Rating: U
Disclaimer: The X Files, John Doggett and Monica Reyes are property of Chris Carter and 1013 productions. I do not own them.
Author: Kelly
keywords: Doggett POV, Audrey Pauley
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Monica Reyes lay before him, though she was in a deep coma, she looked peaceful, asleep. As if she could wake at any given moment, then reality came flooding back. It would be true, if it weren't for the amount of equipment surrounding her bed, or the colour of her skin. So pale, she looked like a ghost. John Doggett couldn't decided which of the two bothered him the most.
John stood at the end of her bed, he had been there a while, upon seeing the state of his partner. His friend. His stomach was tight, his mouth ever so try and his body completely numb. Completely motionless. Expressioness. To the right of Monica's bed was a chair, it took a few seconds for his brain to register to the rest of his body that he wanted to move over to it and sit down. As soon as he did, he put his head in his hands, forcing the tears that threatened to appear, away.
The continous beeping of the various machines rang throughout his ears, the short, quiet tones almost having an hypnotising effect on him. He longed for it to stop, for it to be replaced by her voice. To hear Monica's voice, rational and comforting. To hear Monica laugh, like the way she had this evening. Just once more.
His senses were invaded by the strong smell of antiseptic and various cleaning agents, it was the first time he had noticed it. It caused him to wrinkle his nose and sit back up. He decided to move his seat closer to the bed, although he wanted to stay out of reach. As if touching her would make the pain somehow seem more real. How could the doctors say that she would never recover?
Staring, John found he couldn't look away from Monica, at how amazingly beautiful she was. Her bright smile, and the ways her eyes would light up when she laughed. And now, she looked lifeless. Inhuman. Unnatural. No, the doctors definately had to be wrong, Monica was still here, breathing. John wasn't about to except her fate.
Mustering up all his courage, he moved the chair as close to the bed as it would go and raised his left hand to stroke Monica's hair. It felt so soft under his light touch, he shook his head slowly and watched the rise and fall of her chest. You have to hold on, Monica. He remember something she had said to him, just that evening.
"I don't see you ever disappointing anyone, John."
He could even hear the sound of her voice as she said it, even though it was in his head. What the hell was he doing now? He was sure that by sitting here he was disapointing her, by giving out, 'negative vibes'. That's what Monica would have called them. He had to think positive, for both his and Monica's sake.
"You have to hold on Monica," he said outloud yet quietly. He said the words as if they had the power to wake her up. His right hand searched for Monica's, tenderly holding it as one would a fragile piece of glass. John moved his chair back, enabling him to stand up. He leaned over and kissed Monica on the forehead, the kiss so delicate, as delicate as he could possibly be. The kind of kiss you would give someone if you didn't want to disturb them from their slumber.
John stepped back from the bed, slowly. Only letting go of her hand at the last possible moment. He stood with tears slowly forming in his eyes. Wishing. Hoping. Praying