CHAPTER 15

John walked through the empty living room, turning off lights as he 
went, then quietly opened the bedroom door. "Mon?" he 
whispered. "You up?"

She sat up on her side of the bed, letting the bedclothes slip down, 
revealing a faded pink nightgown that made her cheeks glow. "I'm 
waiting for you," she said as she patted his side of the bed.

He grinned then sat on the bed, leaning backward to kiss her cheek. 
Supporting himself on one elbow and stroking her hair with his free 
hand, he said softly, "We haven't had much of a chance to talk 
today." His light blue eyes sparkled with desire, but his face 
seemed thoughtful. 

"What do you want to talk about?" she asked, her openness almost 
begging him to confide in her. "Gibson?"

"I never betray a confidence either," he smiled. "No, just talk. I 
miss our chitchat... stake-outs, waiting for Skinner in his outer 
office, going out for a beer after work..."

"I miss that too," she said wistfully.

He smiled. "I'll be back in a minute," he said, planting another kiss 
on her cheek then striding to their bathroom.

Monica rested her head against the oak headboard, thinking about 
D.C. She knew that the domestic bliss she felt in this cottage 
couldn't last, but she couldn't help mulling over in her mind the 
things that would have to go right for there to be a happy outcome. 
She sighed. Things would never be the same. She heard a the 
metallic tap-tap-tap sound coming from the bathroom, and she 
couldn't help sighing. He was shaving. For her. For bed... 
Sometimes he could be so bullheaded, but sometimes... She replayed 
her memories from the day, thinking how so much had changed so 
quickly. Something told her the day had been perfect, just what it 
was supposed to have been... and then she remembered the words Sister 
Catherine had said at dinner: "And a great and strong wind rent the 
mountains, and the rocks broke in pieces." She shivered. Was 
someone telling them something?

John bounded out of the bathroom and hopped into bed beside her. He 
kissed her cheek then turned on his side, facing her, propped on one 
elbow. "Still want to talk?" he asked enthusiastically.

"I can't think of anything to talk about," she said, pulling the 
bedspread to her waist and laying her hands on her stomach. "Except 
maybe going home... if we can."

"Homesick?" he asked, stroking her hair, thinking how much he loved 
doing that, how much he loved her... She leaned into his hand, 
kissed his wrist, then rolled onto her side, facing him and mirroring 
his body language.

"Yes," she sighed. "Things will never be the same. Even if we can 
go back..."

"When we go back," he said with determination.

"When," she smiled. She took his hand in hers then absently bounced 
it on the mattress between them a few times. "Things will never be 
the same..." she sighed.

Now John was worried. Monica's face was taking on an 
uncharacteristic sadness, more like Agent Scully than the cheerful 
Monica he loved. "Mon," he said gently, sliding toward her and 
maneuvering his arm under her. She settled into his embrace then 
rested her head on his shoulder as he wrapped his other arm around 
her waist. "Things won't be the same, but they'll be good." He 
hugged her to him and nuzzled her hair. "I promise," he whispered.

"You're a good man, John," she whispered as she nestled more deeply 
into the comfort of his arms.

He smiled and kissed the top of her hair. "Mon?" he asked when he 
heard her breathing deepen.

She didn't answer. She was asleep.

*~*~*~*~*~* SMUT ALERT *~*~*~*~*~* 

Monica awoke to the gentle touch of a hand stroking her ribs. Her 
back was to him, and she contemplated feigning sleep... until the 
hand moved down, riding the curve of the small of her back, then 
slipped even further downward. She rolled toward him, onto her back, 
almost trapping his hand beneath her. "Morning?" she asked.

"Not quite," he answered, his hand roaming in random patterns over 
her smooth stomach. "Don't let me wake you," he whispered, his hand 
creeping downward.

"Oh, okay," she laughed. "I'll go back to sleep."

"Pleasant dreams," he whispered as he raised his body over hers and 
kissed the nape of her neck.

She laughed and her legs embraced his. "I *was* having a pleasant 
dream until you woke me up!"

"Better than this?" he asked, continuing to kiss all the sensitive 
areas on her neck and shoulders. "Or this?" he asked, taking his 
trail of kisses lower.

She sighed. "Hmmmmmmm that's nice, but my dream was nicer..." Her 
hands and legs moved in response to his kisses, kneading and rubbing 
his muscular body, grabbing him firmly, sliding seductively...

His lips continued moving downward until they reached her center, 
making her gasp from the sudden contact. She looked down, seeing 
only the tented bedspread rhythmically swaying as her lover started 
making her dream come true. And then, just when she thought she 
couldn't take any more, he broke away and slid upwards over her body 
until he was poised to finish her dream. "Was your dream like this?" 
he teased.

"Yessssss," she hissed, grabbing him and helping him find the home 
where he was always welcome. He started slowly, sighing with each 
thrust, brushing his lips against her ear, hair, lips... Her 
responses urged him on but he held back, savoring each movement and 
sensation. When her whimpers turned from pleasure to frustration he 
let himself go, and this released her. Their movements became 
frantic, desperate, feverish... until finally she spasmed under him, 
crying out and grabbing his ass. He let her guide him as her waves 
of ecstasy propelled him closer and closer to his own abyss. 
Suddenly, a storm of pleasure thundered through his body and spurted 
into hers, accompanied by a long, low groan on his part and high 
breathy sighs on hers. When they were finished he rolled to her side 
and kissed her nose, making her sigh. "Monica," he whispered. "My 
dreams have never been this good."

She draped an arm across his waist and snuggled into the crook of his 
arm. "Hmmmmm I thought I *was* dreaming," she sighed. "Reality has 
never been this good."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In Washington D.C., A.D. Skinner rolled over and reached for his 
nightstand phone. "Yeah?" he grumbled.

"I've got a lead," a male voice answered.

Skinner reached for his clock and squinted to read it. 3:30 
a.m. "Jesus, Follmer, do you know what time it is?"

"Time to book a flight to New Mexico."