Title: Out of Sight, Out of Mind?

Author: Tracy

Category: D/R

Rating: PG

Summary: If a picture is worth a thousand words, what does where you keep it say?

Notes: Have you had your fluff pill today? Well go ahead and read this. Guaranteed to fulfil two thirds of your daily fluff requirement. Not to be taken in conjunction with alcohol. But chocolate is fine. ;) uh, on second thoughts, better stay away from all things sugary. Just to be safe.

XxX

"What the hell were you thinking?" Monica called out in amusement. The normally neat and tidy lounge room looked like the proverbial bomb had hit it. Beer cans and bottles littered the coffee and side tables, as did half filled bowls of stale chips and crusty dips. The floor was peppered with bottle tops, empty pizza boxes and chip crumbs. John appeared in the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck and grimacing as he surveyed the damage.

"I dunno – but I tell ya, it's the last time I offer my place up for a bucks night."

Monica laughed and stepped over a pizza box. "So where was the last place you saw them?"

"If I knew that, they wouldn't be lost now, would they?" he said, as if explaining to a two-year old.

"Think John."

"Aww Mon…it's too early for this. Couldn't you just lend me your set?" he asked hopefully.

"And what if there was some kind of emergency and I needed them to get in? What then John?"

"Then you'd have my permission to break a window. C'mon… do you really want to look through this mess?"

Monica wrinkled her nose as she glanced around the room. "No, but you have to find them. And since I'm here I might as well help you. Two pairs of eyes have got to be better than one."

"I dunno how good my eyes are this mornin'…"

"They're a little bloodshot, but they'll do."

"Monica –" he moaned.

"Stop complaining John. I've got no sympathy for someone with self-inflicted infirmities. Now, where was the last place you saw them?"

He closed his eyes and thought. "The last place I saw my keys …" he said slowly.

"Yes?" Monica encouraged.

"Was on the kitchen table yesterday afternoon."

"See?" Monica beamed. "That wasn't so hard was it?" She strode into the kitchen, rummaging through the chaos of bottles, plastic cups and empty packets that adorned the table. "They're not here." She said finally.

"I told ya." She turned around to see a smug look on John's face.

"No you didn't."

"Well, I thought it. And I was right."

She sighed in feigned annoyance. "You look in here John, and I'll take the lounge room."

He grinned at her as she walked past him. "Has that ever worked?"

"What?"

"Askin' someone where they last saw somethin' and havin' it turn up in that exact place?"

"It works just fine when the person who's remembering isn't hung over." She retorted, making her way back into the lounge room.

After a quick examination of the room Monica decided to try the most obvious place first. So she got down on bended knees and proceeded to feel around the seats of the couch.

"Ugh!" she exclaimed as she put her hand on something decidedly soft and squishy. She quickly pulled her hand out and wiped it on her pants in disgust. She decided that if the keys were in the couch then they could damn well stay there. "There's something mutating under your couch." She hollered. She'd done her partnerly duty. He was warned. She was just checking under the mess on the coffee table when aloud thump came from the kitchen, followed by an even louder "Ooowww, shit goddamn it."

"You okay John?" she enquired sweetly, knowing full well that he had probably just tripped over something that he'd missed with those bloodshot eyes of his.

"Fine." He called back through clenched teeth. She smothered a little chuckle. He was so cute when he played at being the big macho man.

She turned her attention to the side draw in the table by the couch. He could have dropped the keys in there for safekeeping. She pulled the drawer open and started rummaging through the mess. Through pens, an issue of Playboy, a half-eaten chocolate bar – all sorts of miscellaneous items, but no house keys. She was just about to give up when her fingers caught the edge of a dog-eared photograph. Knowing that John was meticulous with keeping his photo's arranged by date in albums, she was very curious as to what it portrayed. She brought it out of the drawer and smiled at the memory it conjured.

It had been taken a few months ago, when John had come back from a car show with almost a whole film of vintage cars and bikes. There had been one picture left, and he'd wanted to finish off the roll so he could get it developed. She'd been sitting on his couch just minding her own business when he'd called her name. She'd looked up to have a flash go off before her eyes. He'd laughed at her dazed expression as she complained of seeing spots, and promised her a copy. It was strange, she thought, as she studied the photo, for someone who was taken unaware she looked surprisingly natural. She was smiling, something she honestly couldn't remember doing at the time, and the camera had captured it perfectly. Her skin looked as if it glowed, her eyes were merry, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd had a picture taken that looked as good. She rose from the couch, intending to congratulate John on his photography skills when it hit her. Where were the other photos? The ones of the boring cars?

"John? You remember that car show you went to a few months back?"

"Yeah." He called back.

"Did you ever get the film developed?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I just wondered if I could see the photos."

"Sure. They're in an album in the bookcase. Knock yourself out."

An album. He had an album of cars, and where was she?

Tucked away in his junk drawer.

Pens.

Pornography.

And her.

"I didn't think you were interested in cars." John yelled.

Monica stood rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable even to breathe.

"Mon?" he asked, coming into the lounge room. "I thought you weren't interested –"

"I'm not." She said softly.

Discarded.

Thrown away.

Relegated to a dark compartment with other items not important enough to have a place of their own.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Why was she even surprised?

"Whatcha got there?" John queried, noting something in her hands.

She held the photo up for him to see.

"Oh." He said, as he shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

"I don't even merit a spot in your stupid car album?"

"Mon, it's not that. It's –"

"No, I get it John. I do. And I'm such an idiot for even caring." She shoved the photo into his chest, not even looking to see if he caught it, and swept past him.

"Monica, wait." He hurried after her.

"What for?"

"Let me explain."

"You don't need to explain anything. You've never needed to explain anything. I know exactly how you feel."

John put his hand on her shoulder to turn her around. "You might think you do, but you don't."

She shrugged his hand off. "No? Why don't I give it a try, and you can tell me how close I am." The hurt in her voice cut him to the quick, but before he could say anything she continued.

"I'm the person who you push away and keep at arms length. I'm the person who keeps coming back for more rejection because I hope one day you'll surprise us both and open up to me. I'm the person who thinks you're worth all the effort I make to let you know I care. I'm that stupid person who will always be there for you, sitting on the sidelines of your life because you're too much of an insensitive jerk to ever let me in. And I'm the person who has been thrown into your junk drawer with no thought at all and left there in the dark."

"Mon, no."

She smiled a self-mocking smile through the tears that now threatened to spill down her cheeks.

"It is what it is John. It's what it's always been. Until now I've thought I could change it. But you can't force someone to love you, no matter how much you want them to. You're never going to feel for me what I feel for you. It's time I accepted that."
John laughed ironically. "Jesus, when you get it wrong, *Man* do you get it wrong."

"I'm leaving now."

"Not until I tell you a few home truths. You want to know why your photo is in that drawer instead of an album? Because every night I take it out and look at it. Every night I sit on my couch, holdin' your photo and usin' it as a pathetic substitution for you. It's in the drawer because I need you close to me. I need you to be within arms reach. I can't file you away with my half forgotten memories of mediocre places. I wanted to frame it…I even brought the frame, but I didn't want you or anyone else to see it and guess that –"

"What?"

"That I was…no, I am in love with you beyond all reason."

"John.."

He stepped closer and cupped her chin. "I know I don't deserve you….I know I've hurt you by not letting you in, but I don't want you to ever give up on me. I want you *in* my life, not sitting on the sidelines. I want you with me always."

Monica leant into his body, laying her head on his shoulder. Her tears soaked into his shirt, but she didn't care. He loved her. She felt his arms circle her, drawing her even closer and she responded by wrapping her own arms around his waist. He loved her. They stood there, oblivious to the passing of time and held each other.

"I love you." John whispered into her hair. She looked up then, surprised to see a teary reflection in his eyes.

"I love you." She said, and stretched that little bit until she was level with his mouth. She brought her lips to his, brushing over them tentatively, then more confidently as she felt him respond.

"Oh god Mon." he groaned from the back of his throat, and she opened herself to him as his lips grew more insistent. Once more they were oblivious to the passing of time, as their hands and mouths became better acquainted with each other. It was only when John's hands snaked up underneath her blouse and she started shivering from the sensation of his fingers on her bare skin that they remembered they were standing in the entrance way.

"Maybe we should take this inside." He suggested.

"I think that's an excellent idea." Monica agreed, nuzzling into his neck. They walked into the lounge room, looked at the mess, looked at each other, and walked hand in hand up the stairs.

End.