Title: Patience
Rating: T (sexual suggestions)
Pairing: DRR
Disclaimer: not mine, don't sue
You are a patient woman.
He asks you for drinks one Friday night after work, a tentative first step for a man who is tentative only in matters of the heart. He is wounded, a little lost, unaccustomed to chasing monsters and little grey men. He is a man who craves normalcy, and happy hour with a co-worker is as close to normal as you're likely to get in your field of work. But deep down, you know that this is a first small step in a series of small steps that will lead you to each other.
He buys you a beer and you talk of things unrelated to your work; you learn he has nieces who love Barbies, a brother that loves baseball, and a mother that calls him every Tuesday night to check on her beloved youngest son. In turn, he learns that you like gory slasher flicks, crappy romance novels, and Cocoa Puffs. He laughs when you mention the cereal, and you realize how much you love his laugh.
That you love this man is no secret, to you or anyone else who knows you with any depth. You wear your heart on your sleeve, a trait that you don't necessarily like but came to terms with long ago. You know your love for him is written in your eyes; when he looks at you, you know he sees it too. And while you wish you could play your cards a little closer to the vest, it is simply not who you are.
This becomes painfully obvious to you as you sit outside his home after happy hour, the SUV warm with the smell of beer and unspoken desire. Your conversation about cats and dogs is really about the two of you, and the both of you know it. It's a tentative foray into an area that you know makes him uneasy, but you know it's not your imagination that sees the desire in his eyes. You're sad when he doesn't kiss you goodnight, but you are a patient woman who knows that good things come to those who wait, so you wait and wish and bide your time.
You find yourself waking in a hospital room, his hand warm in yours, and when he runs off to catch the evil man who did this to you, your heart sings. Dana sits with you while he talks to the police, telling you things you already know: he has been here all night, refusing to let you go without a fight, his devotion unwavering. She knows all too well the perils of unspoken love, and offers you this information as a way of letting you know that your obvious love is not unrequited. You are sisters in a secret sorority of women who love fragile, damaged men who cannot speak the words you long to hear.
When your hospital stay is over he drives you home, the air between you thick with unspoken truths. His eyes tell you he is not yet ready, even after all of this; he is far too afraid of disappointing you. You long to reach out to him, to take his hand and reassure him that you are by no means disappointed, that his unwavering fidelity to you and your friendship only serve to make you love him more; but you say nothing as you know these words will fall on deaf ears.
Time passes, however, and you notice a subtle change in him; he has become more protective, and because of this has been more open to showing outward signs of his affection for you. He touches you more, his hands linger longer than usual; you revel in the feel of his touch, longing for more but biding your time. Instead, you try to enjoy the small moments when they come: the warmth of his hand on your hip, the strong feel of his grip on your elbow, the gentle caress of his fingers stroking your hair.
The night Dana gives up her son a little part of you dies. You long to cry with her, but you know nothing of losing a child. It is John that comforts her that night, a common denominator between them that you hope you never have to understand. You swallow your grief and stand stoically by as your friends commiserate, being strong for them, being the rock they need you to be.
John drives you home, his brow furrowed with concern. He knows you well, can read you like an open book, and he knows how this is hurting you. Rather than leaving you at the door he walks you inside, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for you to break. It's a short wait; you drop your keys and pick up the birthday card Dana gave you, William's tiny handprints in red on bright white construction paper, and feel a pain like a sucking wound to the chest: you will never see this little boy again, feel his downy hair against your cheek, hear his delighted squeals when his mother hands him to you. The tears spring to your eyes, burning your nose; before a single tear falls he is holding you tightly, his gravelly voice a whisper in your ear telling you to cry, that he is strong enough for both of you. And so you weep tears of grief for little boys lost, hating yourself for not being able to save them.
You cry in his arms until you have no more tears left to cry, and still he holds you close, stroking your hair and whispering sweet words of comfort in your ear the way you did for him many years ago. When you have pulled yourself together you look up at him and thank him; his thumbs wipe your tears away with a tenderness that leaves you breathless. He places a gentle kiss on your forehead before he leaves, and while your body aches for him to stay your heart knows it is too much, too soon. Instead, you bid him a sad good night and slip into bed, dreaming of the little blue-eyed boys you could not save.
The beach is windy and you tremble, but not from the chill. This is the crossroads where he will ultimately choose to love you or to let you go. You watch from afar as the ashes blow into the wind, a final goodbye.
It is Barbara who approaches first, and for a moment you are afraid; she stops and looks at you with a sad smile and a knowing look. She is giving you her blessing, asking you to love this man as well and as truly as he deserves; like you, she has been made privy to the secrets of his heart, and in an ultimate gesture of love is letting you know that he is ready, that your time is now. You have no words to express your gratitude to her, but none are needed. Knowing he is loved is thanks enough.
A moment later he approaches, and your eyes meet for a brief moment before he pulls you to him, holding you so tightly it almost hurts. Your love for him pours out of every fiber of your being, willing him to feel it, wanting him to know just how much you need him. When he finally lets go he cradles your cheek in his hand, his blue eyes searching yours for a brief moment before he kisses you and your world comes to a screeching halt.
It is dark when you reach his house in Virginia, and when he asks you inside your heart leaps; you know he is asking you inside for more than a drink, and although you have imagined this moment too many times to count you have never imagined it actually happening. When his lips find yours in the dark foyer you realize suddenly that it is happening, and it is better than anything you could have imagined.
His kiss is filled with tenderness and desire, and in the blink of an eye you are in his bed; clothes are lost, hands and mouths explore, and as he moves inside you he whispers your name as though it is a prayer, tells you he loves you as he has never loved another. Tears come unbidden to your eyes as you climax, for you have never felt so much as you do in this one moment. You have been patient and your patience has been rewarded in spades, in ways that are better than anything you ever could have imagined.
He is a changed man, your John. The sadness and regret that used to hang over him like a dark cloud has been lifted; he is no longer broken.
The changes in him leave you breathless; he leaves you sweet, funny notes on your carton of orange juice, buys your favorite soap for his bathroom, makes room in his closet for your clothes. You laugh when you discover the CD of whale songs left in your desk drawer; the NASCAR keychain with the key to his house in your coat pocket makes you cry. Slowly he is letting you in, letting you see what he must have been like before his life became a tragedy, and you feel yourself falling harder and more deeply than you believed you could.
It isn't until the case in Los Angeles, however, that you realize how hard you have fallen for this man. Your heart skips a beat when he slides the jeweler's box to you across a candlelit dinner table, the delicate silver heart sparkling in the dim light of the restaurant. The sheer unexpectedness of this simple gesture leaves you speechless. With trembling hands you fasten the necklace around your throat and thank him, wishing you had better words to express how you feel. You are not simply grateful, you are overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness; your heart feels as though it is bursting with love for this good and honest man. You know that you are the luckiest woman alive, for John Doggett does not love quickly or easily; but he loves you with everything that he has, entrusting you with his battered and fragile heart, and you promise yourself that you will never take this gift for granted.
Later that night, when you lay tangled in scratchy motel sheets and each other's arms, he tells you about how he used to dream of this-of you in his arms, in his bed, in his heart. He confesses that he cannot remember how he has lived these past years without you, just that they seem so lonely and far away. Your love has made him whole, made him remember what joy there can be in living, and you find yourself tearing up as he tells you these words you never dreamed you'd hear from him.
Tenderly, he wipes the tears from your cheeks, no longer afraid of your emotions. You kiss him, tasting your tears on his tongue as he slides his body into yours. As he touches you in all of your secret places, he whispers of dreams of hazel-eyed daughters with your smile, a promise of the future to come.
Lying on his chest, the moonlight streaming in between the slats in the blinds, you let the steady rhythm of his heart lull you to sleep, a smile on your lips; John is a man who keeps his promises, and you are a patient woman who will gladly wait for him to keep them.