Title: "Fondest Wish"
Author: Kathmak
Summary: "This is our first Christmas together, Mon. I wanted it to be special."
Category:DRR; Fluff
Disclaimer: Sadly, John and Monica don't belong to me. They belong to the brain trust that refused to give them any closure in "The Truth."
Note: I know the Christmas holiday has passed us by, but I didn't want to wait until next Christmas to post it. To all you Drippers out there: keep the faith!
"That's perfect. Right there."
John Doggett stepped back and admiredhis work. With a satisfied sigh, he turned to the woman curled up on his couch.
"Whaddya think, Mon?" he asked.
Monica tilted her head to the side until her ear was almost parallel with the floor. "Hmm, maybe if you were looking at it from the Leaning Tower of Pisa," she giggled. She stood up from her cozy spot on the couch and crept up behind him, wrapping her long arms around his waist. His fingers wound themselves comfortably around hers.
"Ah, and I suppose you could do better, Ms. Reyes?" John turned his head and glanced at her over his shoulder.
Monica gave him a conciliatory kiss on the cheek. "Don't pout, John. You know what Santa says about pouting. And Christmas is tomorrow." Her voice was bubbly and bright. Monica was the only person he had ever known who actually had sunshine in her voice. How did she manage that? Someday he'd have to ask her.
Gently, she disengaged her fingers from his and glided over to the brightly decorated Christmas tree. John watched with interest as Monica stood on her tip toes and straightened the shiny gold star on top.
"There, now isn't that better, sweetheart?" she asked sweetly.
He had to admit that it was. "Okay, so maybe my decoratin' skills leave something to be desired," he conceded. "But I got skills in other areas." This last statement was accompanied by a wiggle of the eyebrows, and Monica laughed heartily.
"Oh, believe me, I know. In fact, I'd like a repeat of those skills you performed on me last night."
"Well, maybe if you're a good little girl . . . "
Monica took John's hand and led him back over to the couch. He sat down languidly, pulling her down into his lap. She reached over and grabbed the stereo remote from the coffee table. A push of a button, and soon the smooth sound of Nat King Cole's rich voice crooning "The Christmas Song" filled the room.
It occurred to John that, as far as he was concerned, things could not get any better than this, and he told Monica so. She nodded in agreement. "So now you see why I wanted to have you all to myself this Christmas," he said as he drew his ear to her chest. The strong sound of her beating heart lulled him into a feeling of warmth and utter contentment.
"You didn't have to convince me, John." Her voice vibrated in his ear. "But I think your mom is still a little put off that we won't be spending Christmas Day in New York."
He sighed. "I think she understands. Besides, we'll be there the day after tomorrow. So it's not like she won't be seeing us at all." John turned his head and kissed Monica above her heart. "This is our first Christmas together, Mon. I wanted it to be special."
"It's already special, John," Monica assured him. "Besides, this may be our first Christmas together, but we've been connected for a long time before this."
John nodded slowly, amazed at her ability to sum things up using just a few words. "How'd you get so wise?" he asked.
"Hmm, well I had to think about something while I was waiting for you to come around," she smiled.
John tried to think of a snappy comeback, but he was at a loss for words: a common occurrence when he was near Monica. Instead, he stared back at her with a dopey, lovesick smile on his face. He had done so much smiling lately that his mouth was starting to hurt a little. But dammit, he couldn't help it. The woman made him feel so good that sometimes he had to stop himself from breaking into a face-splitting grin at the most inappropriate times. Like when Skinner was chewing him out for overstepping the bounds of his authority, for example. Or when that smarmy little bastard Brad Follmer was talking down to him about some bullshit thing. Those things just didn't bother him anymore.
He pulled Monica close to him in a crushing embrace and was rewarded by the feeling of her warm lips softly caressing his neck. He shivered at the contact. John had never thought of himself as an especially demonstrative guy, but that was before Monica. Everything changed now that she was in his life. Now that they were together in every sense of the word, he couldn't keep his hands off of her. Nor apparently could she keep her hands off of him, judging by the fact that her lips were now slowly moving lazily from his neck to his face and her hands were roaming around his back with almost wild abandon.
"Monica . . . " he rumbled, his voice rough like sandpaper. "If you don't stop that, I'm not gonna be responsible for my actions."
"Is that a promise or a threat?" she asked huskily. Her lips continued their magical journey along his face. "John, wouldn't it be romantic if we opened up one of our Christmas gifts to each other tonight?" she asked.
"Oh, so you're just tryin' to butter me up, eh?" He pinched her playfully on the behind. "No dice, Monica. We open all of the presents tomorrow morning."
Monica frowned. "Oh, come on, John. Don't be such a Scrooge. When I was a little girl, mama and papa would let us choose one gift to open on Christmas Eve. I used to look forward to it so much." Her fingers toyed with the hair at his temple. "The anticipation . . . the excitement . . . the unbridled joy . . . "
"Monica," John answered solemnly, "I have all of those feelings every minute of every day that I get to spend with you."
Her eyes welled with tears that threatened to spill over any moment. John placed his hand tenderly on her cheek to catch any that might fall, and she covered his hand with her own. Once again, he was rendered powerless under her adoring gaze.
"Oh John, I love you more than anything in the whole world," Monica whispered as she valiantly attempted to blink away those unshed tears. "But that's not going to get you off the hook. I still want to open up a present tonight. Can't we, please?"
She sure was irresistible when she begged. But John shook his head, still not quite convinced. "I wanted to wait until tomorrow, Mon."
"Why?" she was close to whining now. Monica was even sexy when she whined, he thought.
"Because . . . I have this image in my mind of what it'll be like on Christmas mornin'. I can just imagine you lookin' all sleepy, your hair fallin' down into your eyes, rippin' open all the packages like a little girl." He stopped for a moment, pausing only long enough to plant a kiss squarely in the middle of her palm. "I've been dreamin' about it for a long time."
"I've been dreaming about this for a long time, too." Monica gestured to the Christmas tree, then pointed to the fire that blazed in the fireplace. "Being here with you like this."
"Yeah?"
She nodded shyly, her eyes suddenly downcast. "It's been my fondest wish for as long as I can remember."
"Aww, Mon . . . " John cupped her chin, and slowly she looked up to meet his eyes. "If only you knew how much I love you."
"I love you, too," she repeated, and leaned in for a kiss. One kiss quickly turned into two, then three. John drank in the taste of her, wanting to preserve this moment in his mind forever. Monica smiled against his mouth then slid off John's lap and settled next to him, laying her head on his shoulder. His arm covered her shoulder. "And you're right. I have everything I need right here. I don't need to open any presents to tell me that."
John raised an eyebrow. "Wait. You mean you're actually admitting that I was right?" He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "This has gotta be a first."
"Yeah, well don't get used to it, big boy," she joked.
They sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, the only sounds coming from the Christmas music that wafted from the stereo.
"John?" Monica finally asked.
"Yeah, babe?" John loved using all of those little terms of endearment for her, something else that was new to him.
"I still want to give you one of my presents tonight." John opened his mouth to remind her of what they had just talked about, but Monica held up a hand. "Just hear me out, John. If you still think it's a bad idea, then we can forget it."
John folded his arms warily. "I'm listenin'."
Monica turned to face him, her eyes shining. "Okay, here it is. I was going to suggest that I go upstairs and get that quilt from the bedroom closet, and maybe a few pillows."
"And?" John was definitely more intrigued now.
"And . . . then you and I can celebrate Christmas in our own special way." Her finger traced a path from his chest down to his upper thigh, then back again. "Just you, me, and a couple of strategically placed red bows," she said seductively.
A picture popped into his head of Monica lying on the floor, bathed in the glow of the fireplace and the Christmas tree lights, wearing nothing but a smile. John Doggett was a stout-hearted man, but this was almost too much for him. He swallowed hard and tried to speak, but all that came out was a noise that sounded like a cross between a gasp and a whimper.
Monica smiled, sensing his vulnerability. She went in for the kill. "And then I'm going treat you like my own personal life size candy cane." To illustrate her point, she ran her tongue across her upper then lower lip at a torturously slow pace. John felt the blood drain from his face and into another part of his anatomy, this one further south.
He cleared his throat. "Like I was sayin', I think we should start our own tradition and open one of our Christmas presents tonight, Mon."
Her eyes lit up. "Wow, what a great idea, John. Wish I had thought of it." Monica kissed him on the tip of his nose and slipped off the couch. "Just give me a few minutes to go upstairs and get ready. And while I'm gone, you can decide which present I get to open."
"I already know which present I'm gonna give you. Now hurry up and go so you can get your sweet little butt back here."
Monica blew him a kiss as she turned to leave the room. John waited until she disappeared up the stairs, and then he sprinted over to the hall closet. He reached into the breast pocket of his long wool coat, quickly pulling out the small blue velvet ring box that was nestled inside.
John could hear Monica humming "Jingle Bells" upstairs. He smiled to himself, thinking that this would definitely be the best Christmas of all.
-End-