Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from the HB program JQ. I
don't own the song, "Whatever: I had a dream last Night", by  the
Butthole surfers. (I hate that name. You have no idea how much, but it's
what's making me write this for the first time.)
Date: 5/25/00
Catagories: Future (seems to be my favorite), DBN HR (I finally figured
out the difference between DBN and Other. Yea me!), Alternaverse
Archivers: Peggy, Suze, Lesli . . . I think that' s it.
Author: Michelle aka Bryne
Note: This story is going to be quite serious, in the tradition of PPF
without the adventure for the most part. It will also be geared (I hope)
toward older audiences of the PG-13 variety, though I don't think there
will be any language problems (this second, as I have only the Prologue
featured here finished) or situations of questionable character. I will
be sure to note what is and isn't though.
    PS Please, I know no one on this list is like that, but I would
appreciate it if no one were to use any of this. (Giving myself too much
credit, I know, but still.) I'm having a lot of deep thoughts here (for
once) and I really want it all to stay mine. Especially since the
inspiration is LJ Smith. (Go figure it's not mine to begin with.) So,
without any more BS from the author . . .

                            Prologue:
                                             I Had a Dream Last Night

"I Had a Dream Last Night,
At Least it Looked Just Like a Dream."

         The moonlight shown in through the open window. The gentle
beams streaming in fell on the small form, illuminating the still body.
She really was small like that, all still and peaceful in her bed,
huddle under a pile of blankets large enough to bury her tiny figure.
With her spirit quiet and restful she looked so gentle. Like an angel,
haloed by a wreath of light, all snug in her mortal bed. And no wonder,
with a face like hers it was hard to believe the wearer could be
anything but angelic.
         A faint breeze trickled through the window, stirring the lacy
material passing for curtains and ruffling the soft strands of hair
framing her peaceful face. Dancing, they swept gracefully to and fro
across the pale skin, trailing along the soft lips and darkened eyelids.
With a practiced hand he reached out and brushed away the bright pieces.
Moving them to the side he tucked them out of the way behind her ear,
letting his fingers skim her earlobe with the barest of touches. A
contented sigh rose up from the sleeping figure at the contact and he
smiled.
         “Love,” he whispered to the night, the word as ancient as the
dawn. “My sweet love,” the pain in his voice faded away with it,
hurrying like a dream before the morning rays.
         An answering breath of recognition from her and the angel
stirred faintly in her sleep, head rolling to the side against her
pillow as if to speak. “Dearest companion,” he breathed and an answering
movement came over her. A storm crossed the lovely features, full of
unrest and discontent. Emotions raw and too close to the surface passed
over, written with questions and hurt even as the slumberous movements
heightened to a desperate thrashing.
         “No, no,” he murmured softly, soothingly in that beautiful
voice of his, hand reaching out to lay on her forehead and steady her.
“Not now. Soon, but not now. It’s not time.” Beneath his fingers she
stilled and was quiet, but the pain was still there. “That’s a good
girl.” He stroked her cheek with sensitive fingers, tracing the bone
line up to the ridge of her eyebrow. “My darling, brave girl. Peace
while you rest and be still a while more.” Gentle relaxation stole over
her features, capturing all the feelings and bringing them to a hiding
place, locking them away for another time, another night.
         One last sigh and deep slumber descended once more on the small
figure.
         “That’s a good girl.” He stood and moved toward the window, but
a moan from the bed stopped him mid-stride. Turning to look, he saw her
laying there; lips parted, arm extended, neck exposed he could feel
himself slipping and turned. Another moan from the bed. It was as if the
sleeping figure could sense he was leaving. “Why do you do this to me?”
he asked her, talking to the figure as if she wasn’t really asleep and
could answer him; would answer him. Looking on her again, his eyes fell
to the bared skin. The pale strip of creamy white flesh, so inviting . .
. it was all too much of a temptation.
         Moving to her side with a single step, he crouched on the floor
by her. Fingers reaching for that spot . . . mouth moving, searching . .
. “Forgive me, Jessica,” and then it was a long time before he said
anything else.