Title:  Blue Ribbon
Author: Warm Fuzzies
Rating: PG (There's kissing...  I never know how to rate 
the lower ratings, cause I don't really know what some 
people find offensive, but I think that kissing's ok)
Spoilers: Release  (This, by the way, was one of my 
favorites of all time.  In all the whole relationship 
scenarios... this one goes right up there)
Summary:  Given what Barbara told Scully in the episode, 
and the hug at the end, do you think that our two 
favorites are going to take the hint?

Author's Notes: I've been getting some good feedback on 
Five W's and I'm in the process of finishing... really.  
I hope that this one goes over with the same success.  
Thanks a lot.

Plea for MORE feedback: warm_fuzzies_28@hotmail.com

HERE YOU GO...


The blue skies and fluffy clouds don't do the meaning of 
the day justice.  For a man and a woman who have been 
mourning their son for 9 years, today is the day when 
they finally put him to rest.  The ocean is a fitting 
resting place for any young boy.  And as I lean against 
John's truck, waiting for him to say good bye, I watch 
the rise and fall of the white caps, the rhythmic 
pounding reminding me of a heartbeat after running or 
playing.  When I see a head walking up the dune, I think 
that it's John, until I see Barbara's face.

She's got good reason to be somber, and I watch her as 
she walks by to her own truck, a single tear running 
down her cheek.  I can't say anything, and even if I 
could, I wouldn't have a clue what to say.  'I'm sorry?'  
something like that doesn't hold any meaning anymore.

Luke's been dead for nine years now.

So I quietly watch her stride by, the lifting of 
mourning not yet evident in her tired eyes or slumped 
shoulders.  But soon, I pray, soon she'll be smiling 
again.

She's passed me now, and I turn my eyes back to the 
ocean.  Yes, this is a good place and day to say goodbye.

"Thank you for coming."

Her sad voice startles me, and I turn to look at her, not 
knowing how to respond.  As I watch for a moment, I don't 
think she knows what to say either, because her hands 
gesture mildly and then hang at her side.  She purses her 
lips and I remain silent, hearing only the rush of the 
waves a hundred feet away.

"I just... I appreciate all that you've done for John..." 
her arms cross defensively over her chest and she looks 
to the side, where rocky outcroppings line the ocean, and 
then down to the sand at her feet.  "I haven't really 
given him the opportunity to talk to me about... Luke... 
and it's somewhat comforting to know that he could have 
talked to someone."

I don't know if I want to tell her that John's told me 
next to nothing about Luke's death and it's effect on 
him, but she's finding it comforting to believe that he 
has, then I won't say anything.  Finally she reaches for 
eye contact and I grant it to her.  She stoic, just like 
John and I remember back to first seeing both of them in 
New York, frantic and scared.  They were so... angry back 
then, but I saw occasions where their love for each other 
shone through.  I can see why John fell in love with her.

She smiles at me and takes another step towards me.  For 
a second I think that she's eyeing me critically, but 
then a softer, gentler and friendlier look covers her 
face and she grants me a small smile.  Then she says 
something that I didn't think I'd ever hear her say.

"I still love him, you know?"

She must see the shock on my face.  "I'd really like for 
him to move on from this... finally."  She looks down to 
the shore and I follow her gaze, seeing John beginning 
to pick his way up the beachhead.  "Keep working at it, 
Monica.  I can see that you'd make him happy.  That he 
makes you happy."

She's granting me permission.  A lead weight seems to 
have disappeared.  A weight that I didn't eve know I was 
carrying.  Normally having to get that permission would 
be insulting, as if she still had control on his life, 
but I know that they do still love each other just 
because of the memories that they share.  Instead of 
insulting me, I feel better. She's granting me 
permission.  And I smile.

"I'm trying."  I say, and watch as a smile breaks out 
onto her face.

"Good."  She nods, "Good."  After she too smiles, she 
turns her head and keeps her eye on John as he proceeds 
toward us.  "Don't give up easily, he's as stubborn as
a mule."   She laughs a little, and nods with finality, 
taking a step back towards her car.  "Thank you."

Then she turns fully and gets into her truck, starting 
it and driving away without even looking back at me.

I have a feeling that she said more than good bye to her 
son today.  But then I have a feeling that in saying 
those good byes, she also greeted a finally dawning 
future.

The dust hasn't even settled by the time I turn to see 
John mount the edge of the sand bar and I don't hesitate 
to meet him half way.  I'm torn between smiling and 
crying and as I watch him watch me, less than a foot 
apart, I can already see something else in his eyes.

He steps forward that last foot and again, I meet him 
half way.  I think that that's me trying to say that 
he's not in it alone... whatever he does, I'll meet him 
half way.  His arms wrap around my upper back and his 
face is buried in my neck.  He's not crying yet, but I 
can tell that it's something that he's holding in.  It 
takes a lot of emotions in a short amount of time to 
make a man like John Doggett cry.

We stand in our embrace for minutes... hours maybe, with 
only the calling of the seabirds and the waves to 
accompany our breathing.  I don't think I'll ever find a 
place more like home than in his arms, and I'm finding 
that I don't want to leave.

He, however, has other plans and he sighs regretfully 
before he leans back, his hands falling down off my 
shoulders to come to a stop on mine.  I feel the small 
calluses on his fingers tickle my palm as he laces his 
hands with mine.  I give him a squeeze, hoping that 
he'll look at me.

He does.

And the something that I saw before, I see again.  Even 
more so.

Has this something always been there?  And why am I 
seeing it now?  Was putting Luke to rest really all that 
needed to happen?

I smile at him, happy to see that already the release 
that this day has granted is visible on his tired 
features.  He's more than deserving of feeling a little 
less guilt for August 13, 1993.

Yes, I still remember the day.  How could I not?

"Home?"

the low timber of his voice is almost swept away by the 
waves, but I catch it, and I nod.  I know that 'home' 
isn't specific, but if he tries to drop me off tonight, 
at home, alone, he's going to be in for a bit of a 
fight from this end.

And no, that's not what I'm thinking.

We both have guest rooms in our respective homes, but I 
don't think that it'll do either of us any good to be 
home alone tonight.

He disengages from my hands and makes his way around the 
truck, sliding in gracefully to his seat.  I follow suit 
and buckle my belt as he starts up the engine.  I'm back
to being comfortable in cars now, after my accident a 
couple of months back, but it's especially easy when 
it's him driving.

"Thank you for coming, Monica."  He sighs and looks over 
at me while he backs up and turns the car around.  "I 
don't think that I can tell you how much it means to me 
that you wanted to be here.  Even just to stand... here."  
He floors the gas, like a bat out of hell, and tears 
away from the shore.  As much as he may want to leave 
this place right now, I know that next year, on this day, 
I'll be able to find him here at some point during the
day.  He's loyal like that.

I smile at him, and impulsively I reach over and take one 
of his hands off of the steering wheel, holding it in 
mine.  We sit in silence for a while because I know that 
I don't have to respond to what he said to me.  We both 
stare out the front window and watch the miles go.

But as the miles pass by, and DC gets closer and closer, 
I'm drawn to look at his hand in mine.  Beautiful hands; 
rough and callused from years on the job, gentle from 
knowing how to hold a baby, both past and present.  
They're worn, experienced hands, the kind that you can 
easily trust with something fragile or important.

Like a heart.

Like MY heart.

Boy, do I wish that this would be easy.  I look up from 
his hand to his profile, his strong features still stoic 
in respect to the pain that this day would give to anyone 
else.  He's always astonished me with the way his 
emotions can go on a rollercoaster.  One of those little 
kiddy ones... mostly flatlined, but when you do get to a 
bump, they seem monumental.

I lick my lips and swallow the tears that want to fall 
for him.  He wouldn't want that from me, I know, but I'm 
a woman.  I get emotional.

I think that he knows that I'm watching him, from the 
way that his lips are refusing to give in to the smile 
that's threatening.  He casts me a glance out of the 
corner of his eye and the looming grin breaks forth.

"What?"

"What what?"

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" I respond playfully, keeping a firm grip on 
his hand.  It's not going anywhere, and I'm glad that 
we're on the freeway so that he really doesn't need it 
to steer.

"Like you're analyzing me."

"I don't have to analyze you.  I already know you... what 
you're thinking."

"Oh, do you now?"  He turns his head and casts me a 
mischievous glance.  "Alright, than what am I thinking 
now?"

"John!" I fake shock, bringing my free hand to my mouth, 
mostly to hide my smile, but also to go with the scene.  
"You shouldn't be thinking that..." I playfully reprimand 
him and then follow it up with what I hope is a dazzling 
smile.

He grants me a huff of amusement and gives my hand a 
squeeze, and feeling that I don't think that it's just me 
that wants that sustained contact.

"Actually, I was thinking that a night of microwave pizza 
and satellite TV, spent with the right company would be a 
rather enticing prospect."  I think that that's about as 
straight as an invitation as I'm ever going to get, so I 
jump at the chance.

"Make it Chinese and you got yourself a..." I stop, not 
knowing if I should say the word that would normally 
follow a statement like that.

He senses the reason for my pause, I think, cause he 
readily supplies it himself.

"A date?"  It's said in a tone that I take between asking 
and clarifying, a statement of common knowledge between 
us that he realizes that we need to be on the same page 
for us to continue.

But even at those two words out of his mouth, a pleasant 
feeling settles itself in the pit of my stomach, a warm 
radiate pleasure that soon encompasses my whole being, 
mental and physical.  So even as he's waiting for me to 
clarify what that situation would me, I'm already 
reveling in the reality of that said situation between 
us.

Finally, after a minute of silence and contemplation, I
realize that I haven't answered him and I catch his eye, 
drawing his hand to my lips.

"A date,"  I whisper against his knuckles.

He breathes a sigh of relief, glad that I've taken the 
opening that he gave to me, and really, now that I think 
about it, I don't really know what I had expected that 
moment to look like.  I wasn't expecting some kind of 
stumbling, stammering amateur, asking his crush out on a
date, but I don't know if his truck is really an ideal 
place for an admittance and question of that kind of 
magnitude.

"Can I ask you something?" He sounds a little hesitant, 
even after my acceptance of his offer.

"Anything," I respond, making sure that I'm still 
holding his hand.

"Did you mean it?"

My brow furrows at his question, and I'm not sure what 
he's referring to.  "I'm not sure I know what you're 
talking about, John, but I can assure you that I've 
never lied to you."

He releases a little sigh to that, but still seems 
worried.  I don't want to hassle him, and I'm pretty 
sure that all he's doing is sorting something out in 
his head.  So much sorting, apparently, that we've 
gone another couple of miles before he speaks again.  
I can already see his turnoff up ahead, and that means 
that I'll have to relinquish his hand.

Damn.

"Do you think I let Barb down by not finding Luke?"

Ahhhh.  Yes, I definitely meant what I said after our 
night at the bar.  And it wasn't the beer talking.

"NO."  My answer is more vehement than I meant it to be, 
but maybe that'll get the point across to him.  Damn his 
guilt complex.  "You didn't let anyone down, John.  No 
one blames you for any of that.  Except yourself."  I 
squeeze his hand and then let go, letting him navigate 
the roads to his house.  I feel a little bereft at not 
having contact with him at this moment, and I refuse to 
think about why that is.  "Luke wouldn't blame you.  
Barb doesn't...  you shouldn't either."

Again, silence descends on the car and we ride the rest 
of the way in that peace.  I seem to be unable to look 
away from him, like I'm seeing something other than 
what's been there for the last 10 years.  Maybe I am.  
Maybe he's beginning to believe that he did do 
everything he could have to save his son.  Maybe, just 
maybe, he's beginning to feel happy again.  So I 
actually could be seeing something that I haven't seen 
in ten years.

"He'd have turned 16 this year."

It's a simple statement, one that I already knew, but 
like Barb told me earlier, it would be nice for him to 
open up to someone, release what he's been hiding.  I'd 
love it if he did that with me.

"I think that he probably would have really liked 
mountain biking.  He would have saved all of his 
allowances just to get himself a good enough bike to go 
out into the back country, you know?"

I smile at the picture that I'm seeing.  I watch as John 
pulls up in front of his house and parks.  He sighs and 
gets out, coming to my door just as I snap out of my 
thoughts and reach for the handle.  He gets there before 
me and opens it for me, letting me slide out beside him.

The scene feels familiar, with a hint of something that 
wasn't there when he dropped me off at my apartment after 
my accident.  I know what's different.

I'll be going inside with him this time.

He smiles a little shyly and shakes his head.  Then he 
holds out his hand to me and I take a hold, allowing him 
to lead me up his steps and into his house.  He unlocks 
the door and for the first time, when the sun reflects 
off of the window in the door and into my eyes, I 
realize that it's only early afternoon.  I'll have been 
spending most of my day off with him.

I can only smile at that thought.

I clear my throat and follow him in, hanging my coat on 
the rack by the door.  He smiles and hangs his too, 
walking into the kitchen.

"Can I get you anything to drink?  Tea?  Beer? Wine?"

I look at the pictures on the mantle as I answer.  "I'll 
have what you're having."

There're only a few pictures there.  And I recognize them 
all.  I've never really looked at them all that hard 
before though.

One is of Luke, of course, with him in a soccer uniform, 
one foot resting on a ball, his hand on his knee, and 
smiling his father's smile at the camera as it takes his 
picture.  I can see where John would have been standing 
at that moment.  Behind the photographer, but a little 
to the side, so as to not distract his son from the 
camera.  His arms would have been crossed over his 
chest, and he would have been dressed in casual 
Saturday clothes.  I can't help but smile at that, 
either.

The next is John and Barb's wedding picture.  I'm a 
little surprised at that, but I know that I shouldn't 
be.  Their marriage wasn't hellish, or something that 
John would want to forget.  Barb still owns a little 
bit of his heart too, but I find that I like that 
thought.  John isn't one to forget love easily.  She's 
still a friend, who shares a lot of his past, and his 
baggage and I'm more than a little proud that he still 
doesn't hold any of those last months against her.

Then there's one of Dana and William.  I have this 
picture too, but it's not sitting on my mantle. It was 
her Christmas card to us.  He was as surprised as I was 
to get it, but I think that there's a lot of his loyalty 
put into those two people.  One not knowing John Doggett 
would have thought that there was something more than 
friendship in the eyes of the new X-Files agent towards 
his partner, but I'm pretty sure that there wasn't.  
I've seen John around the people that he cares about, 
and it stems from loyalty and pride and just plain old 
self-sacrifice.  He's amazing like that.

But I also think that he sees Dana and William as a way 
to rectify the past.

Something he doesn't need to do, but feels he has to.

I'm about to look at the next picture when I see John 
out of the corner of my eye, leaning on the doorway 
between the kitchen and the living room, a beer in each 
hand and his head leaning a little bit to the side.  I 
see something for the first time today.

"You look tired."

I won't ask him how long he's been watching me.  I know 
that I like to indulge in a little Doggett watching 
occasionally.

He shrugs and steps forward, his arm offering me the 
beer in his left hand.  "A little, nothing that a little 
sleep wouldn't cure, if I actually could."

I'm not all too surprised that he hasn't slept much in 
the last few days.  I'll admit that I haven't either.  
He smiles at me and drags me to the couch.

"You look like you could use some sleep too."  He takes a 
pull of his beer and then puts it on the table in front 
of us, urging me to sit next to him.  Closer than I 
normally would.  But, I guess normally, I wouldn't have 
even come into his house.

"You don't say..." I sigh.  Then I act on something that 
I know would surprise him.  I turn sideways and lean 
against the arm of the couch, stretching my legs out in 
front of me... and onto his lap.  He cocks his head at 
me and then, amazingly, he starts to massage my feet, a 
smile spreading over both of our faces.  "Mmmmm..." I 
hum, "That's good."

When I start to feel something other than the wonderful 
relaxing feeling running up my leg, I remember why I've 
never asked John for a foot massage.

Damn stupid erogenous zone if you ask me.

I bite my lower lip as I decide how to handle this.  It 
feels wonderful, but I'm not so sure that I want...

Want what?  Want him to know what turns me on?  Want him 
to know how to please me?

But I do want that.

So I let him continue with his ministrations.  By the 
time that he switches to my other foot, I'm consciously 
controlling my breath, and I force my eyes to stay shut, 
with my head leaning back onto the arm of the couch.  I 
swallow and clench my jaw, keeping in a satisfied moan.

I lift my head, planning on making him stop until I meet 
his eyes.

Or not.

That's good too.

"Monica..." he clears his throat and his hands still on 
my feet.  I almost let a pitiful whimper escape.  He's 
more aroused than I thought he would be for rubbing my 
FEET, but he also looks as scared as shit.

For some reason, that does everything to calm my nerves.  
I know what he wants, I know what I want, but I don't 
think he knows what I want.  And that's what's making 
him shake with control.

"I'm not really a prize catch, Monica."

I smile and sit up, bringing my face to his.  "Then why 
do I feel like I'm getting the blue ribbon?"

And then I'm kissing him.  We skip fast past the 
tentative not-sure-if-you-want-this kisses and go 
straight into the exploring.  Having known him for as 
long as I have, this is more than simple.  While our 
mouths get acquainted, I shift so that I'm straddling 
his lap, making access and the activity that much 
easier.

His neck relaxes steadily the longer I stay there.  And 
while I keep my hands twined in the short hair at the 
back of his neck, his are wandering.  The beautiful 
hands that I was observing earlier are doing a little 
exploring of their own. Starting at my knees, his 
fingers curve around my leg and skim past my ass, over 
my hips and land gently on my waist.  Before his hands 
continue, his lips move from my mouth and down my 
jawline.  I shiver at the gentle pressure that his 
spread fingers apply as they travel up my spine, before 
cupping my shoulder bone and bring my mouth back to him.

In the haze of the feeling and the rush of blood filling 
my ears, I nearly miss the phone.  Not his phone, but 
one of the cell phones hanging by the front door.

That's gonna be Dana, of course.

I take a deep breath and pull off of his lap, placing a 
gentle finger over John's lips so that he doesn't 
complain.

"She'll get worried if I don't answer," I say as I search 
through the pockets.  "And then she'll come over here..." 
I leave it hanging there, letting him interpret what 
would happen after that.

As I bring the phone up to my ear, I take John in.  His 
chest rises and falls unevenly, and he childishly shakes 
his head, trying to clear it.  He bites his bottom lip as 
he stares at the coffee table and forgotten beer in front 
of him, a hand running through his hair.

"Monica Reyes."

[Hey, Monica.  How'd it go?]

It's Dana, of course.

I smile.  "It went well, Dana.  The weather was perfect."  
John takes a deep breath and stands, pointing towards 
the kitchen.  I nod.

[That's good.  How's he doing?]

"He's..." I sigh, trying to think of how to word this.  
She'll probably guess what's happening by the end of 
this conversation anyway. She's got this horrible knack 
of reading people... even over the phone.  "He'll be ok, 
I think.  He's looking awfully tired right now."

[you're at his house?]  She says it like she's surprised.  
And before I can answer, she continues.  [Right.]  Now 
she sounds a little embarrassed at drawing that out.  
[uhm...]

I laugh at her being so flustered.  "C'mon, this 
surprises you?"  It feels so nice to be able to talk 
with her like this.  I've never really had a plethora of 
girl friends that I could talk to.

She chuffs, halfway between still embarrassed and real 
amusement.  I think she likes it too.  I hear William 
gurgle over the phone.  [No, but I hope that I didn't 
interrupt something.]

"Well..."

[Oh, no!  Monica, I'm so sorry...]

"Oh, Dana, never mind, it's okay."  I smile and look up 
to see John watching me, a confused expression his face.  
I reach down to the table and pick up my beer and take 
a pull.  "How's your day going so far?"  I say, trying 
to change the subject and not make her so embarrassed.

She clears her throat and I can hear her moving 
something around.  [I was just going to go for a walk 
down to the park, maybe grab a coffee.  I was going to 
invite you along, but in this case, I can see that you 
have... uh, better things to attend to.] She chuckles.

"Uh, yeah, kinda."  I'm trying to prevent the blush 
that's crawling up into my face, but it isn't going to 
happen.  John's smiling at me, and I think that he's 
amused by my flustered actions.  "Maybe tomorrow?"  I 
try to sound hopeful.

She just laughs.

"What?"

[Monica... from personal experience of letting loose 
after a couple of years?  You're not going to want to 
get out of bed tomorrow.]

I inelegantly choke on the beer that I had just taken 
a sip of.

John reacts to the spray, jumping back and then starts 
laughing.  "Geez, Monica.  You going to clean that up?"  
He's pointing to the hardwood floor with little drops of 
beer now adorning it.

I shoot him a glance.

[Uh, oh, did I ruin the mood again?]  She tries to sound 
apologetic, but I can tell that she's barely not laughing.

"I think that it'll take a lot more than that to screw 
up this day."  John disappears and then comes back with 
a towel, throwing it at me.  Authoritatively he points 
to the floor.  I give him a mock salute and bend to the 
ground, swiping up the mess.  "That last comment... did 
you mean that?"

[Hmmm?  Oh, definitely.  And it won't be because you're 
sore...]  I laugh again and stand up, throwing the towel 
back at John.  [Although... you never know.]  she laughs.  
[Alright, I'll let you... go...  and if you happen to gain 
consciousness tomorrow, give me a call.]

"I will.  Later."  I flip my phone shut and turn to face 
John, who's still got a smile on his face.  He's shaking 
his head at me.

"You always talk like that with her?"

"Hey, three quarters of that conversation was due to her 
own deductions."  I shrug and sit back on the couch, 
setting the phone on the table, stopping at the last 
second to turn it off.  Don't want another interruption.

I smile at John, and cross my legs, putting them up on 
the glass.

He clears his throat.  "You, uh, you hungry?"

I cock my head to the side.  "Yes."  I smile at him, 
trying to put him at ease.

Again, he disappears into the kitchen.  Half of me wants 
to go and help him and the other half just wants to 
indulge in the fantasy of John making me lunch.  I can 
hear the movement and occasional clanking of dinnerware
and utensils, but I bathe in the image of him shifting
on his feet as he makes the food.

I don't know how long I listen, and I think maybe I'm 
dozing, cause the next thing I know, there's a gentle 
finger touching my cheek and I open my eyes to see John 
standing over me, plate in hand and a small smile on 
his face.  He hands me the food and sits down next to 
me.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it."  He takes a sip of his beer and 
leans back into the corner of the couch, half facing 
me and places his plate on his lap.

I look at the sandwich and sigh.  Perfect.  It looks 
really good, but I might be a little biased, seeing 
as I missed breakfast and lunch and it's almost 
hitting 3.  Either way, I'm sure it'll be great.

We eat in silence, and as I put the last bite in my 
mouth, he turns to me.

"Your feet?"

I can't help the snort that comes out, and I cover 
my mouth to keep the food in.  I hurriedly finish 
chewing the bread and fight the redness that I can 
feel sneaking into my cheeks.  Whatever.

"You've been thinking about that the entire time you 
were eating and that's all you can say?"  I shrug and
put the plate on the table on the way to getting 
closer to him.  I put an arm on each side of his 
shoulders as I lean over him and bring my nose to his,
a feral grin plastered onto my face.  His eyes convey 
something between fear and lust.  It looks great on 
him.  I move one hand and bravely drag a nail down his 
neck, producing a shiver that I can see.  "Your neck?"

"Actually, I think that most people's necks are 
sensitive." He cried indignantly, and then he smiled up 
at me.  "But with you, Mon, I think just about 
everywhere is going to work."

Goodness, what do you say to that?

I decide not to say anything and lean into kiss him 
again.  I think he'll consider that a proper reward.

We kiss languidly for a time, and then I pull back and 
just look into his face.  Unabashedly, I catch his eyes 
and let him try and read me as I try the same.  He's 
always fascinated me with those eyes, and I don't need 
to try and read him as I could just look for a couple 
of hours.  After a couple of moments, his brow furrows 
and he chews gently on his bottom lip.  And to my 
surprise, he nervously clears his throat.

"Stay?"

It's amazing that after all that the last couple of 
weeks have entailed, he's still uncertain as to where 
I'm sitting in this whole thing; almost like I'll 
change my mind at any given instant.

"I'm not going anywhere."  I pause and run my fingers 
through his short spiked hair and smile at him.  "I 
think...  I think that maybe after all these years, so 
much of you, but not all of you, had tried to live 
alone that you've proven to yourself that you can be 
alone, even if it hurts."  He's confused as to where 
I'm going with this, but he doesn't try to interrupt 
me.  His hands have settled onto my waist and I'm 
comfortable where I am, so I continue.  "You've proved 
it to yourself and to Barb and even to Scully.  In a 
way, even to me, but there's something different in me 
that sees it more as an opening for someone else to be 
there with you, even if you think that you don't need 
them." I sigh and grant him a sympathetic smile.  "I've 
seen it in me, and you know what?  Even though I can do 
it alone, I don't want to anymore."

He shifts a little as I pause but remains silent and 
looks intently at me.

"I want you to be there.  For those seldom moments when 
I CAN'T handle it by myself.  For those often moments 
when I just want the presence of another person to be 
there.  For those moments when I sit home at night and 
think of what could be happening if I had let someone 
get into my heart.  To smile, to laugh, to cry, to talk, 
to walk and to wake up in the morning and share a 
morning breath kiss."

I think that he's even more silent than before.

"Is that clear enough, that you'll stop sounding like 
I'm going to walk out anytime?"

That sounds a little harsh, but given the look on his 
face, I guessed right as to how his thoughts were going 
and why he was asking all those questions.  But a smile 
breaks out into his face and I smile back.

"Yeah.  Yeah, that's real clear."

We fall into silence, and I know that he's finally had it 
drilled into his militarily thick brain.  He leans forward 
and gives me a soft tender kiss. And then he pulls back 
again.

"So, you're staying... forever?"

I laugh, and nod.  "Yes, John, I'm staying."  I give him 
a happy little peck and then look back into his eyes.  
"I'm staying forever."