Taking It Back
Dust stuck in every crevice of Monica's wrinkled outfit, inside her nostrils, burning her lungs like cigarette smoke was wont to do. And as desperately as she was craving a little nicotine, it was too hot to even consider sucking one in. Her dry lips parted, and she darted her tongue out, licking her bottom lip with a quick swipe that would no doubt chap her mouth.
She sat on the hood of the car, the metal burning her bare thighs and her ass beneath the cotton shorts she wore. Monica shifted, peeling her skin from the surface and resting in a different spot. It didn't make any difference, she thought, staring at the long road ahead, tinted orange and thrown into a blurry wave of heat in the distance. It was burning everywhere.
At one time, she'd loved the heat. It had a thick way of moving, settling on the grass and bringing everything to a slow grind. In hot weather, the world was like molasses. Nobody was in a rush to get everything done. Hurrying meant you'd fall over and croak from heat exhaustion, so survival dictated that you go about life easily.
Lately, she didn't care so much for the heat . It smothered her like an itchy blanket, and she'd been scratching at herself, trying to get free ever since.
They'd been driving for three days. Three long days. They were constantly on the move, silently afraid. John kept the radio on, acting like he enjoyed the way the songs tripped over each other as one station fought for dominance. Monica had been mostly without argument, even when the airwaves became a gray blot of sound. She understood that he only fought for the music because he felt helpless otherwise, and the silence irritated him.
Monica lay back against the windshield, looking up at the sun glaring down at her. She squinted when the rays caught in her eyes, closing them tight against the intrusion. The backs of her eyelids were pink from the force of the light, and even there she wasn't safe from the sun. It was bothersome, never letting up now that she'd let it in. Monica hated its sudden focus on her, when it hadn't ever noticed her before.
Sighing, deep in the belly like she'd taught herself and Scully too, Monica tried to cool herself down by will alone. Her arms were slick against the glass of the windshield, her hair plastered to the back of her neck, and she reminded herself of an egg in a frying pan. But she couldn't bring herself to move, pinned by the sun to the earth, stuck like a butterfly stabbed by a pin.
She should get up, get behind the wheel, and start driving again. John had been sleeping in the back seat for a few hours. Monica had spent that time alternately watching the road pass under the car's tires, fading sullenly behind them, and flicking her gaze to the rear-view mirror where she could see his head rocking against the window where he'd propped himself. John looked beaten up and aging, legs bent on the seat, jeans frayed at the hems. Kinda beautiful, too. In his way.
Monica had kept the radio on, because she was afraid he'd wake up if she turned it off. Things had been tense between them, like a rubber band being pulled to its limits, and they were both afraid of when it might snap back. When would it happen? Where would they be? And God, the worst of all, how would they handle it?
The reprieve from all those half-glances and uncomfortable silences was like a gift; Monica cherished the alone time. But there had been a bubble of awareness beneath her heart, rising and bumping against her ribs, making her uncomfortable sitting in the driver's seat, listening to John's quiet snoring.
Something had made her pull over to the side of the dead road, shove open the door, and drag in stale air with panting gasps. She didn't know what it was, just an urge she found herself acting on. And here she was, feeling like a piece of crispy toast, laid out on a metal plate like an offering to jam-covered fingers.
It hadn't been a completely bad drive so far, Monica admitted to herself, shifting sloppily against the hood of the car. Usually, they got along fine and even laughed a little, though there wasn't much to laugh at with what they feared, but they TRIED. Still, there was an undercurrent of something hard to swallow, and she didn't like the change in dynamic one bit.
Monica had been in love with John Doggett for too many years. So many, that it was second nature to associate him with her heart. But now, staring the possibilities of her unrequited love not being so unrequited, she was starting to think it had been because he wasn't there and she didn't have to deal with the actual responsibility of loving someone. Things were no longer as simple as that.
A year, that's how long she'd had to deal with it. Really deal with it. Being around him, smelling him, tasting him on the back of her tongue even though they'd never even properly kissed.
Stretching her arms up above her, Monica slicked her fingers across the roof of the vehicle. She dragged her nails against the metal, feeling the tension vibrate in every muscle of her body, deeper than the bone.
She was no longer sure what she wanted. Not now when he was looking at her more often than not, and there could be real repercussions from letting him touch her. Repercussions like getting distracted enough to be killed, ruining their evolving friendship, or worse -- actual commitment. Maybe she would always be a silly girl with gangly limbs, flirting with the dark haired boys until they flirted back. Getting bored when she won their hearts. Getting scared and leaving them behind to wonder what they'd done wrong.
Angry with herself, Monica slammed her palm down against the roof. Winced. Dammit, that had been loud enough to wake John up, even though he slept like a dead animal. Surely enough, the car sunk and shook a little on its wheels. She heard the rear door on his side open and slam.
Monica kicked the grill of the car in frustration, banging her sneakers against it hard enough to jar the car again. Just great. When she finally forced herself to open her eyes, John was standing at her knees, staring at her with red-rimmed eyes and hair that stood up in all directions.
"Somethin' wrong?" He slurred slightly, shaking his head to clear off the last vestiges of sleep. She fought the urge to slide her fingers into his hair and smooth the rough edges of his weariness away. Her stomach was falling again, like it always did when she was around him.
She was SICK of it.
Monica primly slid her knees together. "No. Nothing's wrong. I didn't mean to wake you John, why don't you go back to sleep? We'll get moving again in a minute." She shifted a little against the hood, considering sliding off to the side since she couldn't move forward without being right up against him. His knees brushed hers.
"Nah, something's bothering you." A tired smile flitted across his mouth. "Though that ain't a surprise really, considering we're basically running from the law. Things I really don't care to think about just after waking up." John tapped a finger against her knee. "I know you well enough to see you've been edgy. Something else is upsetting you. Something that's not about what we've been running from. Enough to make you beat up a car."
Monica wondered what made him think he knew her at all. After all, she'd been out here fantasizing about what it'd be like to leave him behind and be free of all the ties that had drawn her to D.C. in the first place. The X-files were gone now, weren't they? Monica wasn't even sure why they were traveling together. They could easily part ways and vanish. They'd be easier to find together than they would be on their own.
Glancing at his face as he waited, she immediately felt guilty for even thinking about ditching him. He'd been through enough in his life, hadn't he? Why she was suddenly getting a case of the jitters when it came to actually having what she wanted all along was beyond her.
It was easy to want. It wasn't so easy to HAVE.
"I'm just tired of running," Monica replied, wiping sweat from her nose. John followed her movements with odd eyes, and she curled her fingers into her palm. "We should start on our way again." When she sat up, she expected him to move out of her way, but he only stood there, completely still. Watching her face intently, he brushed the sweat from her cheeks with his thumb.
Monica sucked in a breath, pulling away cautiously. She hoped like hell the rubber band wasn't snapping back already. It wasn't the time...she hadn't been given enough space to think, much less make a decision based on his dark looks and the haunting way they'd been left all alone in this world, but for each other. A hard rock of fear rolled over in her stomach, had her lips flinching back as he reached for her again.
His face tightened into a frown. "See? Something's wrong. Tell me."
Monica's heart throbbed thickly, all the way to her fingers. Her throat turned as dry as the desert around them. As hot as the hood against her thighs, as she sat in an awkward position, trying to hold her body away from his without being obvious.
"I don't thinkÉ" Monica tripped over the words, clearing her throat over an arid lump of trepidation. She wasn't a coward, she told herself. She wasn't!
He dipped his knees, gaining her eyes. "You don't think what?"
Monica lifted her chin, pulling her knees closer to her stomach, the soles of her sneakers sliding along the grill. Firmly, she said, "I don't think we should be doing this."
John lifted his hands, showing his palms to the sky as he rolled his eyes in bemusement. "Doing what, Monica? Running?"
"Running together," she said quickly, on a burst of air. Then she sealed her lips together, digging her nails into the back of her other hand. John looked lost for a moment, completely shocked by what she said.
"What are you talking about?" he demanded, scowling. Monica directed her eyes over his shoulder, at the vast nothing stretched out on either side of them. Everything was flat, and everything was near dead from the heat. Just like where she'd grown up. "Monica, it'd be crazy to split up now. That's reckless thinking."
Monica ducked her head, avoiding his gaze. "It might be safer. They know we're traveling together, or I get the feeling that they do." She felt John roll his eyes again, probably thinking: 'There goes Monica with those feelings again.' She bristled, slamming her eyes back onto his. John nearly stepped back from the force of her stare. "We need to split up. Throw them off a little."
"YouÉ" John began, but shook his head and closed his mouth, squinting as if he couldn't see something. Pivoting, he walked away from her, stopping at the edge of the road, right in front of a cactus, hands on his hips. He stayed that way for at least three minutes, while Monica felt sick to her stomach. At least she was telling him. At least she hadn't just grabbed her bag out of the back, and begun walking away.
How could she explain it to him, that with all the running around, something had woken inside her? It was a realization of his expectations and how she'd been waiting for him all these years. And maybe the waiting was going to end, and she didn't know how to deal with that on top of everything else. The world was this close to ending. How could she tell him that she wasn't sure what she wanted anymore?
Monica slipped off the hood, standing awkwardly while she waited for John to face her again. When he did, she wished he hadn't. A shadow of realization had passed over his face, making his eyes darker than normal. Shades of anger.
"This isn't about them at all, is it?" John asked, walking toward her. He stopped a foot away, looking none-too-happy. "You've got a stick up your ass for a whole different reason, and you're just too damn scared to say anything about it."
She crossed her arms over her chest. "You're wrong," Monica said. "I don't want to see you get hurt." Or myself, she added silently. "Think about it, John. We could move quicker apart."
"No," John said simply, taking another step toward her. Monica's chest cramped up, a warning that she forced herself to ignore. "I may not be good at a lot of things when it comes to you, but I'm not a damn fool, Mon."
When she would have opened her mouth to say that wasn't what she meant, John stepped forward and wrapped his fingers around the back of her neck, pulling her face close to his. He didn't kiss her. Yet.
"We ain't splitting up," he said resolutely, and then very carefully placed his lips over hers. Monica blinked, standing utterly still. She'd seen this coming for weeks, ever since he'd hugged her and whispered in her ear that things were gonna be better now. Somehow it still hadn't prepared her for the reality of John kissing her.
A hunger ignited in her stomach as he cupped her face and kissed her harder, licking at her bottom lip like it was something tasty. Monica swallowed hard and kissed him back, curling her arms around his waist and leaning against him. When he parted her lips and pressed his tongue past her teeth, she held onto him tighter. Touched her tongue to his and let the heat burn through her in a harsh spread of fire.
It had been so LONG since anyone but Brad had kissed her, and even longer since she'd kissed someone in return. It felt good, like taking that first sip of coffee and not burning your tongue, like sleeping in on Sundays with the blinds pulled down. It just felt good.
When she started shaking, John pulled back and cursed, kissing her hard on the forehead and pulling her deeper into his arms, holding her like she was something precious. Monica dug her face into his shoulder and felt like the coward she'd told herself she wasn't, unable to face up to reality after waiting so long for it to finally happen.
"Shit, I'm sorry Monica," John said, sighing deep in his throat. His hands stroked over her back and Monica bit her bottom lip. "I didn't mean...well, I did...but, ah shit."
"It's okay," Monica whispered, releasing him from her arms, stepping back. She wiped her palms over her red cheeks as if she could cool them that way. "You were upset. Maybe it WAS stupid to suggest...I just think we might needÉ " She took a deep breath. "I think we might need a little time apart."
John pulled back as if she'd slapped him. Then his eyes narrowed. "I see how it is. It's not them you're worried about. It's me." He nodded, repetitively. "Well alright then...I'll just get my bags, and be out of your aura or whatever you like to call it."
"John!" Dammit, now she felt guiltier than ever. It wasn't like she was talking about never seeing him again. She froze, watching him walk around the car, unsure. What WAS she talking about? Talking about a pile of baggage a mile high, she thought ruefully. Following his quick strides, she slammed the car door he had opened before he could grab his stuff. "I didn't MEAN it like that!"
She was sure of that much. She didn't mean anything that could put that horrible look onto his face.
John grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her against the car, holding her there. Monica's eyes widened, her body stiffening as he leaned against her, glaring into her eyes.
"Just what DID you mean? Huh? I kiss you...God Dammit, I KISS you and you tell me we need some time apart." His fingers tightened on her shoulders, and Monica fought the urge to struggle away. Lines furrowed his brow. "You're hell on my ego, Mon."
"I only meant," she began, much more calmly than she felt. "That maybe we should take an afternoon away from each other. I want to think about some things. I don't think that's something that should piss you off."
"You weren't talking about taking a day off," he muttered, jaw clenched. "You were talking about running just when things were getting interesting."
Monica didn't dignify that with an answer, tilting her chin haughtily. But her eyes betrayed her, like they always did.
John nodded, grimacing. "If you don't want me Monica, I'll back off. It's not like I've been forcing myself on you." He stared down at their bodies, pressed together as they were. Monica raised an eyebrow.
"I mean, usually," he qualified.
"I know that."
"Then what's going on?" John demanded, not letting up. "You're going hot and cold all of a sudden. I can't figure out what's changed."
"Everything!" Monica shouted, past endurance. She shoved him back a few steps, causing him to nearly fall on his ass, but he caught himself. "Nothing! Dammit John, what's changed for YOU? I never thoughtÉ" Monica shut her mouth, frustrated by the lack of words to explain. There was no way to tell him that she'd never expected him to want her in return and actually do something about it, even as slow as he was going about it.
"I'm no good with words," John said roughly, touching her chin. Monica didn't pull back, couldn't. His face was open, hypnotizing. "You know that. But I... If you want me, you gotta know I've been wanting you too. I'm just not very good at showing it."
"You've shown it fine," Monica replied nervously, reaching up to tuck a slash of hair behind her ear. John caught her wrist before she could, holding it while he gently pushed the hair away from her face.
He kissed her again, more sure this time, with fervor. When he pulled away, they were both gasping and Monica reached for him once more, missing his lips when he turned his face away. Kissed his cheek.
"You gotta make a choice, Mon," he panted into her ear, holding her in place so that she couldn't wriggle free and try to get to his mouth. "I can't do this halfway. I've been wanting you too long to kiss you and forget about it."
Choices. Monica looked down the road where they'd come from. Heat littered the horizon, cloaked around them like a mosquito net. Why did she have to make a choice NOW, when things were so confused?
"There's a motel about an hour back," she whispered, setting her chin on his shoulder. "Maybe we can try to work this out of our system so we don't get ourselves killed?"
"I won't just want it one time," John warned, still not looking at her. "Monica, not half way."
"I know. But I want you and I want my time to think about it, too. Why can't I have them both?"
His cheek was hot against hers, the stubble scratching her as he pulled back far enough to press his forehead against her shoulder.
"Let's go," he muttered into the damp cloth of her shirt. "But you better hurry with your thinking. I've done enough thinking for both of us over the years and I'm damn sick of it."
Monica unlocked the door, stepping into the muggy motel room with John just behind her. The curtains were thick, covering the windows as if they'd never been opened. Her heart slowed when she glimpsed the bed, splashed by sunlight from the open door. She jumped when he shut it, leaving the room in sweat-weighted shadows.
John moved behind her, slipping his arms around her waist and pulling her back against him. Fitting their bodies together.
She sighed and tilted her head at an angle when he brushed her hair away from her neck, baring her throat to him. John placed a soft kiss on the nape, lingering there and breathing on her skin. Monica shivered, a drop of sweat rolling down her back beneath the cotton t-shirt. She stared at the wall while he palmed her shoulders, massaging the tension away. Whispered in her ear that her skin was so soft. Then he turned her around, dragging his lips along the surface of her bare collarbone.
Knees really trembled, she realized. It had never happened to her before. No one had ever meant enough to her, besides Brad, and she didn't allow herself to think of him very often. She should have run away from him long before she actually did.
"You sure, Mon?" John asked, lifting his head. His eyes were gleaming, glossed over with arousal, his face flushed. Her breathing picked up.
"I'm sure I've wanted you for a long time," was her reply. Monica hoped he took it at face value, because it was all she could offer when she wasn't even sure about tomorrow.
Another kiss, lips sticking together as she slipped her fingers beneath John's shirt and felt the muscles in his belly contract at her touch. His tongue was hot in her mouth, their breaths slapping at each other when she pushed his shirt further up, flattening her hand against his skin.
They stopped kissing each other long enough for him to tear the shirt off over his head, and grab her again, pushing her toward the bed. It hit the back of her knees and they both fell, his weight stealing her breath, his lips sealing onto hers like a pact. Monica moaned at the feel of him on top of her, splaying her palms along his bare back, distracted by the thought: ' I'm going to make love with John. I'm going to screw John. I'm going to fuck John.'
He shoved her t-shirt up her torso, and Monica raised her arms, letting him pull it from her body and toss it over his shoulder. His smile was a delighted glow in the dark, and he pushed toward her, an animal peering from the loneliness of his den. Monica hissed when he took her nipple into his mouth through the white lace of her bra, nipping like she was a new toy he'd been waiting to play with for far too long.
She liked this kind of heat. Her brain turned to mush when he pushed the cups of her bra down and licked around the areola of her right breast, sucking the nipple teasingly between his lips and turning his eyes up to her. Her stomach clenched in reaction.
Monica was suddenly glad--joyously glad--that John wasn't a man of many words.
Her back arched sharply when he slid his hand down to rub her sex through the shorts, cupping her firmly and squeezing. A severed moan snapped from her throat and into his mouth when he moved up, taking her bottom lip between his teeth, tugging until she kissed him furiously in return. Monica hugged his neck as she rode the pressure he placed on her crotch.
The ceiling was a neutral place to look, and her eyes fell on it when her head tipped back against the pillow. John began pulling the shorts down over her hips, jerking them open and over her thighs. She kicked them down the rest of the way, shoving them to the end of the bed with her toes. Nearly nake d now, because she hadn't had time to grab any underwear.
"Damn, you're hot." Growled. His eyes burning everywhere. And maybe they weren't the prettiest words she'd ever heard, but she'd never cared for sugary speeches that said nothing. She could SEE how much he wanted her. Monica's toes curled up, mouth falling open. She felt John's attention on her, focused on her pleasure like a wolf on its prey.
Didn't he look a little too pleased with himself?
She wanted to give it back as good as she was getting it. He was smirking a little too hard, eyes glittering. Pulled in by the way his mouth parted, teeth glinting at her, Monica smiled slyly. Staring him square in the eyes, she unsnapped his jeans and brought the zipper down. He gave a grunt when she cupped his erection through his boxer-briefs, and set his forehead against hers, breathing hard.
"Christ, you're gonna kill me," he muttered as she stroked him, moving to straddle her hips and pull her hand away from his cock. His fingers were trembling, little shocks that traveled from him and into her. "You'd like that, wouldn't ya?"
"Not hardly," she whispered, and grabbed the back of his neck to pull him down for a long kiss. Teeth clashed as he went without struggle, gladly swallowing her gasps as he parted her thighs and slid his legs between them. Her fingers followed the trail of his spine down his back, grasped his ass over his pants, pausing there to tease. He chuckled and squirmed away from her touch, his hair tickling her chin as he ducked into her neck. Monica tucked eager fingers into the loops of his jeans and pulled them away from his hips.
He seemed fascinated by the taste of her skin, slipping his palms around her breasts, distracted by her breathing, so she took advantage of the moment to drag his underwear off as well.
John gasped, pulling back. "Whoa," he said. "Slow down. We don't have to rush this. We got a nice sturdy bed, and as far as I'm concerned, this is gonna take me a nice...long...time."
He grinned at her again, that smug bastard. Grinned like he had her trapped and she wasn't going to be going anywhere until he said so. Monica swore at him, something in Spanish that he couldn't understand, wondering why he thought they had so much time, when they were wanted dead.
"Slow," he said again, pressing his lips onto her chin lightly. His stubble scraped her neck. "Like this." Maintaining eye contact, he laved his tongue down the column of her throat, licking the dip between her breasts. Monica gave a shuddery sigh, chopping it off at the end when he unlatched her bra. She sat up a little, letting it slide down her arms, dropping it to the floor beside the bed.
When she turned back toward him, John stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. She nodded warily, even though she trusted him more than she'd trusted anyone her entire life. Being empathetic didn't lead to illusions about humanity, so he was a refreshing man to know. What you saw was what you got. Mostly.
Wrapping an arm around her stomach, he pressed against her back. Monica closed her eyes, grinding her teeth together, trying to stay still as the length of his cock rubbed against the curve of her waist and his index finger slid between the folds of her sex. She bit her lip, a cry gurgling in her throat as he moved her legs further apart, urging her to sit on his thighs, trapping his penis between his stomach and her ass.
John's fingers plied her, lips attached to her shoulder blade, and Monica found her head falling back on her neck, a groan bursting through her clenched teeth. His thumb pressed convulsively on her clit, making her hips jerk in twitchy circles against his erection. John's teeth came out, nipping at her skin, his grip on her becoming tighter as their passion rose.
"I can't believe," she started to say, but John placed his free hand over her mouth, like he didn't want to hear a THING about disbelief. Funny, coming from him. Monica sucked his thumb into her mouth, delighting at the way he moaned, long and low, his hips thrusting convulsively into her backside.
Enough, she thought with a cry, when his finger thrust inside of her.
Grabbing his hand and pulling him forcefully out of her, Monica spun on his lap, kissing his surprised mouth. She slipped her tongue past his lips, wrapping determined fingers around his cock and setting herself down on him with a hard thrust. Monica tossed her head back, eyes squeezed tight at the pleasant intrusion, and John dropped to his back on the bed, like a fallen man.
"Y...you..." John shook his head, jaw locked around words that he couldn't speak. His fingers dug deeply into her ass, hard enough to hurt. Monica, when she could breathr again, smiled down at his stupefied expression.
Then she lifted herself off of him, until he was almost completely out of her, and set her hips back down. John shouted a curse, seizing up around her, stomach muscles bunching, his shoulders lifting from the bed. His lips were pulled back into a grimace that made Monica feel like a queen. She set a steady, fast pace that had her thighs quivering and sweat dripping down her temples.
In the near black of the room, John's skin gleamed with perspiration, his pelvis slamming up into hers as the pulse of lust throbbed through them. Monica reveled in the power, dragging her hands over her own body, threading her fingers through her hair and baring her teeth.
Let's see who has control, she thought, a vivid need for power bursting in her chest. Let's see who's calling the shots now. She couldn't be had... couldn't, even this way, even by HIM. Monica Reyes was NOT about to be anybody's forever. Chances were that there wasn't going to be around forever anyway.
She heard him grunt beneath her, and abruptly she found herself on her back with her wrists trapped against the bed and him pushing himself back between her thighs, thrusting sharply into her. Monica cried out, arching against the bed in fury and desire.
Nobody's anything, she told herself. Nobody's something. She'd been alone so LONG. How could she be someone's anything?
Half afraid, half wanting it, Monica dragged hazy eyes open and found his face over her, drawn into a deep scowl of passion, red like a bloody flag waving in the wind. Sweat fell from his nose onto her chin.
"Not half way," John muttered, and then maneuvered both her wrists beneath one of his hands, grabbing her thigh with the other and raising it toward her shoulder. Monica gasped, unable to breathe as he thrust inside her again. A slow, torturous drag of his hardened flesh. Over and over while she writhed under him, intoxicated by the heat wrapped around them, fighting its way up inside her until her limbs turned to steel and her insides melted into jelly and she SHOOK.
"You wanted me," he whispered in her ear as he continued to plow into her, voice jagged compared to his rigid control. Lines creased his forehead. "Now you got me, Mon. This is what you've wanted, right? What're you gonna do now? Back way from it? No, nuh-uh. Sorry sweetheart," he gasped, and his lips curled back. "Too late for that."
He'd always been a prick, she thought, and came again. John muttered something that wasn't really a word while he fucked her into the mattress, finally letting go of her wrists so she could dig her nails into his back and he could tuck his arms beneath her body, bucking into her with abandon.
Hungry for his pleasure, Monica sucked John's earlobe between her lips, tonguing the tip. He stilled against her, every muscle tensing. Then he groaned once, and came hard, shuddering on top of her.
"Shit!"
They had both been staring at the ceiling, faces masked in shock like they'd been hit by an angry hurricane, when John suddenly swore again. Monica grimaced and stayed very still as he rolled onto his stomach, bringing his face over hers.
"What?" she asked, acutely aware of how naked she was and that the sweat wasn't even cooling on her body because it was so damned hot.
"We didn't protect ourselves," John said, looking worried. Monica felt her face go white, a brief panic spurting through her, making her heart thump in terror before her mind cleared, and she remembered.
"I'm protected John," she told him. He looked so relieved that Monica was nearly offended. She rolled away from him and sat at the side of the bed, looking for her clothes in the relative darkness. "We women-folk have a little something called the pill."
John shifted behind her and kissed the back of her neck, causing a shiver of memory to drive a crack right down her center. "Don't stiffen up on me now."
"I'm not," Monica replied defensively, grabbing her bra from the floor. But all she could think was that they'd just screwed the whole dynamic of their relationship up, and she was an expert at screwing up relationships. "We should get going. We've been here too long."
"This how it's gonna be?" John demanded, taking the bra from her, balling it up in his closed fist. Monica sighed and turned to him. His face was still a little red, probably from anger.
"How do you want it to be?"
John shook his head, and moved to sit at the edge of the mattress, staring down at the lingerie in his hands. Sighed. "I don't know, I guess. I just don't want you acting like this again. Scares me, ya know?"
She did know. It scared her too. The fact that just when John seemed to be coming around, she wanted nothing more than to get AWAY.
"I'm sorry, John. I'm not...I can'tÉ" Monica scowled, feeling naked in more ways than one. She stared at the tense line of his shoulders, at the strong curve of his spine. John Doggett had been the center of her universe for years. The frightening part was that she felt more for him now than she had then.
Maybe...just maybe, she'd only fallen in love with him today. Maybe she'd been fooling herself all along that it would be EASY to love him. She felt sick deep inside, in a way that only happens when you figure out you've been lying to yourself.
"I know," John replied, and then handed her the bra back. Their fingers touched, eyes catching, holding. Something hard moved into his gaze. "One way or the other, we stick together. Whether you want to be with me like this or not."
Monica sighed. "You got it."
It...and her, even if she couldn't be somebody's something.
They left the room quietly, without a word between each other. Leaving the door unlocked behind them, they turned away from the black hole of heat. John smiled tensely and cupped her bare elbow as they walked on the cracked sidewalk, toward the parking lot. Twig-like yellowed grass stuck up as if it was cowlick on the earth, drawing Monica's eyes and sympathy. John held onto her gently like he didn't want to scare her off, but that made her edgier than if he would have just grabbed her.
She walked carefully, knees still rubbery from being tucked up near John's shoulders as he pounded inside of her. The awareness of that was between them, a new connection born that she couldn't shake off.
Did she want to?
Don't think about it, Monica told herself. He was going to give her all the time she needed. That was just what who he was. And that was why she hated herself so much for being unsure.
They'd done it. The big IT.
Years of not doing it, and suddenly they had. Monica felt a little lightheaded still, but didn't stumble, striding forward. Didn't want him to see her fall.
The car gleamed in the sun, alone in the parking lot, with the blur of light blinking from its skin. Monica paused and John turned toward her, concerned. She shook her head.
He wanted to be with her.
John kissed her briefly, a dry peck on the lips before walking around the car and getting into the driver's side. She touched her mouth, wondering at this change between them. Wondering how to act and the right things to say. Oh, he'd give her time, but his patience wouldn't be easy. It would be hard earned and shaky.
And they'd both have to deal with her decision.
Monica slipped into the passenger's side, slamming the door after her, and buckling her seat belt as John started up the car. He put his arm over her seat to look behind him, driving in reverse to get out of their parking space. She watched his hands as he cranked the wheel to the right, angling the car toward the exit.
He was silent, thoughtful. Monica's chest grew tight in the heaviness of quiet, but when she reached to turn on the radio, John stopped her with a single finger on her wrist. She looked up at him in surprise, only to find him shaking his head, a half-smile playing on his mouth.
It was sadder than anything, and she felt immediately contrite, pulling her hand back. So he didn't need the radio anymore. Okay then, she could deal with that. Hopefully.
Monica shifted in the seat, easing herself into a more comfortable position. They hadn't figured out exactly where they'd go, but she imagined it would be somewhere just as hot, with crumbling buildings and slick-sheeted beds.
In the side-view mirror, through the words 'Objects may be closer than they appear' she caught a glimpse of the motel sign swinging reluctantly on its rusty chains. Monica frowned in bemusement. It wasn't windy. The air was so dead it was difficult to breathe in.
John placed his palm very lightly on her thigh, where the skin was bare and a little tired from the strain they'd both put on it. She glanced down at his large palm, stunned by the gentle, without-pressure way he had set it there, even as he made his intentions clear with a strangely open look in her direction. Her heart gave a throbbing beat, thickly rolling over. And then she forced her eyes back onto the side-view mirror. Watching the sign get further away.
Maybe the sun was pushing against it, moving it from the place it had always sat at rest, disturbing the status quo. Monica placed her hand over John's, palming his knuckles, and turning her gaze to the road ahead.
She'd bet, double or nothing, that it was going to be a bumpy ride.