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Title: Where The Streets Have No Name Summary: Maybe England wasn't so damn bad after all...
"Remind me again why we came here?" He didn't realize he had said it out loud until he felt a firm elbow jabbing at his side. "Ow!" "John, England is beautiful. Especially this time of year." He sighed dramatically and bent down to unzip his suitcase. "Wish I could say the same, but I can't," he muttered. Monica Reyes grinned as she began unpacking her own things. Here we go again. For the third time in about half an hour, she listened patiently while John Doggett began rattling off 101 reasons why he hated England, coupled with many a tale of his unfortunate run-ins with the good people of London. "Is it so friggin' hard to make street signs big enough to read? It took us an hour to find this hotel! They might as well not name any of the streets, 'cause there ain't no way in hell anyone can ever find any of 'em!" "Well, they can't all be as obvious as 'Madison Avenue', now can they?" He ignored her sarcasm and continued his rant. "Oh, and did I tell ya about the friggin' woman on the plane? Did I?" "Only about three times in the past half hour." He immediately stopped talking and whirled around to look at her, an expression of mock-hurt accompanied with an equally counterfeit look of shock on his face. "Come here," she ordered playfully, dropping her bags on the hotel bed and arching her eyebrow slightly. He gladly complied and scooped her up in his arms. "Welcome to London, John." They had been lovers for a little over two years. He remembers exactly how it began, too. It was that night they watched them drive away. Mulder and Scully. Standing there with A.D. Kersh, Walter Skinner and Gibson Praise, watching those headlights becomming smaller and smaller as they slipped farther and farther away into the night. They didn't acknowledge it at the time, but those headlights represented a fade out for them as well. They would both find out later that they were wishing the very same thing as they watched Mulder and Scully drift away into the darkness. Wishing they were with them. Getting away from it all. Running towards a new life. They didn't become lovers that night. But for the first time in a long time, he saw something in her that he hadn't seen in anyone in a very long time. It was what he had seen in her countless times before, but not at this level, not at this intensity. She'd completely encaptured him with her determination. That night especially, and always. Since the first day they began working together on the X-Files. They had both decided to call it quits after following Mulder and Scully to New Mexico. The whole ordeal had left them shaken. That said a lot, considering what their lives had consisted of for nearly two years. It took a lot to shake them. A hell of a lot. It just began to get too much, the FBI, the X-Files. All of it. He would never be Mulder. And she would never be Scully. Truth was, they didn't want to be them. They never did. It just wasn't worth it anymore. So they left. Together. That was a little over two years ago. She'd taken odd jobs here and there, in field offices all over the country. He'd done some police work as well, but nothing that lasted more than a few months. Work began to put a strain on their relationship. Figuring each other out required more time than their occupations were willing to allow. So they both decided to quit working for once, and focus on themselves. It was all very new. To both of them. Not just the prospect of not having a job that occupied nearly every waking moment of their existence, but the prospect of intimacy. Love had been such a foreign thing to him for as long as he could remember. For so long, he had closed himself off to the world. He didn't want love. He wanted answers. Revenge. He wanted to solve the mysteries of the universe, and secretly, the mysteries of his past as well. He wanted to blast the crap out of things. That's why the FBI was so inviting. She was just the opposite. She believed in love. She always had. She believed in soul mates. Anything spiritual - signs along the way she couldn't possibly ignore. She'd noticed him from the very first day, and had always known - always had that little hunch that one day she would be with him. She wasn't sure when. Or how. But she was right. Like she knew she would be. She was hardly ever wrong, after all. They'd decided to come to England at the last minute. It was so last minute that they couldn't even get tickets next to each other on the plane. He liked the sudden spontaneity she brought to his life. The fly by the seat of your pants type of gig. He'd never been like that. Always played by the book. No surprises. He hated surprises. He wrote everything down in a log. He always had, so he wouldn't have to deal with those damn surprises. She discovered it in his back pocket the first night they made love. And the very next day, she threw it out. He never went after it. And has never kept one since. She had never given him a valid reason for flying half way around the world, to visit England of all places. She'd simply said she "felt like it". That's what she did. She did what she wanted, when she wanted, how she wanted. And he was beginning to love living like that. He had never lived like that before. It was new. It was exciting. And it wasn't him. That was the best part. Unpacking had taken up most of their afternoon, however interruptions were clearly the reason it had taken as long as it did. They stopped to only to make love on the king size hotel bed, order room service, wander around the lavish hotel suite, and discover the wonders of British television and the jacuzzi with eight - yes eight - massage jets. She'd fallen asleep halfway through the Monty Python telethon on Sky One, and although it seemed tempting to curl up next to her and drift off to Eric Idle and John Clease, he'd decided - one could even say it was a spontaneous decision - to take a walk in the park. Their hotel - no doubt prosperous due to its proximity to London and Heathrow, also conveniently overlooked one of the most gorgeous public parks he had ever seen. It was like something out of a British movie. The ones Barbara always used to drag him to when they were dating. At five o'clock in the afternoon, it was alive and kicking with the bustle of the residents of London. While the chilly autumn air kept perhaps the bulk that the Summer months surely brought away, those who remained were as fascinating as ever. Children, men, women and pets of all kinds swarmed the beautifully kept grounds. There was the token elderly couple, slowly walking down the leaf- scattered trail, hand in hand. There was the energetic, athletic couple jogging alongside their four dogs. Sneaky teenagers kissing behind the trees. Families just sitting on a blanket on the grass, simply enjoying the change of season. He spotted the little boy first. Couldn't have been much older than three. Fiery golden hair dancing carelessly on top of his head. Fair, speckled skin that eagerly reflected the setting sun, giving it a healthy pink glow. And enough energy to reduce Richard Simmons himself to a pitiful, deflated mess all over the workout room floor. Rowdy youngster, he thought with a smile. Reminded him of Luke when he was that age. Didn't listen to a damn thing he said. Always listened to Barbara, though. He smiled sadly. She was good with him. He was good too, he countered defensively. For the times he was around, anyway. He tried not to think about things like that anymore. Not now. Not while he was with Monica. He loved her, there was no doubt about that. But he couldn't help but wince at how she reminded him of what he used to have. Maybe it was just the fact that he was finally happy again. And in love. Him. John Jay Doggett. In love. Sometimes he felt guilty. Guilty about moving on. About doing the right thing, the healthy thing. Just because you're moving on does not mean you're forgetting him, she would tell him. And he knew she was right. She could always tell when he was thinking about it. She could see it in his eyes. She could hear it in his voice. Even when he didn't speak, she could pick that one thought out of the thousands that were coursing through his brain at that exact moment. His mind snapped back to the present as the little boy dashed in and out of his line of vision, making him slightly uneasy. He wasn't sure what it was, but his fatherly instinct coupled with fading memories of his own little boy reminded him of the precariousness toddlers seemed to bring with them everywhere they went. Giggling heartily to himself, the toddler dashed skillfully through the crowd of park-goers, around a tiny tree, and dangerously close to the curb. "Don't British parents ever watch their kids?" he muttered, finding himself becomming increasingly edgy at the boy's close proximity to the road. Just as he was about to take matters into his own hands and snatch the little boy away from a possible sticky situation, a biker from literally out of nowhere flew past him, missing him by mere inches and throwing him completely off balance. "Jesus Christ!" While he momentarily regained his sense of direction, and recovered from the shock of nearly being run over by yet another ignorant European, he frantically tried to keep the toddler in sight. But the bustle of people made this task impossible, and before he knew it, he was on the other side of the trail, crouched down on his knees, trying to catch his breath. "Blyme mate, are you all right then?" "You nearly got ran ova' back there!" "Well I'll be daggered, you ought to thank your lucky stars you came away without track marks on ye noggin'!" I'm fine. I said I was fine. Thank you ma'am but I really don't need to be helped up. I'm a grown man, for cryin' out loud. While he should have appreciated the kindness of the many passersby who stopped to see if he was okay, his growing animosity for all things British was nearly at its peak and almost enough for him to turn back right then and there, haul ass back to the hotel, and hop on the next thing smoking back to the good ol' U.S of A. But something kept him lingering just a little while longer. That little boy. The bustle had quickly subsided and he was able to regain his bearings again. He spotted him right away. In the same spot he had last seen him. On that damned curb. But this time he wasn't alone. Sitting on either side were two others. Parents, he assumed. The three of them were sitting on the curb, their backs to him, facing out into traffic. It was quite the sight, he had to admit. He almost felt like he was violating something private by staring at them so openly. They were as still as could be, all three of them. Just watching the traffic. Watching the people. Watching the sky. Watching life pass them by, literally. The setting sun cast an almost unreal shadow over them. It was as though the sun was setting for those three, and those three only. Like they were the only three people in the world. The man - tall and lanky but steadily built, gently ruffled the boy's wild golden hair as his shoulders shook with laughter at something the youngster had said. The toddler then glanced up at his mother, who softly combed strands of wispy hair out of his eyes with her fingers, and straightened the straps his jumper. Running one hand through her auburn hair, she too shook with laughter. Doggett shook his head, smiling at the picturesque scene. He wanted to look away, but he found he couldn't. He wasn't sure why, but as he eventually did force himself to turn away, something stopped him. A flicker of a memory. Of a tall lanky man, and an auburn-haired woman. No ... couldn't be. The sheer doubt was almost enough to make him keep walking. And he did. For two whole steps. However curiously overcame him and he forced himself to turn back once again. Only to find that they had disappeared. His eyes frantically darted around the surrounding area, and he quickly picked them up again. They had begun walking in the opposite direction, the little boy sitting atop the man's shoulders, while the woman lingered slightly behind. As if in a trance, his feet began to move in the direction of the family, slowly making their escape. Unknowing escape. They didn't seem to be running anymore. He shook that thought away. But it kept coming back. Pounding in his temples like a thousand steel drums. <"If you're not off the continent in 24 hours..."> No. He shook his and scoffed at the implausibility of it all. He was being ridiculous. There was just no way... But somehow, he was still walking. And getting closer. And closer. Close enough to notice the little things. The drastic height difference when seeing them up close. His darkish skin, stocky build and distinctive facial features. Her pale skin, shoulder length auburn hair and those damn heels that surely destroyed her arches long ago. His hair was slightly longer now, and more reckless. Not neatly slicked back, or spiked upright. Hers was darker, and longer. Not as blatantly red. Not as noticeable. And the boy - could it be the long lost William? After doing quick calculations in his head, he came to the conclusion that it must be. The age was right. And the boy certainly resembled both parents. They must have gotten him back somehow ... but how? His mind raced with a million questions. A million questions he knew he would never get to ask. And then he heard her speak. Most of it was faint and muffled by the sounds of the bustling park, but he managed to pick out out one word. Clear as day. It was only one word, but it was enough to destroy every possible lingering doubt in his mind. "Mulder." Oh my God. All of a sudden, the whole world stopped moving. Okay, maybe it was just him. And as he stood there frozen to the trail, the past began to repeat itself right in front of his eyes. Once more, he watched as Fox Mulder and Dana Scully become smaller and smaller as they slowly drifted away from him. Fox Mulder and Dana Scully. Unbelievable. He said it over and over in his head, just so he could believe it. Even then, he still wasn't sure he did. Not even the annoyed scoffs of trail-goers could have swayed him. Not even the awkward nudges he received as people tried to walk, run, and even bike around him could have made him budge. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, watching them walk away. It could have been minutes ... it could have also been mere seconds. Later on, he knew he would wonder why he didn't approach them. Why he didn't let them know he had discovered their little secret. Why he didn't share the extraordinary coincidence with the two other people he thought he would never see or hear from again. But as he slowly walked back to his hotel, he knew he wouldn't regret it. He was happy to know that they were happy. And safe. And finally with their son. With their William. He prayed they would remain safe for a long time in this English hideaway. He pictured them building their own little family, raising William together. Giving him a childhood. Maybe one day sending him to Oxford, just like his father. Suddenly feeling lighter than air, he smiled a little to himself as he squinted to read the street signs along the way back to the hotel. Upon his return, he breezed through the hotel doors, nodding his greeting to the kindly old bellhop standing in the lobby. As he skipped up the stairs towards his room, he counted as three people went out of their way to say a friendly 'hello' to him. He even helped an elderly couple with their luggage, and tipped a Mexican cleaning lady for a job well done as she finished up vacuuming just outside his room. "Well hello there stranger," came a voice in the dark the second he stepped through the door. "I was beginning to wonder where you went." He flipped on the light to find a sleepy-eyed Monica Reyes standing in front of him, decked out in a fluffy white robe. He smiled as he shook off his coat. "You won't believe --" he began, when suddenly he stopped himself. He bursting with excitement. He was all ready to tell her about his incredible discovery. At least he thought he was. He was all ready to share with her the most remarkable coincidence that he has ever experienced. That he of all people was present at exactly the right moment, exactly the right place, and exactly the right time. That fate or whatever the hell you wanted to call it unknowingly connected him half way around the world to the *three* people whom he was sure he would never see again. He was all ready to tell her in one gigantic breath that he, John Doggett, had finally renewed his faith in fate, in hope, and most of all, in love. He was all ready to tell her. And then he wasn't. A split-second decision. A rash decision. A spontaneous decision. A decision he wasn't sure right then whether he would regret or not. She searched his eyes. "What won't I believe, John?" He took a deep breath. "You won't believe..." he continued calmly, surprised at his ability to remain so composed. She blinked once, not taking her eyes off of him. He paused for a moment - a moment lasted for what must have seemed like eternity. A tiny smile played upon his lips as he stepped towards his fiancee. "You won't believe how much I love this country, Monica." He grinned wildly, bending down to kiss her on the cheek. Still smiling, he stepped past her, leaving her standing in the foyer staring after him in bewilderment. He stepped into the bedroom and drew back the curtains, looking down on the city as dusk's inevitable curtain finally came down upon it. He chuckled quietly to himself, shaking his head in amazement. Funny how things always ended up okay. Funny how when you least expect it, life really can work out. That no matter how hopeless it might seem, things really do come together in ways you never thought possible. Take this place, for example. He smiled once again as he closed the curtains, this time for good. It really wasn't that bad here, after all. He shivered as he felt her arms encircle him from behind and clasp firmly around his waist. He leaned back against her and sighed. No, England really wasn't that damn bad after all. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
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