TITLE: Jumbled Thoughts and Sunshine (1/1)
AUTHOR: Mariel (marielwriteshotmail.com)
CATEGORY: VR, DRR
RATING PG
KEYWORDS: Doggett/Reyes
ARCHIVE: Ephemeral, or ask, please.
SUMMARY: Mornings after almost always produce some jumbled
thoughts. Here are some of Monica's...
FEEDBACK: It would be great, if you can spare the time...Just a word or two
would be like rays of sunshine...
Jumbled Thoughts and Sunshine by: Mariel
She awoke, coccooned in white sheets and muscled arms. Opening her eyes slowly, she kept her breathing regular, forcing herself not to move, forcing the moment to linger.
He shifted against her, nuzzled her hair, then rolled onto his back, sighing as he flung his arm out to one side. She remained motionless a moment longer, then cautiously turned her head.
A surge of remembered pleasure coursed through her at the sight of him. Their lovemaking the night before had been every bit as good as it had been years ago. Better, even - and this time, he was still here the morning after, breathing quietly, his face relaxed. This time, she knew, he would stay as long as she wanted.
She wondered how long that would be.
He'd said a whispered "I love you," last night.
The memory sent a tremor through her body. She hadn't known what to say in response.
Still didn't.
What did his loving her mean?
What would her loving him mean?
Carefully, she rolled onto her back. Pale, gray light shadowed the ceiling, daylight finally taking a reluctant step into the room. She lay quietly, aware of his body and the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
As the room gradually lightened, thought began to supplant feeling. Monday. If word of this got out, a transfer was inevitable.
She sighed. She'd waited years for this assignment. Perhaps John would be willing to change departments. She turned her head to look at his profile. No, she thought. Never. Not now. He was after the truth as much as any of them. Now, he too believed there were things hidden, lies told, truths covered. He'd never agree to leave. He was a man of mission, and the X-Files had encompassed him, swamped him, made him its own.
She stopped herself from moving restlessly at the thought. Closing her eyes for a moment against the growing morning light, she admitted to herself it wasn't just that the X-Files had sucked him in - he was needed where he was. And they needed to be together. Though they sought in different ways, they sought the same thing.
She reached out a long fingered hand to touch him softly. It would be workable - if they lied, kept the fact of their relationship secret.
Her lips curved in a small smile. They'd tell lies in order to search for the truth.
How fitting.
She knew they could do it. Knew they could live any lie they chose - they had lied all along, hadn't they?
Rolling onto her side to face him, she lightly stroked his arm, revelling in the sheer pleasure of him being with her in this now sun-dappled room, the day warmly encasing them in its yellow glow.
They'd known since the beginning that this danger had been present. Hell, five years had done nothing to dampen the attraction. The shared memories, the loneliness, the almost-but-not-quite-ness of their 'friendship'... they'd known all along what lay beneath, what they wanted.
What they needed.
Of course they'd lied. Tried to stay removed, uninvolved, independent, alone. Needing, but not too needy; friends but not too friendly; close, but never, never too close. No pressure, no demands, no expectations.
No disappointment, no pain.
No loss of control.
No being the one left behind.
Then a long day, a hot, longer evening, and a drink before going home... A stumble, a hand reaching out... and they were suddenly inseparable, mouths searching, hands groping.
Her place had been closer.
The room was brightly lit now, and the sounds of daily life throbbed dully on the street outside. She rested her hand on his bare chest, just over his heart.
Through that contact, she allowed the pulse of his life to course through her, absorbing it, reading it, letting it become part of her. She sensed things from him she could never tell him. Felt longings and hopes, fears and illusions. Could she handle living in this quagmire? Live with knowing and not daring to say too much? What would it be like, to share in his problems, to deal with his issues, and love him as he needed? Could she do it?
Maybe.
Probably.
She'd sure as hell try.
In return, she'd have a man as faithful as the morning, as true as today's dawn. This 'whatever' that was between them, this love, this emotion, this compulsion...it was important somehow, bigger than they understood. She could feel undercurrents nudging her subconscious, pricking at her fears...the future held danger, hardship, and pain...but with him, here and now... though it was she who provided shelter, she felt protected and safe.
They would protect each other.
It would be heaven. She would be happy.
They would be happy.
She watched him wake and turn clear, blue eyes towards hers. A slow smile creased his features.
His past, her secrets, everything faded in the brilliance of the morning and that smile.
"Monica."
Her forebodings shimmered and dissolved into the air.
She moved toward him. It would work out. It was good.
It was very good.
End 1/1
Jumbled Thoughts and Sunshine by: Mariel
She awoke, coccooned in white sheets and muscled arms. Opening her eyes slowly, she kept her breathing regular, forcing herself not to move, forcing the moment to linger.
He shifted against her, nuzzled her hair, then rolled onto his back, sighing as he flung his arm out to one side. She remained motionless a moment longer, then cautiously turned her head.
A surge of remembered pleasure coursed through her at the sight of him. Their lovemaking the night before had been every bit as good as it had been years ago. Better, even - and this time, he was still here the morning after, breathing quietly, his face relaxed. This time, she knew, he would stay as long as she wanted.
She wondered how long that would be.
He'd said a whispered "I love you," last night.
The memory sent a tremor through her body. She hadn't known what to say in response.
Still didn't.
What did his loving her mean?
What would her loving him mean?
Carefully, she rolled onto her back. Pale, gray light shadowed the ceiling, daylight finally taking a reluctant step into the room. She lay quietly, aware of his body and the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
As the room gradually lightened, thought began to supplant feeling. Monday. If word of this got out, a transfer was inevitable.
She sighed. She'd waited years for this assignment. Perhaps John would be willing to change departments. She turned her head to look at his profile. No, she thought. Never. Not now. He was after the truth as much as any of them. Now, he too believed there were things hidden, lies told, truths covered. He'd never agree to leave. He was a man of mission, and the X-Files had encompassed him, swamped him, made him its own.
She stopped herself from moving restlessly at the thought. Closing her eyes for a moment against the growing morning light, she admitted to herself it wasn't just that the X-Files had sucked him in - he was needed where he was. And they needed to be together. Though they sought in different ways, they sought the same thing.
She reached out a long fingered hand to touch him softly. It would be workable - if they lied, kept the fact of their relationship secret.
Her lips curved in a small smile. They'd tell lies in order to search for the truth.
How fitting.
She knew they could do it. Knew they could live any lie they chose - they had lied all along, hadn't they?
Rolling onto her side to face him, she lightly stroked his arm, revelling in the sheer pleasure of him being with her in this now sun-dappled room, the day warmly encasing them in its yellow glow.
They'd known since the beginning that this danger had been present. Hell, five years had done nothing to dampen the attraction. The shared memories, the loneliness, the almost-but-not-quite-ness of their 'friendship'... they'd known all along what lay beneath, what they wanted.
What they needed.
Of course they'd lied. Tried to stay removed, uninvolved, independent, alone. Needing, but not too needy; friends but not too friendly; close, but never, never too close. No pressure, no demands, no expectations.
No disappointment, no pain.
No loss of control.
No being the one left behind.
Then a long day, a hot, longer evening, and a drink before going home... A stumble, a hand reaching out... and they were suddenly inseparable, mouths searching, hands groping.
Her place had been closer.
The room was brightly lit now, and the sounds of daily life throbbed dully on the street outside. She rested her hand on his bare chest, just over his heart.
Through that contact, she allowed the pulse of his life to course through her, absorbing it, reading it, letting it become part of her. She sensed things from him she could never tell him. Felt longings and hopes, fears and illusions. Could she handle living in this quagmire? Live with knowing and not daring to say too much? What would it be like, to share in his problems, to deal with his issues, and love him as he needed? Could she do it?
Maybe.
Probably.
She'd sure as hell try.
In return, she'd have a man as faithful as the morning, as true as today's dawn. This 'whatever' that was between them, this love, this emotion, this compulsion...it was important somehow, bigger than they understood. She could feel undercurrents nudging her subconscious, pricking at her fears...the future held danger, hardship, and pain...but with him, here and now... though it was she who provided shelter, she felt protected and safe.
They would protect each other.
It would be heaven. She would be happy.
They would be happy.
She watched him wake and turn clear, blue eyes towards hers. A slow smile creased his features.
His past, her secrets, everything faded in the brilliance of the morning and that smile.
"Monica."
Her forebodings shimmered and dissolved into the air.
She moved toward him. It would work out. It was good.
It was very good.
End 1/1