Part 15
10:46 pm
Logan Hospital
"It's too hot in here." Monica complained, as she rose from the bed and padded barefoot towards the open window. The night air billowed around her, allowing her a slight relief against the internal heat that coursed through her veins. She stood there breathing heavily, silhouetted by the glow of the streetlights, and gazed up at the stars. John watched as another sheen of perspiration broke out over her face; it came in waves, and each new wave brought with it more discomfort. For him, as well as her. He was the one who had to keep things in perspective. He had to keep remembering that for all that she resembled his partner, tonight, she wasn't the Monica he knew. All her offers, all her sweet promises, were not really coming from her. It was some damn drug talking. He had to remember that, because if he let his guard down for one moment he might allow himself to be convinced otherwise.
His attention was captured by her again as a soft moan escaped her lips. She wrapped her arms around herself and started swaying slowly to an inaudible tempo.
"Monica." John said firmly, not liking to see her like this, "You should get back into bed."
She turned to face him, and as she did so a sudden gust of wind ballooned underneath the hospital gown, causing it to ride up to her thighs. She caught the flimsy material in her hands and held it there, enjoying the feel of its texture rubbing against her skin. She pulled the gown a little higher, watching John's eyes watching her.
"Too hot." She murmured, pulling it higher still.
"Stop it." John commanded, and she laughed at the sudden light in his eyes.
"Make me."
He closed his eyes and tried to gather his senses. She was right – it was hot in here.
"I know you want me."
He was taken aback at the absolute conviction in her voice. Where the hell had that come from? "I – Come back to bed Mon." he said, trying to shrug the truth of her statement. "It'll be easier for you if you try to sleep it off."
"Don't want to sleep John." She retorted in a singsong tone.
He ignored her. The gown crept higher. He refused to look down, and focused instead on the unnaturalness of her eyes. They were almost black, burning with intensity and hunger, and retained nothing of the Monica he knew.
Monica took a step away from the window. "Do you want to know what I want to do?"
"No." he replied abruptly.
She laughed again, enjoying his discomposure.
"Oh, I think you do. I think you want to know reeeaaaal bad."
"Monica –"
"I'll let you do anything. Anything you want."
"That's enough." He snapped.
He chanced a glimpse at his watch. He had barely taken his eyes off her since he'd got her out of that place, but watching her right now didn't seem like a very good idea. He sighed as the time showed another couple of hours before the drug would wear off. Another couple of hours of being in a room with a woman who was promising him everything he ever wanted, and some things he didn't even know were possible. He didn't even want to think about how she knew about them. Not here, not tonight.
"Not enough. We haven't even started yet." She pouted.
"It's not gonna happen." he said tiredly.
"But you want it to."
"No."
"Yes. You want me, I want you - just let go John."
"I can't."
"You can. I'll show you how."
"Monica, no."
He turned around to pour her a glass of water. Too late, he realised he shouldn't have looked away, because without warning she was behind him, moulding her body into his. He could feel her heat radiating through his shirt, burning an imprint into his skin. Her hands stole around his sides and hooked up under his arms, anchoring him in a vice like grip.
"Monica, yes." She whispered, as her tongue darted out to trace the ridges of his ear. He suppressed the shiver that threatened to take control of his body and prised her arms open. He spun so that he was facing her, holding her by the wrists and walked them both back until he bumped into the side of the bed.
"Mon, come on. Back into bed."
Her eyes blazed fiercely before a change came over her and she slumped into the bed. John expelled a sigh of relief and watched as she settled into the mattress. If only the damn doctors would give her a sedative, she wouldn't be going through this. But they hadn't wanted to give her anything that might react with the drugs that were already in her system. He snorted as he remembered their so-called professional analysis, and their recommendation that it would be best if she slept it off. Sleep it off – that was a joke. There was only one thing that Monica wanted to do, and that was him. He sunk into the chair beside the bed, knowing that it wouldn't be long before the next wave hit her. That he had resisted all her overtures so far did not comfort him. She was very persuasive, and he found himself thinking that it wouldn't be so bad if he succumbed. She wouldn't remember anything in the morning anyway, thanks to Daniel Winfield's wonder drug. Anybody else would have gone for it by now. He shook his head to clear away the cobwebs. This was his partner he was thinking about. His friend. And she trusted him. He couldn't do anything to betray that trust. But that was precisely why he didn't trust anybody else to watch over her.
He shifted in the chair as her eyes drooped and finally closed. Her skin was still flushed, but her face had lost a little of the tension that had been so evident. He sat for some time, watching the rise and fall of her chest, and after a while he allowed his hand to reach out and brush some damp curls behind her ear. Monica's eyes snapped open as she sensed her opportunity, and with both hands pulled John's head down to hers. She held him tightly, not allowing him any leeway, and then closed the remaining distance between them.
"Gotcha now, John." She grinned, just before her lips slid over his. They were soft, yet firm, yielding, yet persistent, and they knew exactly what they were doing. They moved in steady circles over his own, and he found himself not only responding to the pace she had set, but initiating further exploration. His tongue darted out to taste her, teasing her with gentle little licks and nibbles, and she reciprocated by allowing him greater access and drawing him into her mouth. She caressed the inside of his lips with her tongue, and as he quaked from sensations he hadn't felt in a long time he was struck by a sudden moment of clarity. He groaned and tried to pull back, but she followed him.
"Monica, you have to stop this." He pleaded, and tried to stand, but ended up stooped over the bed with her arms wrapped around his neck.
"Can't do that John," She said, bringing her lips to his neck and biting and sucking her way around his jaw. "I need you."
"It's not right." He protested, trying to keep his thoughts focused. "This isn't really you."
With more strength than he realised she possessed she tugged on his neck and he fell forward, crushing her body with his own. She smiled in triumph and added cryptically, "But it *is* you. 'S not a trick this time."
Before his mind could even ponder the meaning of her statement, she had captured his lips again, and he was lost. He couldn't help himself – his body responded to hers before his brain could stop it. She was all soft curves and white heat, and while his lips and tongue and teeth were busy acquainting themselves with her mouth, his hands were busy acquainting themselves with her body. He supported himself on one arm, letting his fingers tangle in her hair, while the other hand ran the length of her body. Despite the heat radiating from her she shivered as his hand inched from the curve of her hips, over her flat stomach, to the curve of her breasts. He deepened the kiss, sucking in her gasp of pleasure before it had a chance to even leave her throat. His travelling hand cupped her breast through the hospital gown, wanting nothing more than to tear it from her, to rip it off so that the skin underneath would be revealed. His thumb traced the gentle swell before flicking up to tease the nipple. He felt it harden underneath his ministering fingers as Monica arched her back and cried out.
"So long…wanted this..for..so.."
John found her lips again to silence her. She couldn't talk. If she did he would realise how wrong this was and would have to stop. And he didn't ever want to stop touching this woman. She was alive and vibrant, surging with the energy of existence, and such a stark contrast to the image that had haunted him ever since she disappeared.
Her lifeless body, naked and bled and left on an alien altar like discarded rubbish, reproaching him for his inability to find her in time.
He didn't ever want to see that again. He blocked the image; she was here now, she was alive, and she felt so damn good. One of her legs had wrapped itself around his waist, her hands had worked their way under his shirt and her nails were scratching lines down his back. She surprised him by rolling them over so that she was straddling his chest. She sat up and scooted down the length of his body, tugging at his pants. He held himself perfectly still and watched from hooded eyes as she unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants.
This was wrong.
He raised himself slightly off the bed and she yanked them down over his ass and hips, leaving them, forgotten, in a scrunched bundle around his knees. Her attention was fixated on the tent he was sporting in his boxers, and she drew closer, reaching out to touch him through the strained material. Her hand was confident and knowing, sliding over his length, teasing and squeezing and caressing.
In the morning she wouldn't remember a damn thing.
He closed his eyes as she moved closer and pushed his shirt above his waist. She held it in place with her hands, and bobbed her head to suck his skin into her hot mouth. He grunted as she traced a path down to his navel, twirling her tongue in circular patterns until she reached the elastic of his shorts. Her hands left his shirt, and came to rest on either side of his hips. Her fingers crept under the elastic, and he could feel the blistering heat of her ragged breath through the cotton material. He opened his eyes and looked into hers, and was frightened by the absence of emotion.
It was wrong.
It wasn't Monica.
She wouldn't remember a thing.
And if he went through with this, he would never be anything more than a forgotten memory.
He clasped her wrists and stopped them from their purpose.
"No. Monica, no more." He said with quiet conviction.
She stared at him, confused as to why he had stopped her, and then screamed as comprehension dawned.
"NO! You can't stop now. You have to finish."
John pushed her away and scrambled out of the bed. He stood and pulled up his pants, tucking his shirt in and zipping himself up. "I shouldn't have even started it. It was wrong, and I'm so very sorry."
"It's not wrong John, it's –"
"It *is* wrong, and my only consolation is that you'll never remember this. You'll never know how close I came to taking advantage of you…to betraying your trust."
"Please, John. It burns."
John walked to the window, ignoring her pleas. The breeze had a calming affect on him, and he was able regain what little control he had. He knew this should never have happened. He should have been stronger. "Go back to bed Monica. It'll all be over soon." He said, not daring to look back at her. Instead, he focused all his energy on the twinkling of the stars, and tried to block out the wracking sobs that echoed from across the room of a hunger denied.
10:46 pm
Logan Hospital
"It's too hot in here." Monica complained, as she rose from the bed and padded barefoot towards the open window. The night air billowed around her, allowing her a slight relief against the internal heat that coursed through her veins. She stood there breathing heavily, silhouetted by the glow of the streetlights, and gazed up at the stars. John watched as another sheen of perspiration broke out over her face; it came in waves, and each new wave brought with it more discomfort. For him, as well as her. He was the one who had to keep things in perspective. He had to keep remembering that for all that she resembled his partner, tonight, she wasn't the Monica he knew. All her offers, all her sweet promises, were not really coming from her. It was some damn drug talking. He had to remember that, because if he let his guard down for one moment he might allow himself to be convinced otherwise.
His attention was captured by her again as a soft moan escaped her lips. She wrapped her arms around herself and started swaying slowly to an inaudible tempo.
"Monica." John said firmly, not liking to see her like this, "You should get back into bed."
She turned to face him, and as she did so a sudden gust of wind ballooned underneath the hospital gown, causing it to ride up to her thighs. She caught the flimsy material in her hands and held it there, enjoying the feel of its texture rubbing against her skin. She pulled the gown a little higher, watching John's eyes watching her.
"Too hot." She murmured, pulling it higher still.
"Stop it." John commanded, and she laughed at the sudden light in his eyes.
"Make me."
He closed his eyes and tried to gather his senses. She was right – it was hot in here.
"I know you want me."
He was taken aback at the absolute conviction in her voice. Where the hell had that come from? "I – Come back to bed Mon." he said, trying to shrug the truth of her statement. "It'll be easier for you if you try to sleep it off."
"Don't want to sleep John." She retorted in a singsong tone.
He ignored her. The gown crept higher. He refused to look down, and focused instead on the unnaturalness of her eyes. They were almost black, burning with intensity and hunger, and retained nothing of the Monica he knew.
Monica took a step away from the window. "Do you want to know what I want to do?"
"No." he replied abruptly.
She laughed again, enjoying his discomposure.
"Oh, I think you do. I think you want to know reeeaaaal bad."
"Monica –"
"I'll let you do anything. Anything you want."
"That's enough." He snapped.
He chanced a glimpse at his watch. He had barely taken his eyes off her since he'd got her out of that place, but watching her right now didn't seem like a very good idea. He sighed as the time showed another couple of hours before the drug would wear off. Another couple of hours of being in a room with a woman who was promising him everything he ever wanted, and some things he didn't even know were possible. He didn't even want to think about how she knew about them. Not here, not tonight.
"Not enough. We haven't even started yet." She pouted.
"It's not gonna happen." he said tiredly.
"But you want it to."
"No."
"Yes. You want me, I want you - just let go John."
"I can't."
"You can. I'll show you how."
"Monica, no."
He turned around to pour her a glass of water. Too late, he realised he shouldn't have looked away, because without warning she was behind him, moulding her body into his. He could feel her heat radiating through his shirt, burning an imprint into his skin. Her hands stole around his sides and hooked up under his arms, anchoring him in a vice like grip.
"Monica, yes." She whispered, as her tongue darted out to trace the ridges of his ear. He suppressed the shiver that threatened to take control of his body and prised her arms open. He spun so that he was facing her, holding her by the wrists and walked them both back until he bumped into the side of the bed.
"Mon, come on. Back into bed."
Her eyes blazed fiercely before a change came over her and she slumped into the bed. John expelled a sigh of relief and watched as she settled into the mattress. If only the damn doctors would give her a sedative, she wouldn't be going through this. But they hadn't wanted to give her anything that might react with the drugs that were already in her system. He snorted as he remembered their so-called professional analysis, and their recommendation that it would be best if she slept it off. Sleep it off – that was a joke. There was only one thing that Monica wanted to do, and that was him. He sunk into the chair beside the bed, knowing that it wouldn't be long before the next wave hit her. That he had resisted all her overtures so far did not comfort him. She was very persuasive, and he found himself thinking that it wouldn't be so bad if he succumbed. She wouldn't remember anything in the morning anyway, thanks to Daniel Winfield's wonder drug. Anybody else would have gone for it by now. He shook his head to clear away the cobwebs. This was his partner he was thinking about. His friend. And she trusted him. He couldn't do anything to betray that trust. But that was precisely why he didn't trust anybody else to watch over her.
He shifted in the chair as her eyes drooped and finally closed. Her skin was still flushed, but her face had lost a little of the tension that had been so evident. He sat for some time, watching the rise and fall of her chest, and after a while he allowed his hand to reach out and brush some damp curls behind her ear. Monica's eyes snapped open as she sensed her opportunity, and with both hands pulled John's head down to hers. She held him tightly, not allowing him any leeway, and then closed the remaining distance between them.
"Gotcha now, John." She grinned, just before her lips slid over his. They were soft, yet firm, yielding, yet persistent, and they knew exactly what they were doing. They moved in steady circles over his own, and he found himself not only responding to the pace she had set, but initiating further exploration. His tongue darted out to taste her, teasing her with gentle little licks and nibbles, and she reciprocated by allowing him greater access and drawing him into her mouth. She caressed the inside of his lips with her tongue, and as he quaked from sensations he hadn't felt in a long time he was struck by a sudden moment of clarity. He groaned and tried to pull back, but she followed him.
"Monica, you have to stop this." He pleaded, and tried to stand, but ended up stooped over the bed with her arms wrapped around his neck.
"Can't do that John," She said, bringing her lips to his neck and biting and sucking her way around his jaw. "I need you."
"It's not right." He protested, trying to keep his thoughts focused. "This isn't really you."
With more strength than he realised she possessed she tugged on his neck and he fell forward, crushing her body with his own. She smiled in triumph and added cryptically, "But it *is* you. 'S not a trick this time."
Before his mind could even ponder the meaning of her statement, she had captured his lips again, and he was lost. He couldn't help himself – his body responded to hers before his brain could stop it. She was all soft curves and white heat, and while his lips and tongue and teeth were busy acquainting themselves with her mouth, his hands were busy acquainting themselves with her body. He supported himself on one arm, letting his fingers tangle in her hair, while the other hand ran the length of her body. Despite the heat radiating from her she shivered as his hand inched from the curve of her hips, over her flat stomach, to the curve of her breasts. He deepened the kiss, sucking in her gasp of pleasure before it had a chance to even leave her throat. His travelling hand cupped her breast through the hospital gown, wanting nothing more than to tear it from her, to rip it off so that the skin underneath would be revealed. His thumb traced the gentle swell before flicking up to tease the nipple. He felt it harden underneath his ministering fingers as Monica arched her back and cried out.
"So long…wanted this..for..so.."
John found her lips again to silence her. She couldn't talk. If she did he would realise how wrong this was and would have to stop. And he didn't ever want to stop touching this woman. She was alive and vibrant, surging with the energy of existence, and such a stark contrast to the image that had haunted him ever since she disappeared.
Her lifeless body, naked and bled and left on an alien altar like discarded rubbish, reproaching him for his inability to find her in time.
He didn't ever want to see that again. He blocked the image; she was here now, she was alive, and she felt so damn good. One of her legs had wrapped itself around his waist, her hands had worked their way under his shirt and her nails were scratching lines down his back. She surprised him by rolling them over so that she was straddling his chest. She sat up and scooted down the length of his body, tugging at his pants. He held himself perfectly still and watched from hooded eyes as she unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants.
This was wrong.
He raised himself slightly off the bed and she yanked them down over his ass and hips, leaving them, forgotten, in a scrunched bundle around his knees. Her attention was fixated on the tent he was sporting in his boxers, and she drew closer, reaching out to touch him through the strained material. Her hand was confident and knowing, sliding over his length, teasing and squeezing and caressing.
In the morning she wouldn't remember a damn thing.
He closed his eyes as she moved closer and pushed his shirt above his waist. She held it in place with her hands, and bobbed her head to suck his skin into her hot mouth. He grunted as she traced a path down to his navel, twirling her tongue in circular patterns until she reached the elastic of his shorts. Her hands left his shirt, and came to rest on either side of his hips. Her fingers crept under the elastic, and he could feel the blistering heat of her ragged breath through the cotton material. He opened his eyes and looked into hers, and was frightened by the absence of emotion.
It was wrong.
It wasn't Monica.
She wouldn't remember a thing.
And if he went through with this, he would never be anything more than a forgotten memory.
He clasped her wrists and stopped them from their purpose.
"No. Monica, no more." He said with quiet conviction.
She stared at him, confused as to why he had stopped her, and then screamed as comprehension dawned.
"NO! You can't stop now. You have to finish."
John pushed her away and scrambled out of the bed. He stood and pulled up his pants, tucking his shirt in and zipping himself up. "I shouldn't have even started it. It was wrong, and I'm so very sorry."
"It's not wrong John, it's –"
"It *is* wrong, and my only consolation is that you'll never remember this. You'll never know how close I came to taking advantage of you…to betraying your trust."
"Please, John. It burns."
John walked to the window, ignoring her pleas. The breeze had a calming affect on him, and he was able regain what little control he had. He knew this should never have happened. He should have been stronger. "Go back to bed Monica. It'll all be over soon." He said, not daring to look back at her. Instead, he focused all his energy on the twinkling of the stars, and tried to block out the wracking sobs that echoed from across the room of a hunger denied.