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Words

by kathmak

Title: Words
Author: Kathmak
Summary: "Tell me a secret, John," she purred. "Something you've never told anyone else before." Rating: PG (for a few sexual situations) Disclaimer: Yada, yada, yada: the characters don't belong to me, unfortunately. If they did, I'd give them a starring role in the second "X-Files" movie. Category: DRR; Romance
Notes: I have been inspired by all of those great DRR writers out there to write my own John and Monica story. If this goes over well, who knows? I may have a few more stories in me. :) Dedication: This is for Tracy. Thank you for your encouragement and honesty. Couldn't have done it without you!

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He was lost for words as he held Monica in his arms. They lay on his living room floor, having just made love in front of a crackling fire. Their glistening bodies, only partially covered by a flannel throw from his couch, were still entwined. A quiet peace had settled over them and they were soaking it up like a sponge. She was snuggled into him so closely that it was hard to tell where he ended and she began. He had never felt closer to anyone in his entire life, and that was the honest to God's truth.

John had loved Monica from the beginning: he was sure about that. He had locked his heart away for so long . . . too long. And now, as he felt her long legs tangled around his, he could barely recall why. Sure, he'd been thrown a few curve balls in life, but who hadn't? One lonely night as he tossed and turned in his empty bed, he wondered how he could stop his heart from aching so damn much. Then it hit him like a slap on the side of his head: continuing to deny his feelings for Monica would not solve his dilemma. He would be lost without her whether he admitted or not, so he might as well admit it.

And so he finally decided to take the plunge; consequences be damned. He felt almost giddy, like a fifty-ton weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It was the middle of the night when he jumped into his truck and drove like a bat out of hell to Monica's apartment, desperate to share his revelation with her. Much to his relief, she did not appear angry or even surprised to see him turn up on her doorstep at such a crazy hour. She invited him in and patiently waited for him to say what he came to say. He blurted it all out in an awkward burst as he stood next to her couch and nervously fidgeted with the zipper on his leather jacket. He told her how much she meant to him, and how he could no longer do without her. He confessed that he was so deeply in love with her he couldn't think straight anymore. John Doggett was not a poetic man, but he spoke from the heart, and his words touched Monica to the core.

Any fear and apprehension he might have felt disappeared immediately when she took him in her arms and whispered soothing words into his ear. "I've always loved you, John," she said, as she ran her long, delicate fingers through his spiky hair. "I was just waiting for you to catch up."

At that moment, the block of ice that had surrounded John Doggett's heart for so long began to thaw. He closed his eyes and tried in vain to blink back tears, tears that had been threatening to fall for the past decade or so. Monica smiled serenely as he took her face in his trembling hands and gently kissed her mouth. No other words needed to be said that night. Monica took him by the hand and led him into the comfort of her heart and, for the first time, her bed.

They made love with an almost frightening intensity that neither John nor Monica had experienced before, and it shook them both. He came inside her, biting his lip to stifle a cry as her tear-filled brown eyes looked deeply into his clear blue ones. Monica came right afterwards, calling his name out over and over and holding onto him tightly as tears ran down her cheeks. Once their breathing had finally returned to normal, John sought out the warmth of her lips again. After so many years playing the part of the wanderer, John Doggett felt like he was finally home.

That was a little over a month ago, and he never looked back. John opened his heart to Monica, a heart that no longer ached with pain, and he stopped waiting for the world to go to hell around him. A part of him wondered if he even deserved to be so happy. And knowing that she loved him just as desperately in return gave him a sense of joy that he never knew he was capable of feeling.

"John?"

Monica's sweet voice brought him back to the present: to the fireplace and the flannel throw and the incredible feeling of her warm, naked body pressed up against him.

"Hmm?" His fingertips were moving in lazy circles across the small of her back.

"Tell me a secret," she purred. He could hear the smile in her voice.

"A secret, huh?" Now it was his turn to smile as she rubbed her nose against his cheek.

"Yeah. Something you've never told anyone else before."

John thought for a moment until one inescapable thought entered his mind. Should he tell her?

"I'm gonna be 42 years old this year . . . " his voice trailed off. He shouldn't be nervous about admitting this, but he was.

Monica searched his eyes expectantly. "And?"

He cleared his throat. "And this is the first time I've ever really been in love."

A small sigh escaped from Monica's lips. She lifted her head and studied John's face carefully. Her slender index finger began tracing the outline of his face.

"You mean . . . ?" Her incomplete question hung in the air and Monica made no attempt to finish it. No matter - John knew what she was asking.

"No, not even Barbara. Thought I was, once upon a time." John's gaze penetrated her soul as he watched for a reaction.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

He sat up, and Monica followed. "We met after I got back from Beirut. They sent me to Walter Reed Hospital so I could start the rehab on my leg injury. It wasn't very pleasant to be around me back then. I was feeling pretty damn sorry for myself."

Monica turned to him and placed a reassuring hand on his upper arm. "No one could blame you, John. I can't even imagine what it would be like to see so many friends lose their lives in such a horrible way."

John ran a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply. "Yeah, well, for awhile there I was a real jerk. I probably drank more than I should have. Barb found me and for whatever reason took care of me. She kept me from self-destructing. I owed her."

Monica nodded and waited for him to continue.

"I knew she loved me and I always wanted a family. So when we started talkin' marriage, it all seemed to make sense . . . "

Suddenly John was overcome with the fear that Monica would somehow think less of him because of what he was telling her. He could withstand anyone else's disapproval, but not Monica's. Almost urgently he took her hands in his and looked at her with pleading eyes.

"Mon, please don't think I didn't love Barb. I did. I just wasn't `in love' with her. But it wasn't until after Luke died that I finally admitted it to myself. She knew it too. I felt like a lousy coward."

Monica's expression remained one of kindness and acceptance, and he was reminded yet again of why he loved this woman so fiercely. "I wish you wouldn't be so hard on yourself. You're a good and honorable man, John."

He nodded uneasily, fixing his gaze on the fire. "Then when I fell in love with you, I didn't know what the hell to do about it. I didn't want to disappoint you."

"John," she said, with a reproving look, "I think we've had this conversation before. Didn't I already tell you that you could never disappoint me?"

He smiled. "Yeah, but I thought you were just being polite."

"I'm not polite; I'm honest." Monica tucked her head into the crook of John's neck and he could feel the vibration of her giggles against his body. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head, taking in the flowery scent of her hair. It amazed him how something as simple as the smell of Monica's hair could make him feel so contented.

"It's pretty ironic," John mused. "I lied to myself all of those years, telling myself I was in love with Barb when I really wasn't. And then I spent almost as long trying to convince myself that I wasn't in love with you, when I really was." He laughed sarcastically. "God, I'm a mess."

Monica raised her head to look at him and rewarded him with one of her angelic smiles.

"Maybe so, but I'm madly in love with you anyway." She gave his ear a playful tug and brought her mouth up to meet his, and he resisted the urge to kiss her within an inch of her life.

"So, what about you, Ms. Reyes? What's your secret?" John was glad to turn his attention back to her.

There was a brief silence before Monica spoke. "Oh, I don't think you want to hear it, John." She buried her face into John's chest. "You'd probably think I was nuts anyway."

John hoped that she was only kidding. "Mon, I admit there are times when I wonder how you come up with some of the stuff that you come up with, but never do I think you're nuts. I've learned to trust your instincts. They've saved my ass more than once."

"Really?" She looked up at him so hopefully that he thought his heart would burst.

"Yeah, really." He took her face in his hands and saw the fire reflected in her cocoa eyes. "So tell me about it."

Gently, Monica grasped one of John's hands and pressed it to her lips, kissing it for a few precious seconds. She laced her fingers with his and laid them in her lap, and John couldn't help thinking how good their hands fit together.

"A long time ago, I dreamed of you for the first time," she began.

"You did? When?"

Monica looked down at their interlocked fingers. "The night after Luke's funeral. That was the first time. But over time I kept having the same dream."

He felt his breath catch in his throat. "What was the dream about?"

"You are standing in a church, at the altar. There are a few other people sitting in the pews, but I can't make out their faces. The priest is talking, and you look over at the woman standing next to you - your wife. There is a baby girl squirming in your arms, and she starts to cry when the priest sprinkles holy water on her little head. The look on your face," she paused, "and your wife's face . . . you both look so happy and proud."

"My wife?" John swallowed hard and squeezed Monica's hand. "You mean Barb?"

"No." Almost tentatively she turned back to face him. "It was me, John. The first time I had that dream I figured it was because of everything that was going on at the time. I mean, you had lost Luke, and I had just met you, so it was pretty easily explained away. But as time passed I kept having the same dream. Little details would change, like your suit or the color of my hair," Monica laughed wistfully, "but the important part always stayed the same."

John was overcome with emotion, unable to speak. He laid back down and took her with him, wrapping his arms around her as tightly as he could without hurting her. Monica managed to prop herself up on one elbow, her eyes never leaving John's face. She stroked the side of his face, and his eyes involuntarily closed as her hand lovingly carried out this task.

"It's gotta be a sign, Monica," he said, finally finding his voice again.

Monica couldn't hide her surprise. "John Doggett, since when do you believe in signs?"

"Well," he chuckled, "maybe some signs are worth believing in a little more than others."

She leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose. "Okay then, John. Tell me what it's a sign of. Does this mean that this is our fate, to be together and live happily ever after?"

"Something like that," he grinned.

Before she could reply, his lips enveloped hers in a kiss. He knew that Monica loved wet, sloppy kisses, and he sure as hell wasn't going to disappoint her now. She kissed him back for all she was worth, not so subtly easing his lips apart with her tongue. When they reluctantly came up for air, he put his mouth to her ear and whispered two words.

"Marry me."

Two words. He hadn't planned on asking her quite so soon, but he knew in an instant that this was right. His heart was talking to him, and for the first time in his life he decided to listen.

Two words that would change both their lives. On second thought, who was he kidding? He knew that their lives had been changed a long time before this. Their futures had been inexorably altered the moment he saw her walk into that New York police station almost nine years ago.

They'd come so far in those nine years. He didn't know if he would ever be able to tell Monica how much he loved her and how grateful he was to her for pulling him out of the morass of self-loathing and apathy he was drowning in after Luke's murder. She made him want to live again. He might not be able to tell her in words what she meant to him, but knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life showing her.

Monica pulled away and looked at him, either unable or unwilling to stop the steady flow of tears that now fell from her eyes. She smiled and answered him with one word, one word that would further seal their future together.

"Yes."

~ Finis ~

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to kathmak

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