Title: Paper Chase
Author/pseudonym: PegE
Email address: Feedback to mmo520@yahoo.com
Rating: NC17; sex and some violence.
Pairings: Doggett/Reyes
Warnings:
Spoilers:  No, but some minor theft of ideas from "Pusher." (It's not 
plagiarism; it's research.)

Status: Complete
Date: 4/6/02
Archive: Ask first, please 
Series/Sequel: Sequel to "Paperwork"
Other web site:

Summary: It's the day after the night before as Doggett and Reyes 
head back to work.
Disclaimer: They're not mine, dammit. And if they were, we'd all be 
having a lot more fun.

Notes:



For once, Monica Reyes was actually awake before the alarm went off. 
Awake, and alternating between glee and terror. Her partner, John 
Doggett, was fast asleep beside her. He slept on his side, turned 
toward her, one arm stretched across her waist. She had been studying 
him for the last twenty minutes or so, trying to pick apart his 
angular features, now so strangely peaceful. It was easier to look at 
him when his eyes were closed. That steel-blue gaze captured too 
much. When she could put the thousands of questions racing through 
her mind into coherent thoughts, they swung from "What was I 
thinking?" to "What took us so long?" 

They had awakened a few hours ago and made love for the second time. 
It was slower and sweeter and she'd been enchanted by the ease with 
which Doggett had brought her to a shuddering climax, the way he'd 
murmured encouragements as he watched her come, the way he'd shouted 
her name as his own bliss overtook him. Afterward, when they could 
both move again, he'd pulled her to his chest, cradling her in his 
arms as he stroked her hair and covered her face with kisses. She had 
snuggled as close as she could and they had fallen asleep wrapped in 
each other's arms.

She reached out now and stroked his cheek, loving the feeling of his 
skin and the weight of his arm across her. He stirred for a second, 
then opened his eyes, instantly awake. Must have learned that in the 
Marines, Monica thought, and held her breath.

He smiled when he saw her. "Hey, gorgeous," he rumbled, and stroked 
her hair before leaning down to kiss her softly. "Good morning." They 
kissed again, and Monica relaxed, sliding her arms around his neck. 
It wasn't a complete disaster.

Yet, she amended.

"I wish we could spend the rest of the day right *here*," he said, 
hugging her for emphasis. "But we've got to go to work, and I have to 
shave and finish the paperwork from which you so skillfully 
distracted me." His gaze was filled with warmth and tenderness and 
laughter and Monica was bereft at the thought of him leaving. Maybe 
they could call in sick...

He read her mind. "Don't even think it," he said. "Skinner would have 
our heads on a platter."

She stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed and kissed her again, 
then once more, very tenderly. "This means everything, sweetheart," 
he whispered, sending shivers along her spine. "Thank you."

He got up then, and she leaned back, hugging his pillow against her 
chest, and watched him get dressed. When he was done, he leaned over 
and kissed her goodbye. "I'll see you at the office, gorgeous," he 
said, and his hand cupped her cheek for a few seconds before he added 
mischievously, "Why don't you wear that gray suit with the black 
turtleneck? I love that outfit. Maybe then I'll include your hypnosis 
theory."

She threw the pillow at his back and he left, laughing.

Monica was still smiling when the alarm went off at 6:30. She got 
ready on autopilot, still a little dazed from Doggett's attentions. 
As she unlocked her SUV, she caught sight of herself in the side 
mirror and realized she was wearing the gray suit and black 
turtleneck.

I am so busted, she thought, and laughed out loud.

Traffic was sane, for once, and she was arrived early at the Hoover, 
for once. She smiled at the security guards in the lobby and at the 
agents she passed in the hallway, and she even smiled at Brad Follmer 
before she realized who he was. He looked interested and she hastily 
ducked into an elevator and hit the "B" button. She could feel her 
cheeks turning red at her faux pas and ignored the interested glances 
she was getting from the three agents in the elevator with her.

Shit, she thought, studying the floor. Shit, shit, shit. Luckily, she 
was the only one heading all the way to the basement and she was able 
to bang her head against the elevator door in peace when the others 
got out at one.

A.D. Skinner was leaving their office as she rounded the corner. She 
gasped at the sight of him, but he didn't hear it. He nodded politely 
as they passed. "Agent Reyes," he greeted her.

"Good morning, sir," she said as coolly as she could. Did she look as 
guilty as she suddenly felt?

Doggett must have gone for coffee, because he wasn't at his desk when 
she entered the office. Thank God, she thought, tossing her purse 
onto her desk and fishing in the drawer for her teacup.

Her heart was still pounding a little fast from her encounters with 
Follmer and Skinner and she sat down, rested her forehead on her 
hands and closed her eyes, just for a second, to calm herself. 
Center, she thought. Breathe....

"Praying already?" Doggett asked, amused. She jumped and looked up. 
He winked at her. "Nice suit, Agent Reyes. And Skinner wants to see 
us in fifteen."

She picked up her teacup and found a teabag. Chamomile. She needed 
all the calm she could get.

"What are we going to tell him about Fitzgerald?" she asked. And how 
do we explain why the report isn't done, she wondered.

"We're going to give him two theories – your hypnosis theory and my 
we-don't-know-what-happened theory, but we'll catch the bastard – and 
let him pick one," Doggett answered. "He's the boss. He's good at 
decisions. And compared to fat-sucking vampires and liver-eating 
serial killers, he'll probably be willing to believe the whole damn 
prison was hypnotized as long as we manage to keep any aliens out of 
it."

"I love it when you're manly and decisive," she told him.

He shot her a look over the keyboard as he hit the "print" 
button. "Get your tea. And behave, Agent Reyes."

Kim waved them into Skinner's office when they arrived. "He's waiting 
for you," she told them.

He didn't look up when they entered, but kept studying a stack of 
papers, flipping through pages and frowning. "Take a seat, agents," 
he said absently. "I'll be right with you."

Monica and Doggett waited patiently. Monica tried to ignore the 
tingly feeling she got from Doggett's nearness and concentrated on 
her breathing. But the more deeply she inhaled, the more she noticed 
his aftershave and then she thought of the scent of his skin, and 
then...

Oh, yeah, she thought. It's going to be a long day. She snuck a 
glance at Doggett, who was reading over the report he'd written. 
She'd give anything to know what he was thinking. And what he'd 
written. How much trouble was he going to get her in? The big guy 
already thought she was a New Age, crystal-chanting flake.

Skinner, for his part, was only pretending to read the stack of 
papers in front of him. He was, in fact, surreptitiously studying his 
two agents. Doggett was much too cheerful, though discreetly so. But 
he'd lost that...hangdog...look he usually had. And Reyes was jumpy 
as a cat when she wasn't staring off into space or blushing when 
anyone looked at her. And they were making no eye contact whatsoever 
with each other, but they seemed to be vibrating, so to speak, on the 
same frequency.

He'd seen this behavior before. Scully and Mulder had been acting 
this way just before Mulder's disappearance and little William's 
arrival.

What the hell was it about that basement office, Skinner wondered, 
and how could he get re-assigned down there? The natives were 
gorgeous, and very friendly.

Finally, it was time to get back to work. "Sorry to keep you waiting, 
agents," he told them, not sounding the least bit apologetic. He 
wasn't about to intrude on their personal lives, as long as they kept 
it personal, but he didn't see any reason to get all misty-eyed 
because two of his subordinates were hot bunking.

"I understand you've come up with two theories on the Fitzgerald 
incident?" Reyes and Doggett nodded. "Let's hear them."

Monica let Doggett do the talking, and he did it very well, laying 
out their two proposals very neatly and very objectively. He even 
kept a straight face during Monica's mass hypnosis theory. She was 
very proud of him by the time he was done.

Skinner nodded as Doggett wrapped up his report. "Anything to add, 
Agent Reyes?" the A.D asked.

"We're waiting for the security video from the prison, sir. The local 
PD is expressing it to us. It should answer most of our questions," 
she said.

"Very good, agents," he said. "Keep me posted. That's all." Then he 
decided to give in to a small sadistic impulse.

"Yes, sir," they chorused, and turned to leave. Monica went first and 
heard Skinner say, "Agent Doggett?"

Doggett was completely calm as he turned back toward Skinner's 
desk. "Sir?"

"You look tired, Doggett. Everything all right? You getting enough 
sleep?" Skinner had the hard-assed-but-concerned act down to an art. 
He always managed to convince his agents that he was worried about 
more than the possibility their problems might make him look bad.

Don't blush, Doggett told himself. "I've been fightin' a cold, sir, 
and decongestants keep me awake." He shrugged. "Go figure. But I'm 
fine."

Nice save, Skinner thought, with more than a little admiration. Very 
fast on your feet, agent. "If you need to take a day – " he started, 
knowing he'd never complete the sentence.

"I'm fine, sir, really. But thank you for your concern."

"Suit yourself. That's all, agent." And Skinner turned back to his 
reports, this time actually reading the words.

Doggett pulled the door shut behind him and grimaced. Shit, he 
thought. He knows. And then, we could lose our jobs for this.

He almost worried for a minute, almost started to figure out a 
graceful way to back away from the whole thing. But he'd promised 
Monica that nothing would come between them.

And he would keep that promise if it killed him.

Monica was on the phone when he got back to the office. "Of course, 
Chief Delaney. We'll be on the first plane there. And thanks for 
keeping us posted." She hung up. "We've got to get back to New York. 
They found Tubbs's body, but there's still no sign of Fitzgerald or 
Beckman."

Two hours later, they were on a flight to Syracuse. They had both 
learned to keep suitcases packed, just in case there was an alien 
sighting in New Mexico or a suspected vampire in Texas or even an 
unexplained jailbreak in upstate New York.

Join the X Files; see the world, Monica thought, staring out the 
plane window. Doggett sat beside her, studying the case files again. 
There wasn't much new information. Two sheriff's deputies had found 
Tubbs in a marshy area near Utica, which was about an hour's drive 
from the airport. The prison guard had apparently shot himself in the 
head with one of the weapons the trio had used in their escape from 
Waterville.

Forensics was on the scene and witnesses had reported seeing a silver 
Ford Taurus drive in and out of the area. A silver Taurus had been 
stolen the day of the escape from a gas station near Watertown.

And Peter Wayne Fitzgerald and Michael David Beckman had vanished 
from sight again.

"According to these statements, Tubbs was a Boy Scout," Doggett said, 
turning toward Monica. "He didn't drink, gamble, screw around or even 
swear. He'd transferred from a prison downstate with a glowing 
recommendation." He flipped through a few more pages. "So how's a guy 
like that hook up with a loser like Fitzgerald?"

"Good question," Monica said, but it wasn't any of the dozens of 
questions she wanted answered. She wanted to ask about that thing he 
did with his tongue that drove her crazy and when he was planning to 
do it again. She wanted to ask if he had any regrets. And she really 
wanted to ask what Skinner had wanted when he'd called Doggett back 
into his office. She was never sure whether she could trust the A.D. 
Maybe that was why she was always so aware of him, she thought.

Down girl, she reminded herself. Work. Multiple homicides. The 
pursuit of justice. Possible danger to self and/or partner. All of 
these had priority over her love life. Or sex life.

Whatever, she thought.

Then she had another thought.

"Maybe the question is what Beckman wanted with a loser like 
Fitzgerald," she said. "What do we know about him?"

Doggett opened another file and flipped through it. "Beckman's 47. 
Never married, no kids that we know of." He turned a few more 
pages. "He makes a living doing a magic act at parties and small 
clubs. His specialty is hypnosis. Making people in the audience bark 
like dogs or pretend they're seals or something. And he's a volunteer 
chaplain – non-denominational – at the prison. That's how he met up 
with Fitzgerald. Christian counseling twice a month for the last six 
months."

Doggett closed Beckman's file. "Six months is a long time to plan an 
escape," he said, slowly. He was thinking aloud. "But why would an 
upright citizen like Beckman want to help a three-time loser like 
Fitzgerald escape?"

They looked at each other. "Most crime can be attributed to two basic 
motives," Monica said, quoting her first instructor at 
Quantico. "Love – "

Doggett finished for her. "Or money. I'm betting it's money."

Monica fished out Fitzgerald's folder from the stack of case files on 
Doggett's tray table. "Money, money, money," she chanted, flipping 
through the pages. "Why did Fitzgerald rob banks?"

"Because that's where the money is," Doggett said. "So how much money 
did he have hidden away?"

Fitzgerald wasn't much good at getting away with bank robbery, but he 
was very good at hiding money: Roughly $150,000 was unaccounted for 
from the string of holdups the police knew about.

"Bingo," Doggett said. "I wonder where he has it hidden?"
It was almost dark by the time they got to the scene of Tubbs's 
murder. The prison guard's body had already been carted off to the 
morgue, and the forensics team was long gone. But two cops were still 
on the scene. One of them was Bill Perry, one of the Watertown PD 
detectives investigating Fitzgerald's escape.

"Agents, welcome back," Perry said. "And welcome to Utica. The marsh 
here's the prettiest part, in case you were wondering."

"At least it's not snowing," Doggett said. He'd gone to grad school 
upstate. He knew more about the area than he'd ever wanted to 
learn. "What have you got for us?"

Perry showed them the plaster casts of tire tracks – probably from 
the silver Taurus – in and out of the marsh. He showed them photos of 
the shell casing they'd found at the scene. The actual casing was on 
its way to an evidence locker. And he showed them photos of Tubbs, 
whose expression, even in death, seemed to suggest he wondered how 
he'd gotten into this mess.

"We have a theory," Doggett told the detective, who replied, "Well, 
thank God somebody does. Does your theory have a current address, by 
any chance?"

"Not yet, but we're working on it. Here's what we're thinking." And 
for the next several minutes, he and Monica took turns outlining 
their thoughts on the alliance between Fitzgerald and Beckman.

"They needed Tubbs to get them out. When they got far enough away, he 
either started having second thoughts or they didn't need him 
anymore," Doggett said. "Either way, he's a dead man."

"So where's the money?" Perry asked.

"We've got a list of Fitzgerald's known holdups. Let's get a map and 
see what we can plot out," Monica said. "I'm willing to bet the cash 
is somewhere in the middle."

Twenty minutes later, they were in the bullpen of the Utica PD. The 
local cops stared curiously at the three of them, but stayed out of 
their way. They found a box of pushpins and a state map and got to 
work.

Fitzgerald had followed the Thruway from Watertown to Binghamton, but 
most of his action was centered near Syracuse and Utica. He'd help up 
nine banks in a 50-mile corridor along the Thruway.

"It's somewhere in here," Doggett said, circling the area around 
Utica. "It's gotta be."

"We've got an APB out on the Taurus, and I've got your cell phone 
numbers," Perry said. "You may as well knock off. I'll have somebody 
run the forensics and crime scene reports out to your hotel as soon 
as they're ready tonight."

Kim had booked them two rooms in the Red Roof Inn, one of two decent 
hotels in the city. Two rooms, Monica thought, and tried not to think 
any further along those lines.

They were both silent as Doggett drove the rental car to the hotel. 
They got their room keys and Monica asked the desk clerk, "Is there 
anyplace we can get some dinner around here?" Breakfast had been a 
long time ago.

The clerk directed them to a little Italian restaurant called Joey's 
a few blocks away. "Best marinara in the state," he told them.

Doggett doubted it, but he was too tired, and too hungry, to argue.

The restaurant was a smoky little joint with red-checked tablecloths 
and photos of Frank Sinatra and Joe DiMaggio on the walls. But the 
waitress was friendly and efficient and the aroma of garlic and olive 
oil and oregano was irresistible. Monica ordered the Alfredo and a 
glass of merlot and Doggett asked for the gnocchi and a beer. The 
waitress, whose nametag read "Mary Frances," brought their drinks, a 
plate of warm bread and a bowl of olive oil to dip the bread in.

"Bread?" Doggett asked, desperate for someone to say something. 
Monica shook her head, and the silence dragged out. Jesus, Doggett 
thought, how mad is she? He started mentally reviewing the last 24 
hours to figure out where he'd screwed up.

Monica, in the meantime, sipped at her wine, not really tasting it. 
She knew second thoughts when she saw them, and she was seeing them 
in John Doggett right now.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, she berated herself, trying to ignore the 
sick feeling in her stomach. He hadn't touched her, had barely looked 
at her since she'd gotten to the office that morning.

Mary Frances finally brought their food and they dug in. It was 
easier to pretend to concentrate on pasta than to try to ignore the 
awkward atmosphere. Doggett watched Monica pick at her food and 
wondered, more than a little desperately, how to re-connect. All he 
could think about was the scent of her skin and the taste of her 
mouth and the sounds she'd made as she'd come for him.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. "Monica," he began. "About last 
night – "

"Look, John," she interrupted. "It happened. It doesn't have to mean 
anything. It doesn't have to be this big, ugly awkward thing, all 
right? We always flirt. Last night we just got carried away. Let's 
just forget it." She focused on her breathing – in, out, in, out – so 
she wouldn't cry.

"No," Doggett said, "it's not all right. I don't want to forget it. I 
want to repeat it."

She looked up, obviously stunned. "What?"

"You heard me," he said. "You, me, naked, making love. Again. That's 
what I want. It wasn't a mistake. We didn't get carried away; we got 
where we should have gotten a long time ago. I don't regret anything 
and I don't believe you do. So what the hell is wrong here?"

Monica was about to try to explain when she noticed the couple at the 
next table doing their best to eavesdrop discreetly. She smiled 
brilliantly at Doggett and reached out to take his hand in 
hers. "Nothing's wrong. Finish your dinner and then let's get out of 
here." 

Ten minutes later, he was handing Mary Frances his credit 
card. "You're sure you don't want any dessert?" the waitress asked. 
Doggett smiled and shook his head. When Mary Frances was safely out 
of earshot, he grinned at Monica. "I have other plans for dessert." 
And he let his eyes wander over her.

Monica felt her face getting hot. The way he was looking at her made 
the rest of her rather warm, as well, and she tried not to melt into 
a puddle under the heat of his stare. When he raised her hand to his 
lips and kissed her palm, she swallowed hard, suddenly unable to 
speak. Doggett was still nuzzling her fingertips when Mary Frances 
came back with his credit card. The waitress left the receipt on the 
table and disappeared discreetly.

"Let's get outta here," he said, and planted another kiss on her 
palm. Monica stood, trying to ignore the shaky feeling in her legs, 
and let Doggett help her with her coat. Normally she would have 
protested, but she wanted him close. He slipped his arm around her 
waist and they left the restaurant. When they got to the car, he 
opened the door for her and before she could get in, he kissed her 
very softly on the lips. "I want another taste," he whispered, and 
kissed her again, licking her lips apart as his hands slid down her 
sides to rest on her hips. She kissed him again, wanting to taste 
every inch of him and when her tongue lightly brushed his, she 
whimpered at the sensation. He kissed her more deeply then and she 
melted against him. Finally, he drew away. "Not here," he said, and 
she loved the ragged sound of his breathing as he helped her into the 
car and closed the door.

They pulled out onto the main drag and Monica let her hand slide to 
his thigh, then up to his crotch. His cock leapt at her touch, even 
through the wool fabric of his trousers, and she reveled in knowing 
what she did to him. When he stopped at a red light, she began 
stroking him lightly and he groaned, grabbing her hand and pulling it 
away.

"You're going to pay for that," he promised her, and she grinned at 
him, unrepentant.

 "I'd better, G-Man."

Not two minutes later, they were pulling onto the hotel parking lot. 
Doggett handed her his room key. "I'll get the bags," he said. She 
hurried to the door and was just pushing it open when he was at her 
side, ushering her into the dark room, then kicking the door shut 
again. She fumbled for the light switch and as she found it, Doggett 
tossed the two suitcases to the side and drew her into his arms. His 
kiss was urgent and before Monica could slide her arms around him, he 
was drawing her coat off her shoulders and she was shrugging out of 
it. freeing her arms as quickly as she could to remove his overcoat 
and then his suit jacket. Doggett pulled his tie off and tugged 
Monica's suit jacket off, then caught her around the waist to pull 
her to him. His lips brushed hers, then slid to her jaw and her 
earlobe.

"Oh, yes," she whispered, and began unbuttoning his shirt as he 
unfastened the waistband of her slacks. Minutes later, she was 
running her hands over his bare chest, marveling in his muscled 
smoothness as she dropped kisses along his shoulders and neck. He 
drew back long enough to pull her sweater off, then kissed her again 
before lowering his head to kiss the tops of her breasts. He 
unfastened her bra and drew it off her shoulders, cupping her bare 
breasts as he kissed one, then the other. When he took one nipple 
into his mouth, Monica moaned and then sighed, arching her back to 
give him better access. As he tongued her nipples, she unfastened his 
belt and slid the zipper of his trousers down over his straining 
cock. He kicked off his trousers and tugged her slacks down over her 
hips. She stepped out of them as he reached down to pull back the 
comforter and sheets and then they were both falling back onto the 
mattress.

Somehow Monica was astride him, kissing him hungrily as his hands 
wandered down her bare back.  He tugged her panties off and began 
fondling her ass as she sucked and tongued his nipples. His 
fingertips traced the cleft of her ass and she rubbed her hips 
against his hand. "You like that, huh," he whispered against her 
mouth, and at her moan of assent, he shifted out from under and 
flipped her, face down, onto the mattress. He slipped an arm under 
her hips, lifting her ass off the mattress, and slid his knee between 
her legs, nudging her thighs apart. "Let's see what else you like," 
he said, holding her hips still with one hand as the other caressed 
the insides of her thighs and the backs of her knees until she 
trembled. Doggett let his fingertips wander to her pussy. Monica 
moaned his name as he stroked her pubic hair and began rocking her 
hips as his fingertips traced the lips of her cunt. He dipped a 
finger into her hot, wet center and murmured, "Oh, I think you 
definitely like this." Two long fingers stroked either side of her 
clit and he whispered, "Tell me what you want, Monica."

"Touch me," she begged him, pushing her hips toward his teasing 
fingers, desperate to feel his hand on her aching clit.

"Touch you where?" he teased, drawing his hand away. "Tell me what 
you want, Monica," and he slipped his hand from between her thighs 
and gently pinched her bottom, one cheek, then the other. She jerked 
her hips, and he smacked her bottom lightly until she held 
still. "Tell me exactly what you want."

"Play with me," she whispered, her breathing ragged. "Please. Please 
play with my clit, John." His fingers brushed lightly over her 
swollen clit and she gasped at the dizzying mix of pleasure and 
frustration his touch brought. "Please make me come, John."

Doggett chuckled. He loved hearing her beg and feeling the tension 
building in her thighs and hips and belly. "I told you you'd have to 
pay for teasing me," he said, flicking his finger along the length of 
her clit, then sliding it just inside her. "Do you believe me now, 
gorgeous?" 

She was almost chanting. "Please let me come. Please let me – " and 
then he began roughly brushing his thumb over her aching clit, and 
the tension in her center was almost unbearable as he deliberately 
tormented her, bringing her almost to the peak of pleasure, then 
slowing and shifting his fingers. He tortured her for several sweet 
moments, then gently began rubbing her clit between his thumb and 
forefinger. Monica held her breath, waiting for him to draw his hand 
away again, biting her lip until the pleasure was so intense she had 
to cry out and then she was coming, omigod, and Doggett was rubbing 
and pinching her clit and she couldn't keep her hips still and she 
was screaming and he was still stroking her with one hand as he 
thrust the fingers of the other deep into her pussy and all she could 
do was buck against him as he turned her inside out.

Monica collapsed in a heap on the mattress when the spasms of 
pleasure finally stopped. Doggett kissed her shoulders, then let his 
lips follow the line of her spine from her neck to the base of her 
hips as she sighed and shivered beneath him. When her breathing 
slowed and she stopped shaking, he whispered, "Turn over."

Exhausted, she was barely able to comply. Her eyes were closed as he 
grasped her wrists and drew her arms over her head, pinning them with 
one hand to the mattress. She opened her eyes to look at him as he 
spread her legs apart. "Wrap your legs around me," he ordered, and 
she obeyed, gasping as he entered her. He thrust deeply inside her 
and she groaned and shifted until her legs were around his shoulders 
so that he could thrust even more into her. He pounded into her and 
she lifted her hips at each thrust, feeling the heat building again. 
Doggett gritted his teeth and shifted his weight slightly, pinning 
her more completely, and she whispered, "I can't. Oh, God, John, I 
can't."

But moments later, she was coming again, straining her hips up to 
meet him and she had barely caught her breath when it was his turn to 
explode, and he called her name as the pleasure overtook him.

They lay in a tangle for several minutes until Doggett could lift 
himself off of her. He rolled onto his back, pulling Monica with him, 
and she curled against his chest. He wrapped one arm around her waist 
and stroked her hair with his other hand and the room was silent for 
several minutes except for the sound of them panting.

Finally Doggett let the hand curled at Monica's waist slide down to 
pinch her bottom again. "I like the way you say please," he said, 
sneaking in another pinch when she yelped. "It's very sincere." She 
kicked him in the shin, not very hard since she couldn't get much 
leverage and he turned and pinned her into the mattress. He didn't 
say a word, just looked at her, his eyes roaming over her nakedness. 
Monica tensed, waiting for him to begin teasing her again, then 
relaxed and let herself enjoy being ogled.

"Enjoying the view?" she asked, cocking one eyebrow.

Doggett grinned and kissed her. "Very much. Just relax. I'll tell you 
when you can turn over so I can enjoy the other side."  Monica 
laughed and stretched her arms over her head, then closed her eyes. 

Normally Monica would have been distressed by a lover's continued 
silence, but his quiet contemplation of her body was more erotic than 
she could express. Doggett's gaze was as tangible as his touch, and 
she luxuriated in the attention, stretching like a cat to show her 
pleasure.

He couldn't just look for long, though, and soon he was caressing her 
again, running the tips of his fingers along her throat to the space 
between her breasts, then down her stomach to her thighs. Monica 
smiled and spread her legs a little wider apart, but kept her eyes 
closed. His hand wandered back up to her breasts and he stroked and 
teased her nipples until they were firm and tingling.

"Turn over," he said, and she grinned and did as he asked, her eyes 
still closed. She snuggled into pillow and curved her hips just 
enough that her bare ass was tilted invitingly toward him. Her legs 
were spread wide enough to give him a tantalizing view of her still-
wet pussy.

"Happy?" she asked.

"You have no idea," he said, stretching out beside her. He leaned on 
one arm, chin resting on his hand, and began stroking her with the 
other hand. He ran his fingertips over her bare shoulders, then down 
the line of her back to her hips and up again.

"Mmmm," Monica murmured. "Very nice." He leaned forward to kiss her 
shoulder and she sighed as he continued caressing her, making 
encouraging little moans as his hand wandered the sensitive line of 
her back. Tingles were running up and down her spine when he finally 
began stroking her thighs.

He nestled close as his hand came to rest on her hip, then whispered 
against the nape of her neck, "Do I have to tell you how beautiful 
you are?" His lips brushed her neck, then her shoulders. Monica 
sighed with pleasure, then rolled over so that she could look at him.

They just watched each other for several minutes, smiling, and Monica 
was debating whether to tell him how much she loved him when his cell 
phone started ringing.

"Dammit!" He got up and found his overcoat, then dug through the 
pockets until he found the phone. "Agent Doggett," he barked into the 
receiver. "What? Oh, yeah, Detective Perry. No problem. I'm in 
room.... 412." He gave Monica's room number. "Sure. Five minutes? No 
problem." He hit the "end" button and exclaimed again. "Dammit!" Then 
he began getting dressed. "He's on his way with those reports. 
Where's your room key?"

"My key?" Monica found her purse and searched through it until she 
found the key he wanted. "Here. Why my key?"

He looked at her. "You want him coming *here*?" he asked, pointedly, 
and took the key from her. He pulled on his coat and headed for the 
door, then turned back to her. "Sorry, sweetheart. I'll be right 
back." Then he was gone.

Suddenly the room was freezing and Monica wrapped the comforter 
around herself and got up to turn on the heat. She was fiddling with 
the thermostat when the flash of headlights through the blinds made 
her look up. She peeked out and recognized Detective Perry's sedan 
pulling onto the parking lot. He parked and Monica watched him walk 
across the lot to Doggett's door. When she couldn't see him anymore, 
she shrugged and climbed back into bed, burrowing under the covers. 
She could smell Doggett on the sheets and pillows and on her skin and 
the scent made her pulse race. She could hear voices through the thin 
hotel walls, but she couldn't make out what the two men were saying. 
Then she heard the door slam shut and a moment later, heard a car 
engine starting.

Then Doggett was knocking on the connecting door between their 
rooms. "Mon? It's me, sweetheart." She wrapped herself in the 
comforter again and let him in. "Jeez, it's freezing in here," he 
exclaimed. "Get back under the covers."

Monica dove back into bed. Doggett cranked the heat up further, then 
kicked off his shoes and stretched out next to her on the bed. He 
pulled the comforter up around her shoulders and then pulled her 
close.  "C'mere, gorgeous." She snuggled against him and he kissed 
her forehead, then her lips. "Warmer now?" Monica nodded. "Good. I 
don't want you to catch pneumonia."

She noted the files in his hand. "What do the reports say?"

"Nothing we didn't know already. Tubbs didn't show any signs of 
previous injuries, so apparently he went along with things right up 
until he shot himself. The medical examiner's not done yet, but 
they're pretty sure the wound was self-inflicted. He was holding the 
weapon and there were powder burns on his hand."

"This is a pretty remote area, John," Monica said slowly, thinking 
aloud. "They came here for a reason. The money has to be nearby." 

"Beckman and Fitzgerald both grew up in the area. Fitzgerald's from 
Utica, and Beckman grew up closer to Albany. It doesn't look like 
they knew each other until they met at Watertown. But they both have 
ties here. Perry's got an APB out on both men and the car. If they're 
here, we'll find them."

"How do you think they convinced Tubbs to help them?" Monica asked.

"Maybe Beckman hypnotized him," Doggett said, shrugging. "Or maybe he 
volunteered. He could have just been greedy. He might have overheard 
them planning something and forced his way in."

"I don't think so," Monica said. "I think Beckman put the whammy on 
him, big time."

"I'll let you explain that to the prosecutor," Doggett said. "And 
Skinner."

They both grew quiet at the mention of the A.D.'s name. Finally 
Monica asked, "What did he want?"

Doggett rubbed his chin, debating what to tell her. He decided on the 
truth. "He knows."

Monica sat up, pulling the covers with her. "He knows? How?"

"How the hell do I know? It's not like I sent out an announcement," 
Doggett said, trying not to sound defensive. "Maybe he's psychic. 
Maybe he's really good at reading body language. Maybe your 
apartment's wired."

"Great. What did he say?"

"Nothing," Doggett said, shrugging again. "Well, not nothing, but 
nothing direct. He said I looked tired. I said I had a cold. But he 
knows."

Monica slid back down to the mattress. "Now what?"

Doggett didn't like the resigned quality in her voice; he would 
rather have heard her angry, or even afraid. It was much too early to 
give up.

He draped himself across her, stretching one arm across her waist, 
and kissed her forehead. "Now you remember what I said last night: 
I'm yours, you're mine, and that's all that matters. You're stuck 
with me, gorgeous. Get used to it." And then he kissed her mouth, 
hard enough to take away her breath and any doubts.

When the kiss ended, he started pulling off his shirt. "Let's get 
some sleep, sweetheart. Everything's going to make more sense in the 
morning." He stripped to his boxers and slid under the covers with 
her. "C'mere," he said again, and pulled her to his chest. She 
wrapped her arm around his waist and nestled into his shoulder, and 
he pulled the covers tight around them. "Warm enough?"

When she nodded, he switched off the bedside lamp. "Sweet dreams, 
Monica," he whispered against her temple, and in minutes, they were 
both asleep.

Doggett's cell phone woke them just before 6.

"Yeah," he said. "Where? Is he alive? All right, we're on our way."

Monica was up and pulling on clothes before he hung up. "They found 
Fitzgerald's body in a state park a few miles from here," Doggett 
said. He was getting dressed as well. "Shot himself, just like Tubbs. 
Beckman left the Taurus at the scene. Perry thinks he stole a 
tourist's truck from a campground near the scene."

"Any sign of the truck?" Monica asked. They were both putting on 
their coats.

"No, but Perry found a slip of paper in Fitzgerald's wallet that he 
thinks might be a storage locker number. They're checking bus and 
train stations and all those self-storage places," Doggett said.

It hadn't snowed, but there was a thick coat of frost on the rental 
car's windows. Monica pulled a scraper out of the back seat, but 
Doggett took it from her before she could start working. "Get in the 
car before you freeze," he said, and she didn't argue.

God, he's housebroken, she exulted. I bet he picks up his own dirty 
socks. I bet he can do laundry. He probably even puts the lid back 
down.

She was wondering if Doggett could cook when he got in on the 
passenger's side. "All right, let's get outta here," he said. "Jesus, 
it's cold."

Monica started the engine and cranked the heat up, then pulled out of 
the parking space. Her hand was resting on the console between the 
seats when Doggett laid his hand on top of hers. "God, John, you're 
frozen," she said, and began rubbing warmth back into his fingers. 
When he was warm enough, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed 
her fingertips. She took her eyes off the road just long enough to 
smile at him, and he kept hold of her hand as they rode in silence to 
the crime scene.

Perry flagged them down once they reached the entrance to the state 
park. "We found Beckman," he said, climbing into the back seat of 
rental car. "He's at Union Station in Utica. Turn around and head 
back to town."

With Perry navigating, they were pulling up to the back of the train 
station ten minutes later. "There's the truck," the detective said, 
pointing to a gray Ford. "No sign of Beckman." His radio crackled and 
responded. "Yeah? Which entrance? All right, we got it covered. 
C'mon," he said to Doggett and Monica. "He just got to the storage 
lockers at the west end. This way."

The station was seldom busy, so there were only a few travelers to 
clear out of the area, for which Monica was grateful. Beckman spotted 
them, though, and ran down the stairs near the storage lockers. 
Doggett took off after him as Perry got on the radio and told his 
officers to watch the exits from the basement level. Monica ran after 
Doggett. She could hear their feet pounding down the stairs, but then 
it grew silent. She crept as quietly as she could along the empty 
corridors, straining her ears and eyes for any sign of Doggett or 
Beckman. She turned one corner, then another, but there was still no 
sight of either man. Finally, she saw a door marked "Storage" ajar, 
and went in.

She nearly panicked at the sight. Beckman was speaking very softly, 
his back to Monica. Doggett was watching him intently, listening 
carefully as he lifted his weapon to his temple.

"All you have to do is pull the trigger," Beckman said in a singsong 
voice. "Just pull it, that's all."

Monica could see Doggett's finger tightening on the trigger and she 
screamed. "No!" Beckman whirled to face her as she yelled, "Federal 
agent! Don't move." He turned back to give Doggett another order and 
Monica raised her weapon and fired three times. Beckman jerked as 
each shot hit him in the chest. For a minute, she thought he was 
going to say something; his lips moved soundlessly, then he collapsed.

Doggett stood absolutely still, his weapon at his side again. Monica 
approached him slowly, stepping over Beckman. "John," she said 
softly, "it's Monica. Give me your weapon." She held her hand out and 
he looked at her blankly for a second and then handed over 
his .45. "That's good, John. It's all right."

She heard Perry and his men shouting as they ran down the 
corridor. "Everybody all right?" Perry asked. Then he saw Beckman. He 
knelt and checked Beckman's pulse, but found nothing. "He's dead." He 
looked up Monica and Doggett. "What happened?"

Monica explained and Perry shook his head. "Jesus Christ," he 
said. "Now I've seen it all. You all right, Agent Doggett?"

Doggett finally found his voice. "Yeah, I'm fine." He felt a little 
dizzy and disoriented, but otherwise all right. Monica was much too 
pale, but he couldn't fault her for that.

"Agent Reyes, we'll need a statement from you," Perry said. "One of 
my men will be with you in a minute. Oh, and we found the cash in a 
storage locker. We must have spotted Beckman before he got to it. 
There's nearly $200,000 in three duffle bags up there."

There wasn't much to be done after that. The paramedics came and left 
again as the crime scene unit and medical examiner arrived. Monica 
and Doggett gave their statements and watched as photos were taken 
and evidence collected.

Finally, it was time to leave. "We're on a 3 p.m. flight," Doggett 
said as he drove them back to the hotel. "Want to catch a nap before 
we have to go?"

Monica nodded, too exhausted to speak. She had never shot anyone 
before and part of her realized with a clinical detachment that she 
was in shock.
"You did the right thing, Mon," John said, squeezing her hand. "You 
saved my life."

She nodded again. The shooting was legit, but that didn't make her 
feel much better. Maybe a nap will help, she thought.

She slept for an hour at the hotel and Doggett woke her when it was 
time to leave for the airport. He carried the suitcases to the car 
and held her door open for her. She climbed in and fastened her 
seatbelt and was asleep again before he got the suitcases in the 
trunk.

It seemed like only a few minutes had passed before they were 
boarding the plane. Monica took the window seat and Doggett sat next 
to her. He asked the flight attendant for a blanket; when it was 
brought, he draped it over Monica. "Go to sleep, sweetheart," he 
said, and put his arm around her, pulling her to him.

Monica sighed and snuggled close and shut her eyes. Just before she 
drifted off, she looked up at Doggett again. "Honey?" He looked down 
at her. "I told you Beckman put the whammy on them."