Title: _Articulate_ Author: Karen (snarky_freak@hotmail.com) Rating: PG Keywords: DRR. Reyes. Doggett. Doggettfic. Doggett! Doggett! Doggett! Actually, it's more Reyesfic, but hey...! Summary: "All these years, and he still remembered how to pronounce her last name properly... " Spoilers: Extremely minor: "This is Not Happening" Disclaimer: Again, they are not mine. So, again, quit lookin' at me like that, `kay? Archive: All are more than welcome, just please notify me... Author's Notes: Set in the past... sort of. Written before S9 and way before the latter half of S8... Weeee!!! I'm taking extreme liberties with the characters of JD and MR. I'm in a cheesy mood, so bear with me, if you please! Too bad it ain't V-Day!! For once, I'm not torturing Doggett _too_ much... ;0) This is mostly inspired by the nice way RP said, "Reyes" in TINH (gotta love that manly voice); It's also my way of trying to explain why the heck Reyes kept smiling at all the wrong times during that ep!! Aaarrrgghh!! --- Articulate -- It has been played once more. I think you exist only To tease me into doing it, on your level, and then you aren't there Or have adopted a different attitude. And the poem Has set me softly down beside you. The poem is you. -John Ashbery, "Paradoxes and Oxymoronss" --- "Agent Reyes..." Her head turned reflexively to the side, to where he stood next to her. All these years, and he still remembered how to pronounce her last name properly... She stared at his squinting profile in the bright sunlight. Despite the current situation at hand, she couldn't keep a bemused smile from reaching her face... /// "Come on, say it again." He grinned sheepishly and shook his head. "No." "Why not? You've been--" "Forget it, now; you said so yourself--I can't say it right. So why should I bother?" She sighed in exasperation and rolled her eyes. "You know how _seriously_ anal you get sometimes?!" He smirked at her comment as he propped himself up on an elbow and searched her large, hazel eyes with an intensity that made her heart beat faster than normal. "Anal, huh?" His eyelids fluttered ever so slightly before he shifted his gaze and stared at her slightly-parted lips. "Come on," he whispered raspily. "You don't mean that." "Right--I don't." She flashed him a small smile and straightened the collar of his black turtleneck. "So say it again." He made an inarticulate sound that resembled a cross between an irritated grunt and a bemused chuckle. It sounded strange coming from him; he was probably enjoying this a little too much. "Monica." He allowed his voice to drag over the syllables of her name. He allowed his voice to lower and grow softer. She knew he was warning her. Stop it. I can only take so much of this. I won't do it. Let it go. Her smile widened and she pulled at his collar slightly before she raised her eyebrows and whispered, "Monica what?" He sighed. He closed his eyes. He could feel himself smiling. He couldn't help it. "Reyes. Monica Reyes." He opened his eyes slowly and nodded down at her. "Okay?" She shook her head. "Nuh-uh." "Huh?" "That's not my name." "Oh, it sure is." "No. _I_ should know, and I'm telling you, it's not--" "So how do you say it, then?" "I already _told_ you how to say it." "Tell me again." "Re-yes." She slid her hand down his broad chest and poked his ribs playfully with her index finger. "With an 's'. You're saying it like it's spelled with a 'z'." She absently wrote on his chest. S. Z. She drew an X over the Z. Not Z. "No, I'm not." He gently pushed her hand away and cleared his throat. "Reyes," he tried again. He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Well?" She giggled despite the look of frustration darkening the sharp features of his face. "I don't know why you're having such a problem with it, John." "I'm not having a problem with it--you are. You're having a problem with the way I say it." "`Cause you _can't_ say it," she insisted before she pushed him back and sat up on the carpeted floor of her living room. "Forget it--you're right--there's no use trying." He straightened up and tugged at his turtleneck absently. "Reyes. Reyes. Re-yes." She shook her head and stood up. "No. No. No-no. It's Reyes." "I just said that." He looked up at her and widened his eyes. "I said it just like you did." "You're anal _and_ pig-headed, too, huh, John?" "What's wrong with the way I said it?" "Forget it." "Like hell I'll forget it; you're the one who made such a big deal over--" "Don't you ever give up?" she asked him sarcastically as she walked to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. "I mean, face it; you can't say it. You can't wrap your tongue around the letters... Or... Something--who knows?" she pulled out two cans of beer and regarded his muscular figure leaning against the counter. "Here," she tossed one of the cans to him and gave him a lopsided smile. "Maybe that'll help." He shook his head in exasperation. "I'll get it right. One of these days, I'll get it right." /// He did get it right. Eventually. Finally. /// "When d'you say your folks were coming over?" She watched as he slipped on his belt and pulled his dress shirt off the white plastic hanger. "Later tonight. I'm picking them up around six," she fiddled with the tea bag bobbing up and down in her mug. "You wanna meet them?" He smiled graciously and looked directly at her, his hands poised to straighten his tie. "That such a good idea?" She shrugged distractedly and attempted to return his smile. "I dunno." He remained silent, but she could feel his eyes on her; interrogating her, desperately probing her mind. "I was just--" she began nervously, but was instantly interrupted. "I'd love to meet them." She hadn't expected that, and her genuine surprise registered on her face. He nodded to himself before he cocked his head to the side and regarded her once again. "You want me to come with you to the airport?" "No." She didn't mean for it to come out so bluntly, but it did. "I mean, no, that's too much of a hassle for you. I know you're very--" "So I'll meet you here? After six? Or I can help you get set up; I can get here before you go to the airport..." "No. No--forget it." He chuckled in mild amusement. "Forget what?" "The whole thing. You're right; it's not a good idea for you to meet them, John--forget it." "Monica--" He reached for her arm, but she stepped back and threw a forced, casual glance at the clock on the wall. She seemed extraordinarily volatile all of a sudden. "John--hey--go, okay? You're gonna be late. I'll call you tonight. Thanks for offering to help me out with my parents--I know they're a handful, but I think I can handle them. Thanks, though, okay?" With that she fled from her bedroom and beelined to the kitchen. He stood motionlessly and stared after her. He could hear the water running, the dishes from last night's dinner clattering loudly. As though she were making noises on purpose. To drown him out. To drown herself out. 'You're such an ass.' He reproached himself with a shake of his head, thinking that whatever brought on her awkward behaviour was all his fault. 'But what the hell had it been all about...?' He gingerly put on his suit jacket and left the bedroom. She was still playing war games with the dishes. Cautiously, he turned the corner and leaned against the counter, his arms folded across his chest. "You gonna be okay?" "I'm fine." "You sure?" "Yeah." She tossed her head to the side as she tried to keep her dark, wispy bangs from hiding her eyes. "Go. You'll be late." He nodded once, walked up to her and touched her elbow. She turned off the tap and faced him. "What?" He reached out and tucked her hair behind her ears. He allowed his fingertips to travel down the long line of her neck before he leaned closer, slid his hand down her back and held her tightly in one arm. She stiffened. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and kissed the bare skin on her shoulder, which her robe could not conceal. He closed his eyes and exhaled. He breathed her in. He could feel her sigh against him. He could feel her giving in and nuzzling the side of his face. He felt her kiss the tip of his ear. "Happy Birthday," he mumbled against her hair. "Monica Reyes." With an 's', this time--not a 'z.' The small, almost inaudible cry that escaped between her lips was more than enough for him. Regardless of what happened between them earlier... Things were still fine. They were still okay. He didn't wait for her to coax him to say it again; and this time... He got it right. END (cheesy, I know) Send comments to snarky_freak@hotmail.com