Title:  The Chronicles of John and Monica:  Tequila
Author:  Agent Myers
Rating:  R (a very strong R)
Summary:  "The last time I drank tequila I woke up in the john with my head
in a toilet.  Don't remember how I got there or why I wasn't wearing any
pants, but...I decided then and there than tequila was not for John
Doggett."
Keywords:  DRR, H, excessive drinking, nookie
Spoilers:  None.
Archive:  Sure, just let me know where they're going!
Disclaimer:  They're not mine.  Duh. 
Feedback:  Always welcome! and encouraged!
Author's Notes:  I've been wanting to write a more light-hearted story for
awhile (a big change from my usual angst/romance-fic), and if there's one
thing that's funny, it's a drunk person.  And when two people get drunk
together, it's twice the fun.  I wouldn't say this is my best work, however.
I just hope you don't think it sucks.


***


The Chronicles of John and Monica:  Tequila
by agent myers


***



John Doggett glanced up at the clock.  

"Christ, it's only three o'clock."  He said aloud, dropping his pen in
mid-air.  Monica looked up at him and sighed.  

"I know, and thanks for reminding me, by the way.  I hate Friday's...they
never *freakin'* end.  Got any big plans for the weekend, John?" She said,
closing a case file and adding it to a stack.  

They had started calling each other by their first names several weeks
earlier.  It had taken Monica by surprise when he dropped the "agent", and
then the last name altogether.  But she liked it.  It meant that he trusted
her - and maybe even liked her - as a partner.

"Naw...big race this Sunday.  Looking forward to Jeff Gordon getting his ass
kicked, but that's about it.  You?"

She shook her head.  "Cleaning out the closet...shaving my legs..."

Doggett raised an eyebrow.  "Sounds interesting..."

Monica frowned.  "Yeah..."  She opened another case file and sighed.

Doggett thought to himself for a moment and then started to shake his head.
"Is there some way that we can blame the FBI for turning us into dull,
boring people?"

Monica shrugged.

"Here we are, complaining that the day isn't over, but what the hell we got
to look forward to when it IS over?"  He said.  Monica smiled at his
back-woods dialect.

"The Red Shoe Diaries?"

John blinked.  "The what?"

"Never mind."

He shook his head and returned to his work, making a couple of pen marks
here and there.  They sat in silence for a moment.

"So let's go out, then." Monica said, breaking the quiet.

"Hmm?"

"You and me.  Let's go out tonight."

He looked up at her.  "You mean...a date?"

Woops, Monica thought.  

"Oh, no...no...nothing like that, just...ah...some drinks.  Maybe some
pool."

John thought on this for a long moment.  "Okay."  He shrugged his shoulders.

"Good." Monica said, smiling.  She returned to her work, while her mind
wandered elsewhere.  What would she wear?   

To Monica, it was a date indeed.  She'd toyed with the idea of coming on to
John Doggett since they'd started working together several months ago.  But
her guts always failed her, and she couldn't bring herself to even make even
a mildly flirtatious remark.  She'd tried brushing up against him a few
times, but good God, the man didn't have a clue.  But maybe, just maybe, if
she could get him out of the office and into a more relaxed and fun
setting...

...and maybe put a couple of beers in him...

...then perhaps he would loosen up and take the hint.  She hoped anyway.


***


Monica dabbed a bit of perfume on her wrist and neck, and reached for her
earrings.  She never wore earrings, but tonight was a special occasion.  She
winced as she poked the earring through the holes, which were semi-closed.
She picked up the second earring, and promptly dropped it into the sink.  As
she grabbed for it, it slipped down the drain.

"Shit."

She sighed and opened the cabinet to look for another pair, when she saw it.
A condom.  She picked it up and looked at it.  It was in fine shape,
certainly usable.  

She laughed despite herself.  What, did she really think she was going to
get him into bed?  Did she *want* to get him into bed?

She tucked the package deep into her jeans pocket.  In her wildest
late-afternoon fantasies, yes, she could imagine herself sleeping with him.
But she knew there was a certain amount of professionalism to uphold in
their line of work.  But she could at least go out and have a good time
without indulging those fantasies...the bureau couldn't tell them how to
live their lives on the weekend, now could they?

She scrutinized herself in the mirror, and found imperfections that no man
in the world would notice.  Suddenly the doorbell rang.  Damn the man...he
was fifteen minutes early.  

She took one last hurried look in the mirror and composed herself before
walking calmly to the door. She opened it.  

"Hey, John." she said, welcoming him in.

He smiled and said the same, while looking her over.  "You look good."  He
commented casually.

Her stomach fluttered as he looked her over.  "Thanks." She said.  "You
too."

And he did, she thought.  He wore black jeans - tight, but not too tight -
with black combat-type boots and a simple white t-shirt, accompanied by a
bomber jacket.  He seemed to radiate masculinity, and looking at him made
her light-headed.  

He seemed immediately relaxed, which was so unlike his eight-to-five
demeanor.  She, on the other hand, couldn't stop her stomach from doing
flip-flops.  She needed a drink...bad.


***


O'Malley's was a hip little place, and Monica immediately liked it.  The
bartender knew John, and set them up with a free round of drinks.  

"I'll have a...Coors, and she'll have..." he gestured to me.

"...the same." I said, smiling.  "And throw a shot of tequila on there too."

John looked at Monica in disbelief.  "Tequila, Monica?"

"It's my favorite shot."  She grinned.

John smiled and studied her for a moment.  "I'll have one, too, Jimmy."  He
said to the bartender.

When their drinks arrived, Monica took two long gulps of the beer.  She
liked the short, but powerful buzz it gave her.  They chatted idly about
nothing in particular, but seemed to enjoy it.  When an awkward silence came
between them, Monica gestured to the two shots of tequila that remained
untouched on the bar top.

"I was hoping you'd forget about those."  John said.

"Scared?"  She teased.

"The last time I drank tequila I woke up in the john with my head in a
toilet.  Don't remember how I got there or why I wasn't wearing any pants,
but..."

Monica burst into laughter, which made John chuckle.

"...I decided then and there than tequila was not for John Doggett." He
said, still laughing.  She touched his arm, still grinning with amusement.
This made him smile.  He had never really seen her laugh.  

And he couldn't remember when he'd laughed like that, either.

Despite his tequila horror story, he raised the shot.  She did the same, and
they drank together.  John winced terribly, and stuffed the lime into his
mouth.  Even though her throat burned, Monica refused the lime.  

"How about another?" She asked him.  

"How about a root canal instead?" He responded sarcastically.  

"Can't take it?"  She asked him, grinning.

He turned and faced her fully.  "Are you trying to get in a pissing contest
with me?  Because you will lose, sister."

She moved a little closer to him, feeling a bit more bold.  "Is that so?
Bring it on, then, tough guy."

The bartender looked up from the classified ads and shook his head, laughing
silently to himself.

John gave Monica a crooked, thoughtful smile, and she was suddenly taken
aback.  He stared into her eyes, and he looked like he wanted to reach out
and grab her at any moment.

But instead, he looked away, and ordered another round of beers, and two
shots of vodka.  Monica's stomach turned.  She hated vodka, probably the way
John hated tequila.  But she took it anyway, resisting the urge to gag as
she downed the liquid.  

John smacked his lips, looking utterly satisfied.  "Now THAT is a drink." He
said, grinning at her.  "Too rough on you, little girl?"

She glared at him.  "Hardly."  He glared back at her, the corner of his
mouth turning up in a sly grin.  His eyes were smoldering, like they always
were, but just a little more glazed than usual.  She had to take a swig of
her beer to tear herself away from those eyes.

He chuckled.  "Got any interesting drinking stories to tell?"

"Oh yeah...lots 'o those." She said, taking another drink.  Monica began to
tell her stories, while John listened intently.  He was beginning to lose
track of how much he'd had to drink.  He guessed he was just too busy
enjoying her company to notice.  It had been a long time since he'd been out
with a woman, and although this wasn't technically a date, it felt a lot
like one.  

He would never deny that Monica was a beautiful woman.  She was
smart...something he really liked in a girl.  But her wit was the thing that
made her so attractive.  She'd tell him where he could go in a heartbeat.
But he never knew that she could be so much fun.  And as the alcohol coursed
through him, he was starting to think and feel things that he had tried to
keep buried since they started working together.

"...and she opens the closet door, and her husband is pissing all over the
pile of clothes!"

The both erupted into laughter.  Again, she touched John's arm, and his
time, he noticed.  When their laughter subsided, and she was still touching
him.  He looked more serious now, and his eyes darkened with something that
could only be described as desire.

Suddenly, she looked a little uncomfortable, and he wondered if he had
misjudged her signals.  He looked out at the dance floor as "Unchained
Melody" began to play.  

"I love this song." Monica said, putting down the empty beer bottle.

He motioned to the dance floor.  "Wanna dance?"

She smiled.  "Sure.  Just not sure if I can stand up..." she said, getting
up slowly from the barstool.

He helped her, putting his arm around her.  "Yeah, well, you can't be sure
you're really drunk until you stand up."  At this, he wavered a little, but
caught himself.  This got a grin from Monica, and the two headed for the
dance floor.

The lights were turned down low as they made their way into the sea of
swaying couples.  He took her in his arms, but not too close, and they began
to dance, moving slowly to the rhythm of the Righteous Brothers.  He felt
that she was tense in his arms, but she smiled like she was perfectly
comfortable.  

But she was tense.  She had never been this close to him, and the feeling
was somewhat alien, although nice.  The feel of his hand on her back and his
natural, woodsy smell made her tremble, and made her warm inside.  As she
started to relax, she caught his eye, and smiled sweetly.  

He wanted to kiss her.  And he would have, if he hadn't remembered one
thing.

They were partners.

But the alcohol was clouding his judgment.  As they moved together to the
mesmerizing melody of the song, he couldn't help but respond to her
closeness.  Even though he sensed her nervousness, he closed the gap between
them.  To his surprise, she laid her head on his shoulder.

He bit his lip as her arms curled around him slowly.  It had been so long.

Monica Reyes was in trouble.  She was absolutely sure he could feel her
heart crashing against her chest.  She fought the urge to press her body
against him.  She was on fire everywhere.  Butterflies danced in her
stomach, and made her dizzy.  

But when his hand began to move through her hair, she really lost it.  

She lifted her head from his shoulders and looked at him.  She wanted him to
kiss her.  Why wasn't he?  

She almost didn't notice, but the song had ended.  The magical spell that
she was under promptly broke as he slowly let go of her.  He seemed
regretful that the song ended, or maybe that he had not kissed her when he
had the chance.  She wasn't sure.  But another song began, one with a
powerful beat that she'd heard on the radio sometimes.  Hearing the words
made her cheeks burn...

A who da man dat love to make you moist and wet
A who da man dat love to make you moan and sweat
A who da man dat love to make you scream out YES!

He placed a hand on the small of her back and led her to her seat.  She felt
awkward now, and John sensed it.  But he wasn't going to let it spoil her
fun.  He knew that a few more drinks would get rid of the rigidity they were
both feeling.

"How about another shot of tequila?" He asked her, smiling.  "I have to
prove that I can drink you under the table."

She grinned devilishly.  "You just go ahead and try, John Doggett."

John had the bartender set them up with five shots apiece.  John felt that
he could puke just looking at the amber-colored liquid, but he wouldn't tell
Monica that.  Then a thought struck him...he wondered if Monica thought that
he was trying to get her drunk.  Daring her to drink him under the table was
basically an invitation for them both to get hammered.  Having sex with her
certainly was not his intention, even though it had crossed his mind.

Actually, it was consuming his mind.

The question was...did she want to get drunk enough to ensure that they
ended up in bed together?

He dismissed the thought...he didn't have any evidence that she wanted him
that way.  It was just the alcohol doing the thinking here, toying with his
brain, among other things.

With the salt shaker and a stack of limes, they took the first shot.  For
John, it went down so hard that he had all but swallow the lime.  He
squeezed his eyes shut as it burned down his throat, and turned his stomach.

When he opened them, Monica was grinning.  "One, tequila, two, tequila,
three tequila..."

"Floor." John finished, wincing.

"And we've still got four more to go, buddy.  Are you sure you can hang?"

With his pride on the line, John defiantly took another shot glass in his
hands.  He sprinkled more salt on his thumb than before, and downed another
one.  Monica did the same. She chased it down with a large amount of beer,
though.

And she promptly belched.

John's eyes widened and he nodded his head in approval.  "Impressive.  I'm
afraid if I do that I'll blow chunks."

Monica wrinkled her nose.  "Mmm...there's a nice, graphic image in my head."
They both laughed.

"Two down."  He said, sighing.  In the back of his mind, he really wondered
if he could 'hang'.  Still, he took the third shot in his hands, toasted
Monica, and downed it.  His stomach lurched, and a wave of nausea came over
him so strong that he had to put his head down on the bar.

"Ohhhhhh..." He moaned.

He heard Monica laughing at him.  "Maybe we should switch to
somethin'...fruity."  She joked.  Now he was determined.

"Don't you laugh at me, woman.  I told you I was drinking your ass under the
table, and damn it!  I will!"  She stuck her tongue out at him, daring him.
Looking her straight in the eye, he picked up the fourth shot and slammed
it.  The look on his face was not pleasant.  He swallowed hard, pushing down
whatever threatened to come up.

With one shot to go, they looked at each other and realized the awful truth.
They were both so screwed up that they could hardly see straight.  If there
hadn't been the bar in front of him, John would have crumpled like a sack of
potatoes and fallen flat on his face.  Monica, on the other hand, was
balanced, though her eyes betrayed her state.  They were half-closed, and
glazed over.  

"Do you have a cigarette?" She asked, slurring her words.

"Why the hell would I have a cigarette?"  He responded, using his hands to
illustrate.

"Dunno.  Don't you...like...smoke?"

He looked at her, stunned.  "Don't you?"

"Yeah...but, see, here's the thing.  I thought that you wouldn't like all
that smoke all over you, so I dint bring 'em."  She laughed.

"Monica," he grinned, "We're in a BAR."

She looked around the room.  "So we are."  She said thoughtfully.

He chuckled.  "Hey, Jimmy?"

"Yeah." The bartender responded, looking up from his newspaper.

"Pack of Morley Lights."

The bartender handed John the cigarettes, and John passed over the money.
He opened the package and lit a cigarette using a pack of matches that lay
on the counter.  He handed it to Monica.  Her eyes widened with delight.

"Oh, John...thank you.  You dunno how much I've been cravin' this."  She
inhaled the smoke, and her eyes rolled back in her head.  She exhaled
moments later, letting out a sigh of pure satisfaction.  John watched with
interest.

"Actually, I do know.  I used to smoke."  He lit a cigarette for himself,
vowing that he wouldn't start his habit again, that it would only be
tonight.  The smoke caught his lungs by surprise, and he coughed.  But the
second drag was much easier, and very pleasant.  The high it gave him made
him feel a hundred times more drunk.

And the night went on.

They drank, they smoked like chimneys.  And they talked.  Monica became more
and more flirtatious, and John began to acknowledge it in his own way.  They
both saw where this was heading, but neither of them had the will - or the
desire - to stop it from happening.

When the bar closed, they were herded out into the street.  Monica took
John's arm for support, and together they walked, attempting to hail a cab.
Once they were in the cab, he had to tell the driver where to go.  The way
things had gone that night, if he invited her over for a nightcap, he knew
that they would sleep together.  

"Wanna come to my...ah...you know...house?  For coffee?"

She immediately nodded, and said  "Yeah."  She was drunk, but not gone.  She
knew she was saying 'yes' to more than coffee.  He hoped, anyway.

When the cab reached his house, John paid the cab driver.  They stumbled up
the walk together.  John fumbled with his keys.  His brain unable to command
his fingers, he dropped them in the shrub. 

"Shit."

He and Monica both crawled underneath the bush.  John leaned over Monica,
searching the top of the shrub.  Monica was giggling.  And John was losing
his balance.

They tumbled on the lawn, in the cold grass, John on top of Monica.  In
movie-style fashion, he looked down at the woman trapped beneath him.  Her
mouth was open, breathing heavily.  Her lips trembled.  Her eyes half-closed
and were full of want.

He dipped his head down and kissed her hard on the lips.

She took to his lips like she had been imagining all night long.  Her mouth
opened to his, and played with his tongue.  She groaned low in her throat,
signaling him onward.  Carnal desire guided them both, until Monica realized
something.

"John."

"Hm."

"We're on the lawn..."

He looked up.

"...and my ass is getting wet."

"Right." He said.  He kissed her again anyway, and rose up.

"Now, where the *hell* are those keys."

As soon as they made it in the door, the clothes began to fly.  They made a
trail up the stairs, to John's bedroom.  Semi-dressed, they fell on the bed
together, and began the fierce exploration of each other's bodies.  

He kissed her passionately now, while simultaneously removing her bra.  The
years of being married had not helped to improve this skill, however.  She
smiled at him awkwardly as he struggled with the simplest of fasteners.

"Damn." He said, as he finally released it.  They laughed together at this.

He removed the bra slowly, and looked her over, smiling.  Her skin was a
lovely color.  He trailed his fingers from her neck down to her breasts, and
across her stomach.  With his mouth his made this same journey, trying to
leave no spot unkissed.

She moaned with pleasure.  Her hands kneaded his shoulders, urging him on.

He removed the rest of her clothes, and continued to explore her bare flesh
with his hands and mouth.  Every inch of her was baby-soft.  He smiled in
the darkness at her, assuring that he was thoroughly enjoying himself.  

"You're beautiful..." He breathed softly against her skin.  

The months of wanting had done little to prepare Monica for this.  As many
times as she imagined it in her head, she could never have thought that she
would be this excited.  And he was only just using his hands, she thought.  

She could barely see his face in the darkness.  But the dim streetlight
flooded through the window, and reflected off of his body, and captured him
in the most wonderful way.  She bit her lip and caught her breath as his
fingertips touched the inside of her thigh.  

But something bothered Monica, and it was the fact that John still had pants
on.  As he continued the soft examination of her body, she unbuttoned his
jeans, and began to slide them off of his body.  This proved to be more
difficult than it looks in the movies, thought Monica.  He wiggled and she
tugged until they both began to laugh from the absurdity of the moment.

"Let me." He said, grinning, and with a severe lack of grace, removed the
offending garment.  Finally, they were skin to skin.  She found his skin
warm and inviting, and like he had taken great pleasure in the discovery of
her body, she did as well.  He laid on top of her, their lips meeting
fiercely.  She began to move beneath him, and he pressed into her.

By now he was dizzy and anxious for the inevitable.  He ached to be inside
her so much that it was almost physically painful.  His body responded to
her and he thought his head would explode.  His breath ragged, he lingered
at her opening, waiting for her to stop this.

"Are you sure about this?" He asked.  He was fully aware of the implications
of what was about to happen, and didn't want to do something they'd regret,
no matter how much he wanted it now.

"I'm sure." She said, almost pleadingly.

And with that, he entered her.  Her eyes closed for a moment, reveling in
the sensation.  She released a low moan from deep in her throat.  Gently he
eased into her, careful to not hurt her.  But she was wet, and she was
ready.

He kissed her softly as he moved within her.  He made no sounds, save for
the shallow, choppy breaths.  He took it slow, even though his body had
other plans.

"Mmm..." Monica groaned.  He looked down at her, and smiled at her lovingly.
Her fingers pressed into his back, urging him onward, deeper.

"You feel...wonderful..." He whispered.  Her lips were pressed against his
face, and he felt her smile.  He had no words to describe how he was really
feeling.  The sensations were intense, and he tried to recall the last time
he'd been in bed with a woman.

The last woman had been his wife, and that was far too long ago.

He'd been so engulfed in his life that he'd forgotten to live.  He'd
recognized Monica's attempts to flirt with him over the months, but he'd
never done anything about it.  Now, he wished he had a long time ago.

She whispered his name in his ear, and he could tell by the sound of her
voice that she was close.  If it weren't for the alcohol in him, he wouldn't
have been able to last this long.  But he felt himself close to going over
the edge the more she whispered to him.

"God, John..."

And she came hard, throwing her head back against the pillow and arching her
back.  Her nails dug into his skin.  Her cry sent him over the edge too, and
he came so hard against her that he became light-headed and dizzy.  He laid
his head in the crook of her neck as the waves washed over him soundlessly.
His body trembled as they laid in silence for a moment, breathless and
spent, slick with sweat, and utterly satisfied.

All that was heard for the next few minutes was the ragged breathing of John
and Monica.

Finally, he pulled his head up and looked at her.  Her eyes were half-closed
and her face was lined with perspiration.  She smiled, and so did he.

And neither of them could believe it had just happened.

"Is this...going to be strange in the morning?" She asked, a look of concern
on her face.

He shook his head.  "No.  I promise."  He assured her.


*****


She heard a bird chirping.  She stretched out in the bed, turning her face
into the pillow. 

And she smelled John.  She breathed in the scent of him, and smiled,
remembering where she was.  And she also remembered the night before.  The
images, though cloudy, began to flood her mind and her senses.  God...had
they really done what she remembered?

Her cheeks felt warm.

And she reached out for him, but her hand found only cool sheets.  She
opened her eyes, but he was not in the bed, or even in the room.  Instead,
she found a note beside her.


Monica,

Went to the store to grab us some
breakfast.  I didn't want to wake
you.  Be back soon.

-John


And below his name, he drew a little smiley face, which was very
uncharacteristic of him, but it made her smile.

She sat up in bed and looked around the room.  It was a nice room; all the
furniture matched, clothes were put away, and some decorations to brighten
the room.  It had a nice, masculine feel to it, and it was just what she
would expect of him.

She got up, and the first thing she thought of was a shower.  In his
bathroom, she found clean towels and some shampoo and conditioner.  He had
laid them out for her.

As she turned on the water and let it get warm, she thought about the
previous night's events.  She knew that she did not regret it, and she hoped
that he didn't either.  Though she'd had a lot to drink, she felt wonderful.
Her skin seemed to glow and her head was clear.  She would feel even better
after a shower.  

When she got out of the shower, her senses were met with the distinct scent
of cooking bacon.  As if on cue, Monica's stomach grumbled.  She toweled
off, and combed her wet hair.  Unable to find last night's clothes, she
opened John's closet, and found a line of white dress shirts.  

You can take a man out of the Marines, but you can take the Marine out of
the man.

She slipped one on, buttoned it and rolled up the sleeves.  A sudden wave of
nervousness passed over her as she made her way down the stairs.  

The smell of the bacon grew stronger as she entered the kitchen.  She caught
sight of John before he saw her, giving her time to look him over.  He was
wearing blue jeans today, and a gray USMC shirt.  She liked him in
T-shirts...it made the various muscles of his upper-body more visible.  She
watched him, smiling, as he flipped some bacon over in the pan.  He had set
the table in the kitchen...two place settings, side by side, with a vase of
white tulips as the centerpiece.  

Now this, I could get used to, she thought.

He spun around, with the pan in hand, and saw her.  His face lit up with a
smile.

"Mornin'."

She gave him a sweet smile.  "Somethin' smells good."

But he wasn't really listening to her.  He had caught the site of her,
wearing the white dress shirt.  It only covered half her thigh, he noted.
And with the light coming through the window behind her, her sleek
silhouette was visible through the fabric.  He bit his lip.

"I hope you're hungry.  I went all out."  He said, returning his attention
to the bacon, which was spraying hot grease all over his hand.  

She sat down at the table, and he hurriedly gathered everything and set it
on the table in front of her.  She sat in quiet awe as he poured her coffee,
and orange juice, and dished some food onto her plate. 

"More?" He asked.  She nodded.

She was grinning now.  "John...you have outdone yourself.  I'd never thought
I'd live to see the day when a MAN would make me breakfast."

He laughed.  "Don't you know?  It always starts out like that.  It's not
till later that we turn into fat, lazy slobs."  He laughed.  She did too,
and caught the implication that there would be a 'later."  She didn't mind
though.

"Did ya sleep good?" He asked, shoveling a mouthful of scrambled eggs into
his mouth.

"Actually, I slept great.  I don't usually sleep well in...strange
beds...but I was out like a rock.  I don't even remember anything after..."
She paused, looking for the words.

"After we had sex." He finished, and then chuckled as he stabbed a piece of
bacon and inhaled it.

She felt her cheeks turn a dozen shades of red.  She looked at him.

"I told you I wouldn't let it be weird." He said, and then paused.  "Are
you...okay...with last night?"  His face was serious.

"Yeah...of course.  It's just..."

"What?"  He asked.

"Well...I mean, when something like this happens, I always find myself
wondering...what's going to happen next.  I guess I think too much, don't
I?"

He shook his head and took a quick drink of coffee. 

"Of course not.  You want to know what I intend to do about this, rather
than just assume."

"Yeah.  Exactly."

He put down his fork, and pondered for a moment.  Then he smiled, took her
hand and said:

"I don't know what will happen.  But I hope we can...see...each other.  I
hope somethin' good happens."

Monica smiled, squeezing his hand.  "So you're not going to kick me to the
curb?"

He laughed.  "Naw...I'll keep ya around for awhile."  He joked.  "If that's
what you want."

She nodded.  "I do."

And his eyes averted downward, to her lips.  He leaned in and kissed her,
just once, softly, and on the lips.  And then, Monica had a crazy thought.

That maybe this was what it feels like to fall in love...




*******

~F~


To be continued..............


Read my other X-Files fan fiction at
www.agentmyersexperience.digitalbomb.com