She stared at Geoffrey, heart thumping wildly. "So I guess you're here for my decision." She said, and was thankful that her voice at least sounded calm and strong.
"Yes. But there is something you need to be aware of in order to choose correctly."
"There's no need. I've already chosen."
"I see. Well, I'm sorry, but I can't honour that choice until you hear what this man has to say."
"There's nothing he can possibly say that will change my mind. I belong here. With my husband and my children."
"Monica," John said gently. "This isn't real. Don't you see that? You don't have children."
"No? Then who was that standing in front of us not five minutes ago with worms in his hands? That was my son, John. *My* son. And my daughters are upstairs playing as well. You want me to call them all down here so that you can tell them that they're not real?"
"I saw him, Mon. I did. But he didn't exist a week ago. None of this did. This is just an elaborate fantasy world that was created for you by this man to get you out of the way."
"Actually, he did." Geoffrey interjected.
John turned to him exasperatedly. "Did what?"
"Exist. JJ, Bella and Stephy all existed last week. They have for years. Not in the form they're in now, but believe me, they didn't just suddenly come to fruition because I willed it."
"What the hell are you talkin' about?"
"Possibilities. It's all about possibilities. When I read someone, I not only read their feelings and emotions, I also read their past, their present, and their future."
"But the future hasn't happened yet."
"Exactly. When I read someone's future…I see millions upon millions of tendrils stemming from that exact moment, each tendril calculating every single outcome of every single decision or occurrence or random interaction that could ever happen. Of all the possible futures Monica could have, I knew that this one would make her the happiest. So in the exact moment I took her from the darkest road, this world was born."
"What the hell is this darkest road crap?" John asked. "And what gives you the right to take people away from those who love and care for them?"
"It's life. It's struggle and pain and sadness. . . the people I take have no one left to love them. Ricky Bilston was drinking himself to death in that lonely apartment, eaten up by guilt and remorse and self-hatred. With me, he's happy again – his family is alive, his children are healthy, and he doesn't have nightmares about charred skin or wake up screaming anymore."
"So that's why you were able to take me." Monica whispered. "Because no one. . .but they do here. And I'm not leaving."
"Didn't you just hear him? Supposin' for even a second that what he says is true, possibilities aren't reality. They're just 'maybes' and 'mights' veiled within gossamer theories. This. Isn't. Real."
"It's real enough for me."
"Monica –"
"My children are real." Monica stubbornly refuted. "And my husband is real, and this house is real. . .even Coco is real, and you're not taking that away from me."
"Don't you want to see those possibilities eventuate?" Geoffrey broke in.
Monica's eyes clouded as she glanced at John. "I know this would never eventuate out there. I know that as truth as sure as I know my name. And you know it too, or else you wouldn't have been able to take me."
"I thought it was true when I took you, yes. But then, I was also acting out of self-interest at that particular time. I didn't have all the facts."
"What facts?" Monica asked bitterly. "There are no facts. My darkest road wasn't filled with grief or despair, but it was lonely. I just didn't realise how lonely until I came here."
John reached for her hand again. "You had me, Mon."
She snatched it back. "No, I didn't. I had work and whale songs and satellite TV. That was the grand total of my life. I *matter* here, John. You don't know how important it is to just *matter*."
"You mattered to me." John cleared his throat. "You *matter* to me."
Monica looked away. "It's not the same – and you," she glared at Geoffrey. "I didn't even know I wanted this until you gave it to me. I have memories now. I remember being pregnant. I remember giving birth. I remember. . . I remember getting married. You can't expect me to give it all up."
"If you went back to the real world, you wouldn't remember any of this. It wouldn't exist anymore. There would be only possibilities."
"So you not only take away my life, you take away my memories and kill my children as well?"
"You couldn't live a normal life if you were constantly thinking about the one you gave up. And your children wouldn't be dead, because they've never really lived. "
"Well, I won't be forgetting anything, because I made my choice. You said to choose freely, and choose well, and I have. I'm staying."
"I'm not gonna let you stay here, Mon." John said grimly.
"You have no say in it."
"I'll drag you out of here kickin' and screamin' if I have to." He promised.
"You can't do that." She appealed to Geoffrey. "Can he do that?"
"It's never been done before…but there's always a first time for everything, I suppose."
Monica thought quickly. She knew she only had to mention that Luke was alive here, and John would change his mind about dragging her out. He wouldn't be responsible for killing him, she knew that without a doubt. Or killing the possibility of him. But as swiftly as that thought occurred, it was dismissed. She could never use his love for his son against him like that. Even if it meant going back. She closed her eyes to stop the tears that were threatening to spill down her cheeks.
"I'm happy here, John. Why can't you let me be?" She said softly.
Because I'm miserable without you. Monica, look at me." She opened her eyes. "I swear to you that I'll try my damndest to make sure you're just as happy back home. Those kids - they're *our* possibilities, aren't they?"
"Yes."
"I want to make sure they eventuate, Mon. I want them to exist - for real, not just in this plastic paradise. Whatever it takes, I'll do it."
"Do you realise what that means, John? It means that for them to live, really live, that you and I have to –"
"I know what it means." He said softly.
She studied him sharply and then sighed in resignation. "Ah John. It doesn't matter. None of it does, because you won't even remember this when you leave."
He moved closer to her, and this time when he took her hand she didn't try to take it away. "I'll remember how I feel about you. I'll remember how I've been goin' out of my mind ever since you went away. I'll remember sittin' by your hospital bed, holdin' you hand and promisin' you anythin' if you'll just open your eyes. Do you know that your body is in a coma? Do you know that your hospital room is filled with balloons and flowers, and that people are comin' by every day to see if there's any change? Do you know how much you are missed? Do you have any idea," he stopped and brought her hand up to his mouth, pressing the softest of kisses into her skin. "how much I miss you?"
Her tears that had earlier been kept in check escaped their flimsy prison, and fell freely. "Do you have any idea what you're asking me to give up?"
"I'm not asking you to give up anything. As I understand it, everything here is a possibility of what could be. I'm just asking you to take a chance and trust that I want the same things that you do."
"What do you want, John?"
"You really need to ask?"
"Yeah."
"I want you. I want a home, and a family, and yeah, even a dog, with you."
"I – I don't know if I can let them go."
"Ahem, if I may?" Geoffrey had been following the conversation with great interest. "You wouldn't really be letting them go. You'd be preparing the road until it was time for them to join you again."
Monica thought this over. "If we won't remember any of this, how can you be sure that we'll follow the path that leads us back to them? Won't things go back to how they were?"
"To some degree. But you'll find that you can no longer keep the feelings you have for one another in check. And then. . .well, then things will get really interesting."
John squeezed her hand. "Come back to me?"
She smiled. Life with Fantasy John had been amazing, but now she wanted the real thing. Family, love, life. . . she wanted it all. "Yes."
XxX
John awoke with a start, surprised to find that he was alone. He was sitting on his couch, but there was no sign of Monica, and more importantly, no Geoffrey.
"Shit!" he muttered under his breath, cursing himself for letting a suspect escape. "Of all the stupid, insane, incompetent . . ." He reached for his phone, intending to call Scully to give her the bad news, but as soon as he dialled her number the reason for his call slipped his mind.
"Scully." She answered.
"Dana, it's John. I. . ."
"John? Is everything okay? How's Monica?"
"Monica?" Monica was just here. Wasn't she? He tried to remember, sure that there was something he was missing, but his head hurt, and he couldn't concentrate long enough to recall what it was. "There's no change. She's still. . ."
There was silence from the other end of the phone. "Was there something you needed, John?"
"Uh. . .yeah. . .no." He gingerly touched the side of his head, surprised to find a tender spot with a small lump in the centre. But beyond his initial surprise, it didn't occur to him to wonder how he came to acquire injury. "I – I'm just on my way to the hospital. But before I go, I was wonderin' if we could question the suspect again, maybe get him to. . ." His voice trailed off. Get him to what? Damn head – it seemed like every time he tried to concentrate on Geoffrey it ached with renewed intensity.
"We released him, remember. We can't get past his lawyer now."
"Oh, yeah."
"Are you sure you're alright?"
"I just have a headache, that's all."
"Well, it's understandable. You've been under a lot of pressure this past week."
"No more than anyone else tryin' to figure out what's goin' on."
"It's a little more involved than that, John. Not everyone has the same feelings for Monica that you do."
John started to protest, but felt it die on his lips. Why bother to deny it? It was true, and he was tired of hiding it. "I'll talk to you later." He said instead, and disconnected the call. His need to get to the hospital to see Monica was almost a compulsion. He grabbed his coat and keys, and once he was in the car and driving towards her, he realised his head had stopped throbbing.
XxX
The first thing Monica realised when she opened her eyes was that she wasn't in her apartment anymore. The smells and sounds that surrounded her were familiar in a reassuring kind of way. She'd spent enough time in hospitals to know when she was in one. The second thing, after this fact was revealed and filed, was that she wasn't alone. Someone was holding her hand and murmuring her name, and when she looked up she noticed the trail of freshly shed tears lining an exhausted but jubilant face. And the third thing, and perhaps the most surprising, was that the only other time she had seen this person cry was regarding his son.
"Hey," she said softly. "Enough of that. I'm fine."
John smiled down at her through his tears. "Yes," he replied with a choke in his voice. "You are."
XxX
Two weeks later they were walking contentedly back to the car from lunch. Monica had been kept in hospital for a further seven days, undergoing all sorts of tests to try to determine what had caused her sudden loss of consciousness. After all the tests had come back negative, she had persuaded the doctors that there was no reason for her to be there anymore, and she'd been released. She'd been under strict instructions to take it easy though, and as such she hadn't yet returned to work. For the past week John had taken to stopping by at different times of the day, bringing her meals and books and magazines, all under the pretence of checking up on her. Feeling housebound she'd suggested they go out to eat, and he'd readily complied. Now, full from lunch and in no particular hurry to be anywhere, they were strolling along lazily and looking in the shop windows they passed.
"Oh John, look. A pet shop. Let's go in."
"You thinkin' about getting' a pet?" he asked.
"Not particularly. I just like looking."
She grabbed his hand and led him inside the shop. Once inside she didn't let go, but instead let her fingers thread with his in what was at once a comfortable yet thrilling contact. They ambled around the shop, 'oohing' and 'aahing' over the rabbits, guinea pigs, and all things fluffy, whistled to the birds and watched the indifference of the reptiles with fascination. They came to the part of the shop that housed the puppies, and John grinned in indulgence as Monica went into raptures.
"Aren't they adorable? I love puppies."
"Really? I never would have noticed." He teased.
"Behave yourself, mister." She ordered, with a good-natured elbow to the ribs. She pointed to a chocolate coloured Labrador.
"Look at that one."
The puppy in question was standing on his hind legs, reaching for Monica's fingers that were poking through the chicken wire on the top of the cage. His tail was wagging furiously, and John couldn't help but laugh at his exuberance.
"He'd be a handful."
"If I only had a yard. . ." She sighed. "Let's get out of here before I do something rash."
John noticed her disappointment, and before he knew what he was doing he'd blurted out, "I have a yard."
Monica's eyes flashed from the puppy to John, and back to the puppy again. "I couldn't get a dog only to keep him at your place. It wouldn't be fair on you. And besides," she said with regrets, "He'd see so much of you that he wouldn't know me."
"We could get him together." John offered.
"Like co-owners?"
"Why not? We spend most of our time together anyway. It wouldn't be so bad if we spent some of that time at my house, would it?"
Monica smiled. "No, it wouldn't be so bad at all."
"And if that time happened include to the odd dinner or two. . ." He pressed on. "Maybe a movie. . . or dancing . . ."
"Maybe even a sleepover?" Monica added.
John beamed at her. "Yeah, a sleepover. . . I think I could live with that."
"Me too."
"Well then."
"Well then." She echoed.
"I guess we're gettin a dog."
"I guess we are."
They stood there smiling at each other until the sales assistant came over and broke the mood. "Can I help you?" she asked.
"Yeah." John replied. "We'd like to buy a dog."
XxX
"So now we have to think of a name." John winced and unfolded his legs, and shifted so that he was leaning against the couch with his legs stretched before him.
They were sitting on the floor of his lounge room, watching the pup as he ran around the room chasing imaginary targets and generally doing what puppies do best – having fun.
"I thought of the perfect name while we were in the shop." Monica said, and repositioned herself so that she settled comfortably against John's chest. His arms wrapped around her middle and came to a rest in her lap.
"And what might that be?"
"Well . . . you might not like it. But don't dismiss it out of hand. Just think about it for a little while."
"What is it, Mon?" he asked suspiciously.
"Promise you won't dismiss it?"
"Okay, I promise."
She twisted her head so that she could gauge his reaction. "Coco."
He burst out laughing, but trailed off when he realised that she wasn't laughing with him. "Oh. You're serious."
"C'mon John. Please?"
"Why Coco?"
"I don't know – it just seems to fit him."
"Kind of a poncy name for a boy dog, isn't it?" John asked sceptically.
"Can you think of anything better?" she challenged him.
The puppy pranced over to them and climbed into Monica's lap. He wriggled in her arms and yapped happily, his little body quivering with excitement.
"Mon, it's going to be really embarrassing when he gets loose in the park. I don't want to be yelling out 'Coco' at the top of my voice. All the other dog owners will laugh at me."
"I'm still waiting for your suggestion."
John sighed. Coco did seem to suit him, and he wasn't really that adverse to the name. Monica had seemed to expect him to put up a fight though, and who was he to spoil her fun? "Okay. Fine. Coco it is. But you're walkin' him."
She squealed with delight. "We'll walk him together." She said firmly, as Coco spotted something more interesting to chase across the other side of the room and took off in pursuit.
They watched his antics for some time, before John said, "I think gettin a dog is the best thing that ever happened to me."
Monica nodded in agreement. "I think it's the best thing that ever happened to you, too."
"Minx." John retorted, and let his laughter mingle with hers as he began tickling her ribs mercilessly.
And from somewhere up above, three possibilities looked down on them. Waiting.
End
"Yes. But there is something you need to be aware of in order to choose correctly."
"There's no need. I've already chosen."
"I see. Well, I'm sorry, but I can't honour that choice until you hear what this man has to say."
"There's nothing he can possibly say that will change my mind. I belong here. With my husband and my children."
"Monica," John said gently. "This isn't real. Don't you see that? You don't have children."
"No? Then who was that standing in front of us not five minutes ago with worms in his hands? That was my son, John. *My* son. And my daughters are upstairs playing as well. You want me to call them all down here so that you can tell them that they're not real?"
"I saw him, Mon. I did. But he didn't exist a week ago. None of this did. This is just an elaborate fantasy world that was created for you by this man to get you out of the way."
"Actually, he did." Geoffrey interjected.
John turned to him exasperatedly. "Did what?"
"Exist. JJ, Bella and Stephy all existed last week. They have for years. Not in the form they're in now, but believe me, they didn't just suddenly come to fruition because I willed it."
"What the hell are you talkin' about?"
"Possibilities. It's all about possibilities. When I read someone, I not only read their feelings and emotions, I also read their past, their present, and their future."
"But the future hasn't happened yet."
"Exactly. When I read someone's future…I see millions upon millions of tendrils stemming from that exact moment, each tendril calculating every single outcome of every single decision or occurrence or random interaction that could ever happen. Of all the possible futures Monica could have, I knew that this one would make her the happiest. So in the exact moment I took her from the darkest road, this world was born."
"What the hell is this darkest road crap?" John asked. "And what gives you the right to take people away from those who love and care for them?"
"It's life. It's struggle and pain and sadness. . . the people I take have no one left to love them. Ricky Bilston was drinking himself to death in that lonely apartment, eaten up by guilt and remorse and self-hatred. With me, he's happy again – his family is alive, his children are healthy, and he doesn't have nightmares about charred skin or wake up screaming anymore."
"So that's why you were able to take me." Monica whispered. "Because no one. . .but they do here. And I'm not leaving."
"Didn't you just hear him? Supposin' for even a second that what he says is true, possibilities aren't reality. They're just 'maybes' and 'mights' veiled within gossamer theories. This. Isn't. Real."
"It's real enough for me."
"Monica –"
"My children are real." Monica stubbornly refuted. "And my husband is real, and this house is real. . .even Coco is real, and you're not taking that away from me."
"Don't you want to see those possibilities eventuate?" Geoffrey broke in.
Monica's eyes clouded as she glanced at John. "I know this would never eventuate out there. I know that as truth as sure as I know my name. And you know it too, or else you wouldn't have been able to take me."
"I thought it was true when I took you, yes. But then, I was also acting out of self-interest at that particular time. I didn't have all the facts."
"What facts?" Monica asked bitterly. "There are no facts. My darkest road wasn't filled with grief or despair, but it was lonely. I just didn't realise how lonely until I came here."
John reached for her hand again. "You had me, Mon."
She snatched it back. "No, I didn't. I had work and whale songs and satellite TV. That was the grand total of my life. I *matter* here, John. You don't know how important it is to just *matter*."
"You mattered to me." John cleared his throat. "You *matter* to me."
Monica looked away. "It's not the same – and you," she glared at Geoffrey. "I didn't even know I wanted this until you gave it to me. I have memories now. I remember being pregnant. I remember giving birth. I remember. . . I remember getting married. You can't expect me to give it all up."
"If you went back to the real world, you wouldn't remember any of this. It wouldn't exist anymore. There would be only possibilities."
"So you not only take away my life, you take away my memories and kill my children as well?"
"You couldn't live a normal life if you were constantly thinking about the one you gave up. And your children wouldn't be dead, because they've never really lived. "
"Well, I won't be forgetting anything, because I made my choice. You said to choose freely, and choose well, and I have. I'm staying."
"I'm not gonna let you stay here, Mon." John said grimly.
"You have no say in it."
"I'll drag you out of here kickin' and screamin' if I have to." He promised.
"You can't do that." She appealed to Geoffrey. "Can he do that?"
"It's never been done before…but there's always a first time for everything, I suppose."
Monica thought quickly. She knew she only had to mention that Luke was alive here, and John would change his mind about dragging her out. He wouldn't be responsible for killing him, she knew that without a doubt. Or killing the possibility of him. But as swiftly as that thought occurred, it was dismissed. She could never use his love for his son against him like that. Even if it meant going back. She closed her eyes to stop the tears that were threatening to spill down her cheeks.
"I'm happy here, John. Why can't you let me be?" She said softly.
Because I'm miserable without you. Monica, look at me." She opened her eyes. "I swear to you that I'll try my damndest to make sure you're just as happy back home. Those kids - they're *our* possibilities, aren't they?"
"Yes."
"I want to make sure they eventuate, Mon. I want them to exist - for real, not just in this plastic paradise. Whatever it takes, I'll do it."
"Do you realise what that means, John? It means that for them to live, really live, that you and I have to –"
"I know what it means." He said softly.
She studied him sharply and then sighed in resignation. "Ah John. It doesn't matter. None of it does, because you won't even remember this when you leave."
He moved closer to her, and this time when he took her hand she didn't try to take it away. "I'll remember how I feel about you. I'll remember how I've been goin' out of my mind ever since you went away. I'll remember sittin' by your hospital bed, holdin' you hand and promisin' you anythin' if you'll just open your eyes. Do you know that your body is in a coma? Do you know that your hospital room is filled with balloons and flowers, and that people are comin' by every day to see if there's any change? Do you know how much you are missed? Do you have any idea," he stopped and brought her hand up to his mouth, pressing the softest of kisses into her skin. "how much I miss you?"
Her tears that had earlier been kept in check escaped their flimsy prison, and fell freely. "Do you have any idea what you're asking me to give up?"
"I'm not asking you to give up anything. As I understand it, everything here is a possibility of what could be. I'm just asking you to take a chance and trust that I want the same things that you do."
"What do you want, John?"
"You really need to ask?"
"Yeah."
"I want you. I want a home, and a family, and yeah, even a dog, with you."
"I – I don't know if I can let them go."
"Ahem, if I may?" Geoffrey had been following the conversation with great interest. "You wouldn't really be letting them go. You'd be preparing the road until it was time for them to join you again."
Monica thought this over. "If we won't remember any of this, how can you be sure that we'll follow the path that leads us back to them? Won't things go back to how they were?"
"To some degree. But you'll find that you can no longer keep the feelings you have for one another in check. And then. . .well, then things will get really interesting."
John squeezed her hand. "Come back to me?"
She smiled. Life with Fantasy John had been amazing, but now she wanted the real thing. Family, love, life. . . she wanted it all. "Yes."
XxX
John awoke with a start, surprised to find that he was alone. He was sitting on his couch, but there was no sign of Monica, and more importantly, no Geoffrey.
"Shit!" he muttered under his breath, cursing himself for letting a suspect escape. "Of all the stupid, insane, incompetent . . ." He reached for his phone, intending to call Scully to give her the bad news, but as soon as he dialled her number the reason for his call slipped his mind.
"Scully." She answered.
"Dana, it's John. I. . ."
"John? Is everything okay? How's Monica?"
"Monica?" Monica was just here. Wasn't she? He tried to remember, sure that there was something he was missing, but his head hurt, and he couldn't concentrate long enough to recall what it was. "There's no change. She's still. . ."
There was silence from the other end of the phone. "Was there something you needed, John?"
"Uh. . .yeah. . .no." He gingerly touched the side of his head, surprised to find a tender spot with a small lump in the centre. But beyond his initial surprise, it didn't occur to him to wonder how he came to acquire injury. "I – I'm just on my way to the hospital. But before I go, I was wonderin' if we could question the suspect again, maybe get him to. . ." His voice trailed off. Get him to what? Damn head – it seemed like every time he tried to concentrate on Geoffrey it ached with renewed intensity.
"We released him, remember. We can't get past his lawyer now."
"Oh, yeah."
"Are you sure you're alright?"
"I just have a headache, that's all."
"Well, it's understandable. You've been under a lot of pressure this past week."
"No more than anyone else tryin' to figure out what's goin' on."
"It's a little more involved than that, John. Not everyone has the same feelings for Monica that you do."
John started to protest, but felt it die on his lips. Why bother to deny it? It was true, and he was tired of hiding it. "I'll talk to you later." He said instead, and disconnected the call. His need to get to the hospital to see Monica was almost a compulsion. He grabbed his coat and keys, and once he was in the car and driving towards her, he realised his head had stopped throbbing.
XxX
The first thing Monica realised when she opened her eyes was that she wasn't in her apartment anymore. The smells and sounds that surrounded her were familiar in a reassuring kind of way. She'd spent enough time in hospitals to know when she was in one. The second thing, after this fact was revealed and filed, was that she wasn't alone. Someone was holding her hand and murmuring her name, and when she looked up she noticed the trail of freshly shed tears lining an exhausted but jubilant face. And the third thing, and perhaps the most surprising, was that the only other time she had seen this person cry was regarding his son.
"Hey," she said softly. "Enough of that. I'm fine."
John smiled down at her through his tears. "Yes," he replied with a choke in his voice. "You are."
XxX
Two weeks later they were walking contentedly back to the car from lunch. Monica had been kept in hospital for a further seven days, undergoing all sorts of tests to try to determine what had caused her sudden loss of consciousness. After all the tests had come back negative, she had persuaded the doctors that there was no reason for her to be there anymore, and she'd been released. She'd been under strict instructions to take it easy though, and as such she hadn't yet returned to work. For the past week John had taken to stopping by at different times of the day, bringing her meals and books and magazines, all under the pretence of checking up on her. Feeling housebound she'd suggested they go out to eat, and he'd readily complied. Now, full from lunch and in no particular hurry to be anywhere, they were strolling along lazily and looking in the shop windows they passed.
"Oh John, look. A pet shop. Let's go in."
"You thinkin' about getting' a pet?" he asked.
"Not particularly. I just like looking."
She grabbed his hand and led him inside the shop. Once inside she didn't let go, but instead let her fingers thread with his in what was at once a comfortable yet thrilling contact. They ambled around the shop, 'oohing' and 'aahing' over the rabbits, guinea pigs, and all things fluffy, whistled to the birds and watched the indifference of the reptiles with fascination. They came to the part of the shop that housed the puppies, and John grinned in indulgence as Monica went into raptures.
"Aren't they adorable? I love puppies."
"Really? I never would have noticed." He teased.
"Behave yourself, mister." She ordered, with a good-natured elbow to the ribs. She pointed to a chocolate coloured Labrador.
"Look at that one."
The puppy in question was standing on his hind legs, reaching for Monica's fingers that were poking through the chicken wire on the top of the cage. His tail was wagging furiously, and John couldn't help but laugh at his exuberance.
"He'd be a handful."
"If I only had a yard. . ." She sighed. "Let's get out of here before I do something rash."
John noticed her disappointment, and before he knew what he was doing he'd blurted out, "I have a yard."
Monica's eyes flashed from the puppy to John, and back to the puppy again. "I couldn't get a dog only to keep him at your place. It wouldn't be fair on you. And besides," she said with regrets, "He'd see so much of you that he wouldn't know me."
"We could get him together." John offered.
"Like co-owners?"
"Why not? We spend most of our time together anyway. It wouldn't be so bad if we spent some of that time at my house, would it?"
Monica smiled. "No, it wouldn't be so bad at all."
"And if that time happened include to the odd dinner or two. . ." He pressed on. "Maybe a movie. . . or dancing . . ."
"Maybe even a sleepover?" Monica added.
John beamed at her. "Yeah, a sleepover. . . I think I could live with that."
"Me too."
"Well then."
"Well then." She echoed.
"I guess we're gettin a dog."
"I guess we are."
They stood there smiling at each other until the sales assistant came over and broke the mood. "Can I help you?" she asked.
"Yeah." John replied. "We'd like to buy a dog."
XxX
"So now we have to think of a name." John winced and unfolded his legs, and shifted so that he was leaning against the couch with his legs stretched before him.
They were sitting on the floor of his lounge room, watching the pup as he ran around the room chasing imaginary targets and generally doing what puppies do best – having fun.
"I thought of the perfect name while we were in the shop." Monica said, and repositioned herself so that she settled comfortably against John's chest. His arms wrapped around her middle and came to a rest in her lap.
"And what might that be?"
"Well . . . you might not like it. But don't dismiss it out of hand. Just think about it for a little while."
"What is it, Mon?" he asked suspiciously.
"Promise you won't dismiss it?"
"Okay, I promise."
She twisted her head so that she could gauge his reaction. "Coco."
He burst out laughing, but trailed off when he realised that she wasn't laughing with him. "Oh. You're serious."
"C'mon John. Please?"
"Why Coco?"
"I don't know – it just seems to fit him."
"Kind of a poncy name for a boy dog, isn't it?" John asked sceptically.
"Can you think of anything better?" she challenged him.
The puppy pranced over to them and climbed into Monica's lap. He wriggled in her arms and yapped happily, his little body quivering with excitement.
"Mon, it's going to be really embarrassing when he gets loose in the park. I don't want to be yelling out 'Coco' at the top of my voice. All the other dog owners will laugh at me."
"I'm still waiting for your suggestion."
John sighed. Coco did seem to suit him, and he wasn't really that adverse to the name. Monica had seemed to expect him to put up a fight though, and who was he to spoil her fun? "Okay. Fine. Coco it is. But you're walkin' him."
She squealed with delight. "We'll walk him together." She said firmly, as Coco spotted something more interesting to chase across the other side of the room and took off in pursuit.
They watched his antics for some time, before John said, "I think gettin a dog is the best thing that ever happened to me."
Monica nodded in agreement. "I think it's the best thing that ever happened to you, too."
"Minx." John retorted, and let his laughter mingle with hers as he began tickling her ribs mercilessly.
And from somewhere up above, three possibilities looked down on them. Waiting.
End