looked at her father. "Daddy's is in his
pocket too."

John and Monica exchanged wistful glances, glances that told Brad
this pair really did intend to leave this universe behind them.
The question remaining in Brad's mind was whether Monica's other
universe was real or metaphorical.

"Brad," John said, throwing himself into a chair with exaggerated
casualness. "Do ya mind watching Teresa while Monica and I are
at..."

"I'm coming with you," Brad announced. "I can watch her there."

**************

Dr. Schulmann hunched over the odd object, studying it with a
jeweler's glass and saying "hmmm" and "hmmm?" at random intervals
as John and Monica looked on.

Brad and Teresa sat at the doctor's dining room table, Teresa
coloring and chattering happily and Brad keeping an eye on his
wife and her partner in the adjoining den. He'd been surprised
to see there actually was an object, but still wasn't convinced
of Monica's story.

"Come on, doc," John said in exasperation. "Can't you tell us
anything?

"It appears to be just what you described on the phone," he said
to Monica, ignoring John's sense of urgency. "But if it does
what you say it does, we can't test it to see..."

"See, Monica?" John said triumphantly. "Think we should just let
well enough alone?" He reached for her hand and said under his
breath, "I'll start divorce proceedings first thing tomorrow. You
want to start yours too?"

Brad jumped up, ran to the den, and pulled John's hand off
Monica's. "So that's what this is about? You two? You're....
How long has this been going on?"

Monica took a deep breath. "Brad," she said with almost
condescending calmness. "Where we live we're both single. But
yes, we've fallen in love. We've been together..."

"Six months," John finished, reaching an arm around Monica's
shoulders. She gently laid a hand over his and smiled at him.

"And I just let it happen?" Brad asked in disbelief.

"She broke up with you over three years ago, and you're in the
witness protection program now. Don't worry. You'll find someone
new," John said. "Everything else has turned out for the best."
He glanced at Teresa, who had looked up from her coloring.
"Well, almost everything," he added.

Brad snatched the device from Schulmann's hands. "If this is
true, if any of this is true..." Brad's hand started shaking and
tears came to his eyes. "It has to be true," he said to himself.
He couldn't imagine John denying Teresa's existence. Monica,
maybe, but never John. And the two of them gazing into each
others' eyes right in front of him? "Monica..." he pleaded.
"Tell me this is all true, and that you'd never cheat on me..."

"I never cheated on you, Brad," Monica promised. "You never
cheated on me, either."

"Then why?" he sobbed. "Why would it end? How could you..." He
took a deep, trembling breath, then pulled Monica's hand away
from John's and forced the device into it. "Go back!" he ordered.
"Get out of here!"

Before anyone could respond, the door swung open and a breathless
man, his arm in a sling, rushed into the room and snatched the
device from Monica's hand. "Thank you for calling me, Doctor
Schulmann," the man said.

Doctor Schulmann looked up from his desk and said, "My pleasure,
Doctor Parenti."

"Doctor Parenti?" Brad, Monica and John repeated in unison.

"THE Doctor Parenti?" John screeched. "Agent Scully's OB? The
*late* Doctor Parenti?"

"One and the same," the doctor answered smugly. "Late to your
appointment anyway, and I'm afraid I don't have any patients
named Scully."

"Teresa," Brad whispered from the side of his mouth. "Wait
outside on the porch." He moved to the door and opened it for
her, but Teresa rose from her chair and went to Brad, putting her
arms around his waist. "Teresa," he said under his breath.
"Go!"

Teresa looked up at him, forcing him to look into her doe-eyes,
which suddenly reminded him of his wife's eyes. "Please don't
make me go," she said.

"So you're the little lady that started this war," Parenti said,
taking a few steps toward Teresa. Brad instinctively blocked his
access, and Parenti responded by holding up his injured arm. "I
assure you, I'm no threat," he said. "Not to her," he added
affectionately.

"Teresa?" John asked, to nobody in particular. "What does she
have to do with..."

Parenti turned and looked at John. "She was the key that
unlocked a very special door. Before her, we didn't have the
recipe right. They all came out defective. Misshapen heads.
Tails. Toxic blood... Of course she's not the recipe herself,
but she led us to the key ingredient," Parenti paused to look at
Monica with a significant glance. "Once we found that key
ingredient, our program could get off the ground."

"Breeding supersoldiers?" John suggested.

"Close, Mister Doggett," Parenti said.

"Cloning?" Brad asked.

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," Parenti joked. But of
course it was no joke.

"And Mon-Mon?" Brad asked. "What happened to her mother?"

Parenti looked at Schulmann, then said, "She went back to where
she came from. Our specialty is interdimensional fertility. Her
little girl just happened to fit our profile, so we kept her. Or
rather, we allowed you to keep her. Until we need her."

"Excuse me?" John interjected.

"It's a kind of genetic rehabilitation program that has been
going on for years," Schulmann said excitedly.

Parenti looked at Monica and said, "Your genetic profile is
perfect! Every child has been viable, every one of them!"

"But how?" Brad asked.

Parenti held up the device and waved it in answer to the
question. "I usually work at night," Parenti explained. "So
when she returns she's still in bed, asleep."

"You've been doing *this* to my wife?!?!" Brad exclaimed, turning
his hand in imitation of Parenti's wave of the device. "But
you've already taken..." Brad started, then his face turned ashen
as he realized what Parenti had meant. "You're taking *other*
Monica's, bringing them here, and then...."

"Then your wife wakes up with nothing more than a nightmare for
her trouble," Parenti said proudly. "Smooth as glass."

"So her nightmares, her fear of being alone, her fascination with
abduction stories..." Brad grabbed Parenti by the shirt collar
and slammed him against a wall. "That was all your doing? How
many times?"

"Whenever we need a fresh supply." Parenti said nonchalantly.

"Fresh supply of...?" Brad asked, his eyes narrowing and his grip
tightening on Parenti's neck. The doctor began to choke and his
face was turning red.

"Brad!" Monica shouted. "Stop it! We need him!"

Brad scowled at Parenti then reluctantly let go of his neck,
letting the man slump against the wall. As he took a few steps
backward, Brad continued staring at Parenti under knitted brows,
now pinning the man to the wall with just his eyes.

"But we came here at four in the afternoon," Monica said. "Broad
daylight. Was that you too?"

"Ah, well, you see," Parenti blushed. "We had a little mishap,
well, theft actually. Someone broke into one of our labs and
stole the ova we were about to fertilize. And in order to stay
on schedule..."

"Schedule?" Brad asked, cocking his head as if not hearing right.

"Everything has to be timed just right, as I'm sure you know.
And this was our last chance." He turned his attention to Monica
and explained, "You'll be thirty-five next month, Ms. Reyes,
making you a less suitable donor." He smiled, and with something
approaching pity showed in his eyes. "I'm afraid there are some
things that even the best medical techniques can't overcome.
After you've made your contribution, your part of the project
will come to a close."



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Parenti tossed the device carelessly in his good hand. "So, you
two want to go home?" he asked. "There's just one small detail to
attend to first," he said. "Dr. Schulmann, are you ready for the
procedure?"

"What?!" Monica and Brad shouted together.

John pulled his gun and pointed it at Schulmann. "No procedures.
We go home. End of story."

"Assuming you both make it," Schulmann pointed out. "If one of
you has died on the other side..."

Schulmann nodded in the direction of the device. "It was a fluke
that you came here, Mister Doggett. Dr. Parenti was in Chicago
and sent me to get Ms. Reyes, but you surprised me and took my
place in the object's field after it had been activated. Before
you left I managed to grab your gun and pull off a shot."

"He's bluffing," Brad said. "He's never touched a gun!"

John and Monica looked at each other, each contemplating the
possibility that Schulmann wasn't bluffing. "We have to try,"
Monica said shakily.

"And if it works, my wife will come back?" Brad asked. "Right
here?"

"She'll be wherever she is now, but on this side," Schulmann
explained. "So will Mister Doggett."

"But first," Parenti said, glancing toward Monica, a smug grin
creeping across his face.

"Her part of the project ends NOW," Brad commanded.

"She has something we both want," Parenti said to Brad. "I'm
willing to negotiate."

"You're talking about me like I'm not even here!" Monica shouted.
"I have no part in this or any program, and there is NOTHING that
is negotiable here. Send me back. If my part of the program was
about to end anyway..."

"True," Parenti said, eyeing Teresa and taking a step in her
direction. "We could move on to the next phase today."

Monica looked at him in horror, then she heard a shot, and
Parenti flew backward into the wall. As he slid downward, blood
started oozing from the wound and he gurgled his last words:
"Fight the Future."

"What the--" John shouted, but when he looked in the direction of
the shot, he saw Brad, holding his gun in one hand, and with the
other hand pushed Teresa behind him.

"Go on," Brad said coldly to Schulmann. "Send them back." Brad
waved his gun like a remote control, making Schulmann grab the
device from Parenti's hand. "Now, do whatever you have to do,"
Brad directed. "Send them back where they came from!" He turned
to Teresa and ordered, "Teresa, go wait on the porch."

Teresa ran to John and wrapped her arms around as much of his
waist as she could reach. "Don't go, Daddy!" she cried.

John stooped to the little girl's level and looked into her eyes,
though his own vision was blurred by a thick layer of tears.
"Daddy's got to go, honey. But I'll be back. Uncle Brad will
take care of you, won't you Uncle Brad?"

Brad was wiping the blood spatter from his face with a
handkerchief but managed a nod.

Looking up at her uncle, Teresa's lower lip started to quiver.
"That man wanted to hurt me," she said. "But uncle Brad..." Her
eyes followed the path of her memory, and she looked at Dr.
Parenti. "He..."

With gentle hands, John directed her face back toward his.
"Uncle Brad protected you. And he'll take care of you when I'm
gone. I know he'd never let anyone harm a child. Now, do what
he says."

At these last words, Monica placed a hand on John's shoulder and
kneaded it soothingly. "You know *I* trust Uncle Brad, don't
you, Teresa?" Monica added.

Teresa wrapped her arms around John's neck, much like Mon-Mon
did, and held on tightly. Closing his eyes, John hugged her and
whispered, "Be a good girl, okay? And take care of your sister.
She loves you." The tears started streaming now, and he barely
choked out, "I love you too."

When sympathetic tears threatened to overwhelm Monica, she took a
few steps toward Brad, who was still pointing his gun at
Schulmann. "Here," she whispered, offering her gun in trade for
his. "Take good care of her," she said, nodding backward toward
Teresa. "And tell her about her sister." Monica took a shaky
breath then said, "And tell your wife the truth -- the whole
truth."

"I will," he promised. "And I'll track them down. Every one,
and make sure they're safe!"

"She's a lucky woman," she said softly. "But she misses you. Be
there for her." She turned toward John, then had another thought
and looked once more into Brad's eyes. "Be there for your baby,"
she whispered.

Brad nodded. "I will," he said with quiet determination.

"Ready?" John asked, taking Monica's hand.

She took a deep breath, then said, "Ready."

"Schulmann," Brad said, motioning to the device in the doctor's
hand. "Do it."

Teresa ran to Brad and held onto his shirt with one hand, then
waved shyly with the other. "Bye," she mouthed. "I love you."

After Schulmann had set the object John and Monica took it and
put their hands over it. As expected, it began to buzz, then
vibrate, and at the last possible minute, Dr. Schulmann grabbed
their hands.

Brad and Teresa covered their eyes against the object's bright
light, and when they opened them they were all alone, except for
the glassy-eyed corpse of Dr. Parenti.


CHAPTER NINETEEN

When John and Monica opened their eyes, they saw Dr. Schulmann.
All was quiet, except for the faint buzz of a flourescent light
over a plant stand that hadn't been there before.

"We made it?" Monica asked giddily.

Schulmann nodded his head.

"What are you doing here?" John demanded with a brusque nod of
his head.

"You don't think I would let you *keep* this, do you?" Schulmann
chuckled. "Now, if you'll excuse me," he said, turning his
attention to the dials.

Before they could stop him, he had activated the device, and it
began to buzz, then vibrate, then at the last possible second
John knocked it from Schulmann's hand. It clattered to the floor
and began to glow with an intensity they now recognized.
Schulmann seemed to be moving in slow motion as he reached for
it, and John easily knocked him to the floor.

As John wrestled with Schulmann, Monica aimed Brad's gun for the
object and fired. It shattered into glistening shards that
filled the room then disappeared, like the dying embers of
fireworks. Monica turned the gun toward Schulmann but what she
saw nearly made her drop it.

Schulmann lay on the ground, his body shimmering with the same
dying glow as the shards from the device, and when the shimmers
around the room were all gone, he disappeared into darkness.

"I sure hope we're where we belong," John said, brushing himself
off as he stood. "Cause we can't go back now."

Monica put out a hand to help him up, and when he was upright she
squeezed his hand. "Me too. Let's see..."

She pulled out her cell phone, dialed her home number and smiled
when she heard her answering machine message. She put it to his
ear, and he smiled wistfully, remembering all the times he had
heard that message and hung up after losing his resolve. He put
his arm around her waist as he listened. Those days were over,
he reminded himself.

"Try mine now," he asked. They sighed together at the sound of
his message.

"Welcome home," he said, then kissed her on the lips.

"Welcome home," she repeated when they parted.

"Now, let's get the hell out of here," John said, taking her hand
and leading her to the door.

As John held the door open for her, Monica said, "I never told
you this, but there were times when I called your house just to
hear your voice on the answering machine."

"Ya don't say?" he said, smiling broadly as she passed under his
arm. Yes, they were home.


EPILOGUE

--Two Weeks Later--

Monica stood at her bathroom sink, combing out her wet hair and
thinking, as she had many times in the past two weeks, about the
children. *her* children... *their* children... John had no idea
how many times she'd pulled Teresa's crayon drawing from her coat
pocket in the past two weeks. And as she had every morning since
leaving those children behind, she hesitated before popping the
foil on the day's birth control pill. It had been a no-brainer
before, but for the past fourteen days it was taking longer and
longer for that little foil bubble to burst.

"Monica?" John's voice broke through her thoughts. "Gonna be
much longer?"

She opened the door to greet her lover, resplendent in all his
naked glory. He'd stayed over every night since their return,
going to his house only to pick up clothes and his mail. She
went with him sometimes, but the house felt too empty. She
couldn't help looking for the Barbie set-up, or expecting to see
a children's bunk bed upstairs in place of his universal gym.
She imagined that one day they could get past their reaction to
his house, but for now sharing her cozy condo suited her just
fine.

"Almost done!" she called out, then rushed to the door as she
heard him take a step away. "There's just one more thing..." she
said, holding up her birth control pill container. "Or is
there?"

"Mon--" John said, a catch in his voice.

"We haven't talked about it," she pointed out.

"What's to discuss?" John answered, stone-faced.

"John, tomorrow is my thirty-fifth birthday," she reminded him,
as if that should be enough.

He took her by the shoulders and marched her to the sink then
pointed her toward the mirror where she could see them together.
"You'll be a very young," he kissed her cheek tenderly. "Very
beautiful," he said into her ear, then kissed it, making her
giggle. "Very healthy," he continued, wrapping his arms around
her waist. "Thirty-five." After seeing her smile in their
reflection he turned her around and added, "We do things in our
own time, on our own schedule. I love you. Isn't that enough
for now?"

He nuzzled her neck, and his breath tickled her in a place that
even Brad had never found. Pulling back instinctively, she
thought about time. *Our* time, she thought, has just begun. If
John needed more time, she would give it to him, as she always
had.

And yes, she realized, for now it was enough that he loved her.
She popped the pill, swallowed it quickly, then turned to kiss
him. "I love you too," she said.

THE END