Title: I Heart You
Author: Karen (snarky_freak@hotmail.com)
Rating: PG-13
Keywords: DRR
Spoilers: Audrey Pauley, and general Season 9
Summary: 'It was more than a gift.  It was a start.'
Archives: All are more than welcome, just please 
notify me via e-mail.
Disclaimers: They're not mine, so don't look at me 
that way, 'kay?
Author's Notes: This fic is dedicated to those on the 
Reyes_Doggett list, who were discussing 'the 
necklace...' This isn't as angsty as my other fics, 
but I still hope you enjoy it!

---

"Thanks for the lift."

"Hey, no problem."

"Don't worry; this'll probably be the last time in a 
long time that you're giving me a ride.  I'll be 
picking up my new car-"

"Like I said, `s'no problem at all."

"Thanks, John."

He looked straight ahead, not wanting her to leave 
yet, but also wanting so much for the evening to end.  
He wanted to know so very badly.  Wanted to know how 
the night would end tonight.

She unfastened her seat belt and shifted in her seat 
to look more closely at him.  "Something's on your
mind..."

He shrugged involuntarily, and hated himself for it.  
His shrugs always gave him away, gave his indecision 
away.  He hated himself more than ever, as he sat 
there and shrugged at her once more.  "Nah...  Don't 
worry `bout it, Monica," he paused, willed a smile 
onto his face and shook his head.  "`S'nothin'.  
G'night."

She looked like she was going to protest, but she 
didn't.  She knew him too much, knew him too well...  
Maybe it was better this way, anyway.

"See ya Monday?"

Damn.  She even used it against him, used those very 
words he had used not so long ago...  Those words 
that sealed his-her-their-fate that one night, not 
so long ago.

Partners or not, he knew he took the coward's, and 
most definitely the fool's way out that night.  And 
maybe there was nothing more he can do to change 
things between them.  He blew it.  He blew their 
chance at something, even before they had a chance 
at it.  Shit.  Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

He nodded meekly as he watched her close the door on 
the passenger's side.  She waved to him before she 
jogged up the stairs of her apartment building and 
disappeared into the hallway.

Maybe she got over it.  Got over him, and that night.  
Maybe she was just drunk that night, and had no idea 
what the hell she was saying to him, what the hell 
kinds of signs she was sending his way that night.

For cryin' out loud, she had a beer.  One worthless 
bottle of beer.  No way in hell she coulda been 
drunk that night.  She'd meant what she said that 
night.  He knew it, he was almost sure of it...

Yeah.  Maybe.

Not like he'd have another chance to find out, 
right?

Big, fat, fuckin' chance you'll have another chance, 
you dumbass...  That was a slap in the face you gave 
her that night, before she got hurt.  Maybe you 
should just be thankful she's still your partner, 
still willing to work with you, put up with you, and 
see you every morning...

"Yeah.  See ya," he muttered under his breath, to no 
one in particular.  He stared straight ahead, down 
the empty street.  Shit.  Shit, shit, shit, shit, 
shit.

If you're feelin' like shit now, John-boy, just wait 
`til you get home.

He thought it over in his mind.  He thought it over, 
and over, and over, and over again, until his temples 
throbbed and the back of his eyes started to sting.

God.

It's been nearly a decade now, a decade that he's 
known her, a decade since his divorce...

And he still doesn't have the balls to say anything.

If his partner, Duke, were here, he'd shake his head 
in that 'disappointed father figure' way of his, and 
tell him, 'no cajones, Johnny... always been yer 
problem...  makes me wonder how y'even got yerself 
married...'

Fuck that.  Fuck Duke.  Son of a bitch committed a 
felony...  Why should what he thinks matter?

Maybe.

Maybe `cause it's true.

Whatever Duke did, whatever reasons he had for doin' 
it, he knows you, John-boy.

Your partner, Duke...  He knew you.  Knows you.

Knows you wouldn't have the courage.  He'd know 
you've got no cajones, no balls, and no guts, to 
tell her how you feel.  How you've felt about her, 
how you still feel about her.  How you'll probably 
always feel about her.

Her.

Your partner now.

Monica.

Your partner now, in so many ways; ways she probably 
isn't even aware of.

Yeah.  That's right.

No cajones, Johnny.

He shook his head, craned his neck to peer awkwardly 
at her apartment window, and struggled to untangle 
himself from his seatbelt.

"Fuck this," he muttered under his breath as he leaned 
forward, grabbed a small box from the glove 
compartment, and brusquely got out of his truck, 
without so much as looking back.

---

The frantic knock on her door made her look at herself 
in the mirror.

She looked funny, with her toothbrush in mid-air, her 
loose silk negligee swaying to and fro as she shifted 
her weight from one foot to the other.

"Monica?  Monica, it's me, open up, c'mon."

She practically dropped the toothbrush in the sink in 
her haste to put on her bathrobe.  What was he up 
to...?  She thought back on the whole day, and 
wondered whether she forgot to sign a report for him, 
or book a flight for them...

She could hear the jangling of keys, the sound of her 
doorknob being brusquely twisted and turned.  
Slightly annoyed, she tightened her robe around her 
waist and opened the door in one swift motion.

"John.  What are you doing here?  I thought you 
left."

He ignored her confusion and stepped into her apartment 
with a nod of his head.  "I know, I was gonna, but..."

She looked at him, eyes wide, forehead creased in 
anticipation.  "But...?"

Her open-ended question shook him out of his 
determination, and he suddenly looked uneasy.  He 
looked like he did in his pickup, before she left him 
sitting there all by himself.  "John?" she prompted 
him with a bemused smile on her face.

God, she's pretty.  Prettier than she usually is, when 
she smiles at him like that...

"I gotcha somethin'..." he began rather shakily.  When 
her eyes lit up in surprise, his guts started to 
liquefy...  And then, he couldn't explain it, but 
something happened to him.

You want cajones, Dukey...?  You got `em...

"I was gonna wait, but I couldn't any more."

"John, what-"

"Here."  He gave the small box to her.  His blue eyes 
wavered upwards, met hers tentatively.  He tried to 
keep his hands from shaking, but he couldn't.  He 
didn't care.  He knew she'd understand.  "Open it, 
Monica.  `S'yours."

It felt like forever.  Felt like forever, only 
different somehow.  It felt like forever, taking 
forever to get wherever it was it wanted to go...

Her slender hands took the box from him and gently 
pried it open.  He willed himself to stare at her, 
at the expression on her face as she contemplated 
his offering.

"Oh, John...  Thank you.  It's..." she looked down 
at it again, turned the box around in her hands over 
and over again, before she closed her eyes briefly, 
opened them, and smiled radiantly at him.

He'd never seen her so happy.  Never seen her look 
so incredible before.  Her smile, and the way she 
looked at him, damn near made his middle-aged heart 
stop beating.

"It's beautiful, John."

He started to nod, but froze in place, rooted to one 
spot, when she stepped forward.

Where were those cajones when he truly needed them now?

"Thank you."

He shrugged, and cringed inwardly.  "Hey, no problem."

She nodded, benevolently watched the tips of his ears 
turn a mortifying shade of bright red, before she took 
another step closer and planted one on him.

It was a peck, for Chrissakes.  No biggie.  Nothin' 
sexy or passionate or lustful about it, but hell, he 
felt damn good.  Felt like he could die right now a 
happy, contented, middle-aged son of a bitch.

If he really just thought about it, it was nothing, 
really.  Nothin' spectacular, but somethin' spectacular 
all the same.  Its simplicity thrilled him beyond 
words; made his heart, and surely somethin' else down 
there somewhere, start to feel like it was throbbin' 
or swellin' or somethin'...

It was a small kiss, cleverly placed at the corner of 
his mouth, to let him know that he was toeing the line, 
playing with that boundary that he himself had 
established between the two of them.

She didn't step back this time.  This time, she looked 
up at him mistily and arched a dark eyebrow in that 
way of hers that always makes him wonder just how much 
she knows about him...  "So what's the occasion?"

He gulped, and her smile became a grin when she heard 
him do so.

"No reason at all, huh?"

"Doesn't gotta be no reason.  I mean...  Not all the 
time, right?"  He couldn't help it; he had to shrug 
as he said that.

You're standin' in quicksand, Johnny...  Sinkin' lower 
an' lower, the more you open that stupid yap of 
yours...  The more she just stands there and looks 
right into you, like you're what she sees every time 
she looks in the mirror, and sees herself.  And good 
god, would you stop this now, John-boy?  Stop whinin' 
to yourself right now and just get the damn thing 
over with...

Just get it over with.

And she'll love you for it.  Really.  Honest to god.  
Dollars to donuts...

"You're right.  You're just appreciating me, John,"
she shrugged in agreement before she headed off to 
the kitchen and switched on the light.  "And I'm not 
complaining."

"Y'better not be," he called after her.  He was 
relieved.  Wasn't he?  He came here, did what he'd 
intended to do, gave what he wanted to give her, and 
that was it.  End of story.  Thank you, ladies and 
gents.  It was fun.  G'night an' drive safe...

Like hell.  There was a helluva whole lot more to it 
than that.

"You want some coffee?"

He furrowed his eyebrows, suddenly disappointed with 
himself.  She was offering him coffee, like all the 
other times he'd shown up at her apartment 
unannounced.  Like tonight was just any other night.  
"No."

She did an about-face and looked at him, suddenly 
caught off-guard.  He'd never refused a cup of 
coffee before.  "Do you want something else?"

Hell, yeah.

I want everything you can give me, partner.

I want what I think you wanted to give me that 
night, not so long ago, when we talked 'bout cats, 
dogs, cat people and dog people...  When we talked 
'bout me.  You.  Me an' you.

I wanna show you how much of a dog person I really 
am.

How much of a dog I can really be...

"No." He replied sternly, almost angrily.  She had 
to understand, though, that it had nothing to do 
with her, and everything to do with him.

There's more to it than that, Monica.

More to it than just wantin' you.  You an' that body 
of yours.  You an' those eyes, an' that smile of 
yours.

Honest to God, there's more.

Like that time you went to the beach with me an' 
Barb...

I had no right to ask you.  But you went anyway, no 
questions asked.

I dunno how I coulda done that, if you hadn't been 
there waitin' for me.

"Well," she looked around her living room, looked 
over her shoulder at her kitchen and beamed almost 
giddily.  "You're sure I can't get you anything, 
then, John?"

He shook his head.

And shrugged.

"Nothin'.  I'm good."

She thought this over for a second or two, before 
she nodded, walked past him, and sat down on her 
couch, grasping her bathrobe tightly around her body.  
"Okay..."

"Do you like it?"

She immediately smiled at the small box now perched 
on her lap.  "It's pretty, John.  I love it."

"Yeah.  Me too."

She barely missed his whispered words.  Only barely 
missed them, but she heard them well enough.  
"You've got good taste."

"Huh.  Surprised?" He managed a smirk, and a raised 
eyebrow.  He could do this.  Really.  Honest to god, 
he could...  No doubt about it that he could...

"No, not surprised, just..." She blinked rapidly, 
thoughtfully mulling over her words, thus giving her 
the appearance of a seductive coquette.  "I wouldn't 
have known."

"Known what?" he asked lightly, all the while sinking 
into the well-cushioned chair across from where she 
sat.

"I don't know.  That you have an eye for these things."

"An eye for these things.  I see."  Leaning forward, 
and resting his elbows steadily on his knees, he took 
a deep breath and carefully took a shot.  "Guess I'm 
just good at noticin' 'em."

"Noticing what?"

He swallowed inaudibly.  He could do this.  Really, 
he could...  "Pretty things.  I mean I'm not creative 
or anythin' like that... Lack of imagination an' all, 
but I notice 'em.  Don't seem like I do, but I do."

She nodded and opened her mouth to say something in 
reply, but he smoothly cut her off.

"Pretty people.  I notice `em, too."

She looked away from his heavy gaze, suddenly unsure 
whether she wants to follow him, wherever it is he 
was intending to go.  "I really like it, John.  Your 
gift."

"`M glad you do."  He tilted his head once, and 
reached out his hand across the coffee table between 
them. "Here, lemme see it."

He avoided touching her fingertips as she handed the 
box over to him.  He knew he needed all his strength 
for this, all his resolve to be able to do this, to 
do this right.

Slowly, carefully, he removed his gift from the box, 
and held it up in the lamplight for her to see, for 
her to look at.  Equally slowly, he scooted onto 
the coffee table and leaned forward.  "Come closer 
to me."

She did as she was told.  When she looked at him 
unsurely, he returned her gaze and gave her an 
intensely reassuring smile that nearly made her 
entire body tremble in its violent gentility.  

"`S'okay, Monica.  I won't bite.  Promise..."

She let out a nervous laugh before she closed her 
eyes, leaned forward and allowed herself to trust 
him.  Completely, regardless of his indecision, 
regardless of what happened that night, not so long 
ago...  "That's too bad, John...," she managed to 
quip in that genuinely upbeat way that could only 
be described as uniquely her own.

His turn to laugh nervously, since it was far too 
late for him to pull back and retreat, and run away 
from her, and hurt her like he did that night, not 
so long ago...  And besides, he didn't wanna do 
that.  He'd done that too much, for far too long 
already.

One or two seconds, and he finished his task well 
before he was even aware of what exactly it was he 
was accomplishing.

She looked down, suddenly refusing to match the 
look he was now giving her.  "Thank you."

"Yeah," he whispered hoarsely, still unable to find 
his voice.  "So, I guess...  I guess I should get 
goin'."

"Yeah.  See ya."

He stood, and looked down at her looking down at 
his gift.

He couldn't leave her.  Not like this.  It would 
almost be as bad as what he had done that night, 
not so long ago...

So now what?  What should he do?

There was no match-makin' patient aide this time 
around to express his own thoughts, his own feelings 
on his behalf.  No one but him to tell her all those 
things he keeps bottled up inside.

How 'bout doin' what you've wanted to do all this 
time, dumbass?  Maybe then you'll feel better tonight, 
when you go home to that empty-as-all-hell house of 
yours...

Cajones, John-boy, c'mon.  I know you got `em...  
And besides, what would good ol'Dukey say?  What's 
he gonna think of you if you do goddamn squat and 
just walk away like it's nothin'?

Maybe you should.

Maybe you shouldn't.  Maybe you should never.

But, then again, maybe you--

"Aw, fuck this," he muttered to himself yet again, 
before he leaned down and did something he had been 
playing over and over and over again in his mind 
all these weeks, ever since that night, not so long 
ago.

He touched her jaw, waited for her to look right 
into his eyes, with surprise written all over her 
youthful face.

Then he kissed her.  And stayed right where he was 
and waited for her to kiss him back, which didn't 
take that long at all to happen.

She pulled away first, breathing heavily, eyes 
wider than he had ever seen them before.  She took 
a deep breath, pressed a slender hand against his 
pounding chest, and simply stared at him in 
amazement.

She probably never knew he had the cajones to do 
somethin' like that.  To her.

He smiled inwardly, gradually forgetting the 
things he had done to her that night, not so long 
ago.  The things he hadn't done that night, not so 
long ago.

He tenderly pressed his mouth against her forehead, 
held her close for a moment or two, and then slowly 
pulled away.  "Goodnight," he rasped almost 
breathlessly upon losing the physical connection 
he had with her.  Her and her body.  All of her, 
all of who she was, and still is.

She smiled, understanding him immediately.

It was a start.

A start they both wanted, a start they had both 
been waiting for.

"`Night, John."

One last smile, one last stroke of her dark hair, 
before he turned on his heels and left, closing 
the door quietly behind him.

She waited until she heard him drive away in his 
pickup before she looked down, at his 
offering-his gift.

It was more than a gift.

It was a start.

She turned off the lights in her living room, and 
retired to her bed.  She didn't dare remove the 
necklace from around her neck, the necklace he had 
given her, the necklace he himself had placed on 
her body.

She found she liked it, thought it beautiful, and 
meaningful, and profound.

Like him.  Him and his body.  All of him, all of 
who he was, and still is.

Gradually, she fell sound asleep, with her 
fingertips lightly resting on the silver, 
heart-shaped pendant gleaming against her skin.

END
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