Title: _ Hourglass Figures_ Author: Karen (snarky_freak@hotmail.com) Rating: PG-13 (A little skin, but it doesn't get sweaty!) Keywords: Reyes. Doggett. Doggettfic/Reyesfic. Doggett! Doggett! Doggett! Reyes! Reyes! Reyes! Summary: 'And suddenly, I realize that I, too, am beckoning to her in the dark.' Spoilers: Very minor. This Is Not Happening, Empedocles, Essence/Existence 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 Note: This particular story is an out-and-out stand alone. Let's just say that I'm extremely non-committal about the possible timeline for this one. However, I'll go as far as saying that it ain't no missing scene... S9 will either blow this fic outta the water, or give it some good backing... Ah, it's fanfic--who cares?!? ;0) --- An hourglass figure. That's what she is. Here, in the dark, her shapes and curves beckon me to watch time as it passes. Every breath she takes is like a speck of sand that trickles through the hourglass figure that is her body. An hourglass figure. That's what she is to me. Her presence in my life is like an open history book, constantly recording Big Events as they occur. To me. To my life. To my body. An hourglass figure. That's what she is. With each Big Event, I look to her for comfort. Every breath she takes is like a speck of sand that trickles through the hourglass figure that is her body. Each breath represents a second. Each second represents time as it passes. Another moment, another instance of pain--of suffering--passes with each second. Each breath represents a second. A second I have survived. A second I have endured. An hourglass figure. That's what she is to me. After every Big Event that occurs to me, to my life, to my body, I tip her over. Turn her world upside down. Interrupt and ruin the progress she has made. She must start again. One breath at a time. One speck of sand at a time. One second at a time. An hourglass figure. Beautiful. Constant. That's what she is. Here, in the dark, that's what she has become to me. Her hourglass figure. She and I both revel in it, in our own way. I call her beautiful. I revere her lithe curves, her sweet scent, her soulful hazel eyes. She calls herself extraordinary. With a smirk, she reveres her peculiarity, her conspicuous disposition, her mysterious gift of 'feeling'. Neither of us are ashamed. She pays little attention to modesty. The codes of modesty. The virtues and rewards of modesty. She allows me to watch her hourglass figure--naked and graceful in the dark--as she breathes deeply in her sleep. As she allows specks of sand to keep time. She is not ashamed of what she represents in my life. An hourglass figure. Patient. Faithful. That's what she is to me. Here, in the dark, her shapes and curves beckon me to watch time as it passes. A mass of black hair on the pillow. My pillow. A lock of black hair brushes against my shoulder. Her shoulder. Once in a while, I catch glimpses of her naked back, illuminated by the solitary ray of moonlight that kept me company every night. When I was alone. When my hourglass figure was distant, hesitant and uncertain. A milky complexion embraces her. The hourglass figure. That's what she is. Every move she makes, everything she does, is effortless. Natural. And that includes the whale sounds. My hourglass figure. My sense of humour. My inexhaustible well-spring of vibrance. Of light. Of life. She stirs, and turns to me. To my face, my body, my life. Here, in the dark, she opens her soulful hazel eyes and smiles. A slender hand--palm, fingers, nails, fingertips--rubs my bare chest soothingly, sensuously. My hourglass figure. A healer. A seductress. Both. "Mmm..." She stretches languidly, and without regard for anything. She tangles her long legs into mine and I am again reminded of how close we are in height. My hourglass figure. My equal. My counterpart. "You never sleep like a normal person, do you?" One long string of words, spoken in one short breath. A lazy smile works its way to her face and beckons me closer. "You should try it, y'know..." An arm--my arm--finds its way around her narrow waist and stays there. The heart of the hourglass figure. "What?" I graze the milky complexion of her shoulders with my chin. I mumble her name against her skin and wait. She likes it when I do that. "Sleep. You should try it. Very relaxing..." An hourglass figure. My hourglass figure. Drifting off to sleep. Beckoning me to follow her as we both wait for time to pass. "There anythin' metaphysical 'bout it, too, or what?" A glib remark, I know. Inappropriate, even. But I can't help it. She knows how I feel about her. She knows the different ways I react to each and every part of her. She always has. An elbow--her elbow--nudges my side playfully. "Sleep or the whale sounds, John--take your pick." A finger--my finger--traces the contour of her body, her hourglass figure. A sigh escapes from her lips. "You're so good to me..." she mumbles half-consciously against my chest. Time stops. Everything stops. How can she say that, after everything she knows I've done to her? An hourglass figure. That's what she is to me. Beautiful. Constant. Patient. Faithful. An open history book. She records and keeps track of every Big Event in my life. An hourglass figure. Not a judge. Not a heartless God. She is not here to condemn. An hourglass figure. That's what she is. Beckoning to me. Here, in the dark. "Monica?" "Hm?" "You awake?" "Mmm... Sure..." "You wanna know something?" "Huh?" A pause. My silence rouses her. Soulful hazel eyes blink rapidly to chase away the remnants of sleep before studying me intently. "What is it?" "D'you know..." I croak out, suddenly losing my voice as well as the brilliant eloquence that comes with thinking inwardly to oneself. She raises her eyebrows and strokes the sparse, almost invisible blond hair on my chest. "Know...?" "You know what you are to me. Don't you?" She bows her head and regards me from under her dark eyebrows. "We're friends, John." Her reply does little to revitalize my composure. I prop myself up on one elbow and look down at her reproachfully. "We're more than that, Mon. Quit messin' with my mind, okay?" "I'm not messing with any--" "What do you think you are?" A quirky smile greets me, and I know she's going to avoid the question. "Seriously?" She shrugs, reaches up and traces the outer curve of my ear absently. "I don't know." "I'm sorry. I mean, I thought--" She closes her eyes briefly and shakes her head. "Don't be. We've always been like this. Why are things supposed to change?" My hourglass figure. Indifferent. Is that what she's felt--is feeling--towards me? "Because they _have_ changed." A nod. "So then it's _slightly_ different between us." Another reproachful glare directed at her. "You're my partner." "I take it, in more ways than one, right?" She pays little attention to modesty. The codes of modesty. The virtues and rewards of modesty. My hourglass figure. "Monica." "What, John?" She sighs exasperatedly, and with her hand gently pushes my face away from hers. I am forced to look sideways and listen to her words. "What do you want me to say? We've done this before. And we're still good friends. Very good friends--don't get me wrong--but--" "Are you okay with this?" "Which part?" "Everything." She makes an inarticulate sound. A cross between a grunt and an exasperated sigh, before she rolls her eyes and slides as close to my body as possible. "You know I wouldn't be here if I wasn't okay with everything. So don't ask me that again." "Monica--" "Sleep or the whale sounds, John. Like I said, take your pick." She has turned away from me. The milky canvas that is her back is beckoning me to reassure her. Here, in the dark... I lean closer and press my forehead against the warm nape of her neck. "You know what you are to me?" "If I say yes, will you shut up and go to sleep?" "No. You have no idea..." "Fine. I don't. Go to sleep. God, you think too much." "Mon--" "I mean it, John. Or I'll start with the mating calls of the Orca--I swear." "I--" She turns suddenly and faces me. "Don't. John, just..." Her hands rub my shoulders slowly. "I know how you feel. I do." She widens her eyes at me to emphasize her reply. "Really, I do. It's hard to believe sometimes, knowing everything we've been through. I never thought you'd stop looking at me like I'm a constant reminder of L--" "You're not. There's more to you than that." "That's what I'm saying--I don't remind you of him anymore. At least, not as much as I used to. Not all the time. I never thought that would happen." Another sigh. She looks around the dark bedroom. Her eyes travel upwards and study the ceiling fan above us. "Thanks, John." "For what?" She gives me a sidelong glance and smiles serenely. "For seeing me. For looking at me." I can only nod dumbly at her. My hourglass figure. We're both grateful we have each other. I reach out and cup her face in my hand. My thumb automatically glides across her bottom lip, as if it knows how much she likes it when I do that to her. "Hard not to. You're beautiful, Monica. I've always thought you were." She shakes her head self-deprecatingly. "John--" "What? You don't believe me? I mean it." She chuckles to herself, rolls her eyes and shakes her head once again. "Thanks." "You wanna know somethin'?" She nods and looks directly into my eyes. "It's hard for me, you know... To be afraid, now that you're here." My hourglass figure. No longer distant. No longer hesitant or uncertain. She fixes me with a stare that rips out my heart. A stare that stops time. A stare that stops everything. Everything but her. My hourglass figure. Beckoning to me in the dark. I have tipped her over again. She must start over. One second at a time. A Big Event. Beckoning to me in the dark. A healer. A seductress. My equal. My counterpart. She moves closer and buries herself in my arms. She welcomes me, my presence in her life. And suddenly, I realize that I, too, am beckoning to her in the dark. That I, too, can be her healer--to a certain extent. Her seducer. Her equal. Her counterpart. Her hourglass figure. That's what I can be to her. END Send comments to: snarky_freak@hotmail.com