From: Scifinerdgrl <scifinerdgrl@mail.ev1.net>
Date: 1 Oct 2002 12:55:15 -0700
Subject: NEW: An Office Romance (7/10)
Source: atxc

An Office Romance, by Scifinerdgrl Part 7

A swarm of tiny lights dancing against blackly silhouetted trees
directed Brad to the crime scene.  He pulled up behind a row of
parked black-and-white police cars and switched off the engine. 
"Ready?" he asked, turning to face Monica.  She clenched her jaw
and nodded.  "Got your flashlight?" he asked, reaching into his
pocket for his.  She shook her head and sighed.  "In the glove
box," he instructed.  "I keep an extra."  She fiddled with the
box for a moment, her tentative motions proving ineffectual.  In
the darkness he could hear the frustration in her breathing.  He
leaned over, pushing hard on the reluctant box, and withdrew a
tiny flashlight.  "Here," he handed the light to her.  "Use this
for now."  As she reached for it, her hand brushed against his,
causing him to inhale sharply.  When he recognized the musky
scent of recent sex he exhaled just as sharply and withdrew to
his side of the car.  "Let's go," he ordered, and opened his
door.

The scene was much as Monica had imagined:  men in dark suits
speaking officiously to each other and to the coroner...
latex-gloved men and women bagging tiny samples... yellow tape
demarking a perimeter...   Brad marched toward a gray-haired man
with a clipboard.  He thrust out his hand, forcing the older man
to juggle his clipboard and pen to shake his hand.

"Brad Follmer, Special Agent in charge of Crimes against
Children," he announced, pumping the man's hand vigorously.

"Andrew O'Reilly, violent crimes," the man answered.  "A.D.
Williams called you?"

Brad put his hands on his hips and surveyed the scene over
O'Reilly's shoulder.  "Yes," he said, "We've had a case with
similar injuries."

"A child?" O'Reilly yelped.  "Really?  This body is very badly
brutalized... I can't imagine..."

"You'd be surprised what our office sees..." Brad said
nonchalantly, still scanning the scene.

O'Reilly nodded toward Monica and asked, "Is she one of yours?"

Brad followed O'Reilly's nod and saw Monica stepping lightly
through the crowd, closing the gap between them.  "Yes, she's
mine," Brad confirmed.  "Trainee.  I want her to see this."

O'Reilly put his hand on Brad's shoulder and said grimly, "No,
you don't."  Brad shook off his hand and walked to Monica's side. 
"This is Agent Monica Reyes," he said.  Monica smiled demurely
and bowed her head, but before either she or O'Reilly could
speak, Brad added, "We'd like to see the body now."

O'Reilly checked Monica's reaction, and she seemed to be
following Brad's lead.  "Okay," he said resignedly and led them
to it.

Monica took three deep breaths, letting out each one slowly,
before turning to face the body.  As she approached, she felt a
sense of tragedy, of violence, of loss... but not the evil she'd
expected.  Brad watched her closely as she squatted next to a
woman collecting strands of hairs with tweezers.  "May I touch
it?" Monica asked.  The woman pulled a pair of latex gloves from
her pocket and offered them to Monica.  Brad lowered himself to
her level as Monica struggled with the stubborn latex.  She felt
childishly helpless, and looked pleadingly to Brad for help.  He
smiled and said, "Latex has a mind of its own."

She responded, half-laughing, with a bright-eyed smile, then
laughed aloud as the first glove slid on.

"See?" Brad cajoled.  The other glove went on effortlessly, and
Monica smiled gratefully at Brad.  She had no idea how he did it,
but he always seemed to make things easier for her.


Reyes examined the marks on the victim's head and hands, noting
that they were similar to those on the dumpster baby. An oily
black fluid on the victim's shirt piqued her interest. She dipped
a finger into it then sniffed. She drew her head back
instinctively, crying out, "bile!" Someone quickly swabbed at the
goo and bagged it as she watched. She turned to look at Follmer.
"This is an exorcism, alright... same as the other one. Can we
observe the autopsy?" 

"I'll see what I can do," he answered. 

She looked over the body, the man's clothes were disheveled and
stained, but not bloody. She reached into the man's shirt pocket
with her clean glove and withdrew a small white object. She held
it to her nose and smiled knowingly. 

"Garlic," she said. "Definitely an exorcism, but maybe not an
official one." She turned to the investigator looking on. He was
tall, and from her lowered position he seemed even taller. "No ID
on him?" she asked. The man shook his head and pursed his lips.
Monica pursed her lips, subconsciously imitating him. "Hmmm," she
hummed briefly. "And you don't know yet what killed him" Again
the man shook his head. 

She stood up, and Follmer stood up, positioning himself behind
her. "You don't sense anything?" he whispered into her ear, his
lips barely moving. 

She turned around. "No, not a thing. I think this exorcism was
successful."


"Successful?" Brad repeated skeptically.

Nodding, Monica said, "The evil's gone. The wound's are like that
baby's wounds, but the sense of evil -- that's not there."

"How do you know you didn't sense the murder's evil? Someone who
kills a child..." Brad started.

"No, you have it wrong. It wasn't murder. It was an accident, in
both cases," she said authoritatively. "I think the exorcism was
so violent it killed the victims, but it wasn't intentional..."
She looked down sympathetically at the body and shook her head
gently. "Nobody meant to hurt him... they were trying to save
him."

They started walking back to the car, their heads bowed in
conversation. "Go on," Brad urged. "What makes you say that?"

She stopped and waited for him to turn to face her. Squinting to
see his face, she asked, "You're sure you want to know?" She was
relieved to see that he seemed genuine, so she continued.

"The burn marks from the holy water? Some are what you'd expect,
but others are in the wrong places. And tonight I found garlic --
that's all wrong. Garlic is for vampires. And the bruising, on
the baby, and on this man? Too repetitive... Some things fit,
others are, well... amateurish."

"Amateur exorcism?" Brad asked skeptically.

"Officially, the Church controls exorcism, but they are so
reluctant to do it that lay people try it. But they wouldn't do
more than one case..." She looked into his eyes resolutely.
"We're looking for a self-educated, free-lance exorcist. Probably
Catholic, but not necessarily. Could be Orthodox Greek, or even
Jewish..."

"Whoa, slow down!" Brad ordered. "Take me through this step by
step. I'm not saying it's not possible, but you're taking some
leaps here..."

"Not leaps," Monica said defensively. "I know what I'm talking
about here -- my master's degree was in ritual, and I'm familiar
with most forms of exorcism. It's part of the rituals of several
religions. This evidence fits with what I know about exorcism,
well, at least partly."

"Okay, I'm sorry," Brad said, taking a deep breath. "It just
doesn't fit with what *I* know. Explain it to me..." He lowered
his head slightly to look more directly into her eyes. "Please?"
he pleaded.

Sighing deeply, Monica continued, "There are several sacramentals
in the Catholic exorcism -- holy oil, holy water, incense, and
the medal of St. Benedict. If it's an official, exorcism, and
especially if it's a difficult one, all of these would be used.
But in both of these cases there's no evidence of any of these
except the holy water. And unless there's something under this
one's clothes, no marks from a medallion. The bile could be from
ingestion of holy oil, but he would have been anointed too -- he
would have been anointed FIRST, in fact. Yet, there's no evidence
of external application of holy oil..." Monica took a deep breath
and studied Brad's face. He seemed overwhelmed, curious, and a
little awestruck. "Should I continue?" she asked defiantly. With
a raising of his brow and a subtle nod he encouraged her.

"Now, the Greek Orthodox Church relies primarily on prayers, but
they may use holy water if the victim is unbaptized, or oil if
they believe the victim may be mentally ill. But, like the
Catholic Church, they would *not* use garlic or physical force.
The only way physical force would be used is to restrain the
person... These repetitive injuries could be from a kind of
seizure as the exorcism progresses, but that's something that
only happens in the movies." She smiled apologetically but
continued. "There's a kernel of truth in that, but it's really
very, very rare. The Islamic exorcism allows for beating, but
only as a last resort. And they don't sprinkle water -- they have
the victim bathe in water seen by the evil eye..."

"The Jewish exorcism stories involve the breaking of glasses, and
I didn't see any cuts on the baby -- we probably won't find any
on this victim either... And then they's the Wiccan potion, which
includes garlic, but also includes several other ingredients.
They, too, use oil, but they don't believe in spirit possession
of humans, only of spaces...

Brad held up his hand, interrupting her. "I get the picture." He
flashed a smile. He was clearly impressed with her knowledge.
"I'll arrange for you to be at the autopsy."
"You won't be there?" she asked, somewhat panicked.

"Do you want me there? You obviously don't need me," he answered,
putting his hand on her shoulder. "But if you want me to come
with you..." she nodded as he said this. "Okay, I'll be there
with you," he assured her.


On the drive back to Brooklyn, Monica filled Brad in on her
studies of mythology, ritual, and religions of the world.  He'd
seen her transcripts from Brown -- very impressive grade-point
average, even with a crushing course overload -- but had not
given them much thought.  Until this night he'd only paid
attention to her course work at Quantico. She seemed not to be
paying very close attention to the route they were taking, and he
suspected she wouldn't have recognized it anyway.  He took
several wrong turns, deliberately adding twenty minutes to their
trip, selfishly wanting to extend this rare opportunity to listen
to her enthusiasm.  Periodically, his eyes glazed over as his
mind rested, delighting in her intelligence, enthusiasm, youth,
and spirit.  He could listen to her talk all night.  A brief
silence made him snap to attention.

"Am I boring you?" she asked worriedly.

"No, no!" he jumped to her ego's defense.  "Fascinating!  I'm
sorry -- I did drift off for a minute... but no, you're not
boring."  He beamed at her.  "You're never boring."

She blushed.  "People sometimes find my interests a little...
odd... After I graduated, and I didn't have my classmates around
me, I've started to feel a little," she paused to think of the
right word, and he looked at her with concern.  "Well... a little
out of place."

As the street lamps sped past them, Brad watched the traffic and
measured his response, a sigh telling Monica he was thinking. 
"Monica... I don't know what to tell you.  The FBI has a kind
of... corporate culture, and I can see that your beliefs will
give you some grief."  As they pulled to a stop at a red light he
looked into her face and said tenderly, "You bring something to
the FBI that nobody else can bring.  Expect to be challenged --
we're all skeptics here -- but I know you can meet the challenge. 
You've proven yourself to me, and that's not easy," he smiled. 
Before she could smile back the light turned green and he faced
the road.  They drove the rest of the way to her apartment in
silence, although both of their minds were roaring with
conflicting emotions.

After stopping the car, Brad turned and said officiously, "Now,
keep your cellphone on ... I don't know how much notice I'll be
able to give you before the autopsy.  I'll let you know as soon
as I know, okay?"

"Yes," she said softly.  Putting her hand on his forearm, she
said "Thank you," with deep sincerity that told him her words
were about more than the autopsy.  She leaned toward him and
brushed her lips against his cheek.  "Thank you for helping me
get through this week."  She quickly withdrew and opened the car
door.  "See you at the autopsy," she said cheerfully.


SATURDAY

The insistent ring of an electronic alarm told Brad Follmer that
he had passed the entire night without sleeping.  He slapped it
vengefully and rolled over, putting his head in his hands.  He
still had no solution for the question that perplexed him:  How
to separate himself from Agent Reyes while still being able to
see her.  After much agonizing he finally admitted to himself the
dreadful truth -- that he was smitten.  As long as she seemed not
to return his feelings, he was sure they would pass, that his
infatuation would be fleeting, and that he'd look back on it
years later and laugh.  He wasn't laughing now.

He padded to his closet and stuffed his gym bag.  His handball
game was the only thing that could save him now.  In the past, he
was able to slap away other uncomfortable feelings as he sent the
hapless ball slamming against the walls.

After his game, his opponent, one of the few members of this gym
who could hold their own against him, breathed heavily and
slapped him on the back.  "Have you made a deal with the devil or
what?  That was some game!"

"Jeff," Brad said as they made their way to the locker room. 
"Can you keep a secret?"

"Sure.. what is it?"

Brad waited until they were alone in the hallway then whispered,
"I have a thing for a co-worker. I just can't shake it!  And I
think she may feel the same way."

"Whoa..." Jeff responded.  He knew the FBI's rules, and from his
own experiences on Wall Street he also knew the reasons for those
rules.  "Don't go there, buddy.  Don't even think about it!"

When they got to the locker room Brad threw open his locker door,
making a loud slam against the cold metal.  He sighed deeply. 
"Jeff, I don't know... I don't know if I have the willpower... 
I've been attracted to lots of women at work.  This one's
different."  He sat on a bench, pulling off his shoes and socks,
and as he hunched over his feet his voice took on a strained
tone.  "I'd feel the same way no matter how I met her..."

Feeling helpless, Jeff looked down on Brad and put a hand on his
shoulder.  "Like I said... Don't go there.  Don't even think
about it."

"Too late," Brad said, standing up to finish undressing.  "I
can't stop thinking about it."

Jeff continued looking down, and saw the truth of Brad's
statement.  "Let's schedule another game for tomorrow.  You need
to get your mind off of her."

Brad wrapped a towel around his waist and started for the
showers.  "Okay, it's worth a try," he said dejectedly.


Monica only half-listened to the Shaolin monk's instruction on
The Way, chi breathing, the power of chi...  After hours of
lectures at the FBI she wanted some action, and started fidgeting
as the master droned on.  The master noticed her disinterest, and
intentionally let his voice slip into a strict monotone, and his
Chinese accent grow stronger and stronger.  Monica continued to
feign attention.

Finally, the monk said, "You are interested in harnessing the
power of chi?"  Monica nodded.  "Why?"

"I need..." she started, then stopped when she realized she
wasn't sure what she was seeking.  "I'm not sure.  Control? 
Inner strength?  Focus?  I need to be able to sense evil without
being overwhelmed by it..."

The monk's face was impassive, making Monica squirm.  "I need...
no I want... an inner peace, or an inner strength... to do battle
with evil.  I'm an FBI agent, and..."  She suddenly sensed the
inner peace and strength of the monk, and felt an overwhelming
urge to confide in him.  "And I need to deal with the evil within
myself," she added.

The monk smiled knowingly.  "A warrior needs the power of chi,
for just such reasons.  Whether you pursue Shaolin Kung Fu or
not, you are welcome to learn from us."

Monica's face broke into a bright-eyed grin.  "Thank you, sifu,"
she said, bowing her head.

"You tell me you have begun learning to breathe.  You have been
missing an important element:  meditation.  You will start
learning now."

Monica's purse rang out an objection, and she smiled
apologetically.  "My cellphone... I'll just be..."  The sifu
looked displeased but Monica pulled the criminal from her purse
nevertheless. She blushed as she said, "Hello?...  Brad!  Of
course...  I'm ready.  But I'm not at home."  She gave him
directions to the monastery then returned the phone to her purse. 
"I only have twenty minutes," she said.  "Will that be enough
time?"

"For true instruction, you will need to set time aside, making
your learning the most important thing."

Monica's heart sank.  "That was my boss...  I was kind of
on-call.  I don't know if I can make a commitment like that."

Seeing her disappointment, the master said, "If you truly want to
learn The Way and the inner strength of chi..."  Monica nodded. 
"The universe will cooperate with your plans."

Unsure whether to believe in this concept, but consoled by his
encouragement, Monica grinned and sighed.  "For the next twenty
minutes the universe is cooperating."

Later, Monica stood on the street corner waiting for Brad's car. 
She felt stronger and more focused than she had since starting at
the FBI.  When Brad pulled to the curb, he noticed a change in
her.  She seemed calmer, more serene...  He smiled awkwardly and
asked, "Are you enlightened now?"

She grinned, unsure whether he was flirting with her.  Last
night's kiss seemed like a silly mistake now.  Her brief
meditation had cleared her mind, and she felt cleansed. 
"Starting to be...  I'm coming back here for weekly instruction
in The Way."

"Dao," he answered knowingly.  "Good for you."  

As they drove out onto the Island Monica prattled on about
Chinese culture and religion, as Brad repeated to himself, "Don't
go there.  Don't even think about it."


By the time of the autopsy, the victim had been identified.  He
was a 19-year-old mentally handicapped boy whose fingerprints
were on record in Nassau county.  Monica took her place at a
distance from the medical examiner, but he waved to her to
approach.

"Aren't you the agent who thinks this was an exorcism?"  Monica
nodded.  "Since when do retards need exorcisms?"  The M.E. said
with disgust.  "This ... this ...." he looked into Reyes'
innocent-looking eyes.  "This sick-o ain't no man of the cloth!"

"I agree," Monica said calmly.  "I think it was an amateur
exorcism."  The M.E. and the other investigators looked at her,
slack-jawed.  She nodded decisively and added, "There are too
many inconsistencies for this to be sanctioned."  They continued
staring at her as she looked around at their faces, as if to say,
"what?"

Brad interjected, gesturing toward the head.  "What about these
bruises?"  Everyone turned their attention the body, except
Monica, who looked gratefully at Brad.

Monica felt a sense of peace, both from her meditation and from
the body.  Brad smiled at her for a short moment, then made a
point of not looking at her for the rest of the autopsy.  But
despite his best efforts, the image of her face, nearly glowing
in its serenity, was at the front of his mind. 

Afterward, as they were walking to his car, Brad remained
uncharacteristically quiet.  After they'd buckled themselves in,
Monica looked expectantly at him, his hands on the steering
wheel, his eyes glued to the odometer.

"Brad?" Monica put her hand on his arm.  "Are you okay?"

Lines appeared on his forehead.  "Didn't that seem a little
routine to you?" he suddenly asked.

"I didn't notice," Monica replied, her eyes looking upward as if
replaying the autopsy.

"The M.E. didn't seem surprised by any of the discoveries.  He
has all this anger toward the perp... yet..."  Brad pursed his
lips and sighed through his nose.  "It's as if he's seen this
before..."

Monica sighed and studied Brad's face.  "I don't know what to
say.  Maybe he's just very jaded..."

Brad studied her face with equal intensity to her stare.  "You
may be right.  You do have a good sense of people... but still
there's something..." he turned the key in the ignition.  "I just
don't know."  He pulled onto the road and they drove in silence
for a few minutes.  They came to a major intersection populated
with restaurants.  He slowed down and said, "Want to have lunch?"

She looked at him with surprise, and he turned in to a parking
lot before she could answer.  "But... I am supposed to be..." she
stuttered, looking at her watch.

"It'll be quick," Brad promised.  "I've eaten here before." 
Before Monica could object, Brad thrust open his door and stood
next to the car, impatiently waiting for her to join him.  She
sighed and followed him to the front door of a Chinese
restaurant.

As they were waiting to be seated, Monica studied the deep red
and polished gold decorations.  Brad watched in amusement. "Do
you have a thing for all things Asian?  or just Chinese?"

Monica was stunned.  "I never thought of it before," she answered
thoughtfully.  "I try to keep an open mind.  I guess I like a lot
of things."  She smiled, and he responded with an amused,
appreciative smile of his own.  Monica was surprised and
flattered by the gleam in his eyes.  And, she had to admit, a
little excited.  As she was struggling to suppress her feelings
the hostess waved to them to follow.  By the time they were
seated, Monica felt like her old self again, but she could see
that Brad's eyes had not lost their gleam.

She blushed over her open menu, and forced herself to breathe
deeply.  "Monica?" she heard his voice asking gently.  She looked
up to see the waitress waiting patiently for her to order.  "Moo
goo gai pan," she said, a little flustered.  "Steamed rice,
jasmine tea."

Brad handed his menu to the waitress, keeping his eyes on Monica. 
"I'll have that too."  Leaning forward on his elbows, Brad added,
"As you're the expert, I'll follow your lead."

Monica looked away then brought her eyes back to his, this time
defiantly.  "You're the one who's been here before."  Silently
she added, with as much mental power as she could muster, "Please
don't flirt with me.  You're making this harder."

"Okay," Brad said, leaning back in his seat.  He paused when he
saw her startled reaction.  "Tell me what you know about ritual
abuse?"

"Intentional ritual abuse?" she clarified.  "Very little.  In
most cultures rituals are harmless, and even abusive ones
have..."

"Not rituals from cultures... I mean, cults... destructive
cults," Brad interrupted.  "How do you know that what we've seen
is from an exorcism and not something intentionally harmful?"

"I don't," she admitted.

He thought for a moment before speaking, then said, "I want you
to do some research.  There needs to be a task force here, and
you should represent our division."

"Me?" Monica was flattered.  "I'm so new..."

"There isn't anyone else I'd choose," he said matter-of-factly. 
"On Monday I'm going to ask Williams to assign you to a task
force, if he forms one.  And knowing how things work around here,
I expect he will."

"Okay," Monica said slowly.  "Where do I do this research?"

"On Monday I'll take you on a tour of the libraries and show you
our database.  You'll probably be under someone else's
supervision by Wednesday, so set Tuesday aside for homework."

Monica sighed and played with her chopsticks.  She felt both
relieved and disappointed not to be seeing Brad after Monday. 
Trying to avoid his eyes, she looked around the restaurant, this
time admiring not the Chinese decor, but the ceiling tiles, the
napkins, the salt shakers...  A man was chatting heartily with a
woman, two small children seated between them... Another table
seated three women huddled in what looked like gossip.  A man
came toward her, followed by two women.  Monica suddenly realized
she was staring at them and quickly averted her eyes.  As she
stared at her chopsticks, Monica felt a rush of warmth pass by
her, and her chopsticks seemed to vibrate between her fingers and
thumb.  She turned to watch the people who had just passed by,
and the second woman turned to watch her.  She smiled at Monica,
the golden yellow of her bleached hair perfectly matched by the
yellow glow of her eyes.  Monica dropped her chopsticks and
started to hyperventilate, then remembered her training.

"Just a minute," she said, excusing herself.  She followed the
woman to the cashier's station, feeling warmth and nausea
strengthening as she caught up to her.  She stood behind the
stranger, eyes closed, breathing deeply, from her belly, as
instructed, forcing herself to empty her mind.  The nausea
subsided, and as it did, a series of images flashed before
Monica's mind, showing her the anguish of a thousand tortured
souls.  The last image was of the boy from the autopsy.  She
opened her eyes and saw the woman leave the restaurant, looking
backward, victory in her yellow eyes.

Monica asked the hostess where the ladies room was, then
pretended to need to use it.  By the time she emerged, she was
refreshed not in body, but in spirit.  She was determined to
track down this evil that was permeating Long Island.

Through the rest of their lunch together the shop talk gradually
gave way to personal chat, and for the first time Brad did most
of the talking.  His years in England, schooling in Princeton,
Los Angeles and drug investigations... Monica found it all
fascinating.  By the time he dropped her off at Joe's station
Brad seemed more like a friend than a supervisor.


A new world awaited Monica at the station house.  It seemed at
once grim and cheerful, old linoleum floors contrasting with
modern computers.  Old cabinets, metal undercoating showing at
the well-worn edges, lined one wall, and a counter made from
blond wood in 1950s tinting supported an array of modern
equipment.  "Can I help you?" a young, cheery woman asked from a
seat near the phone.

Shyly, Monica responded, "I'm looking for Joe Costello... he
invited me for..."

Jumping up, the young woman smiled and said, "You must be Monica! 
Welcome!"  She ran around the counter and grabbed Monica's elbow. 
"The wives and girlfriends are in here," she said, leading her
toward the back.

Monica found herself in a workplace kitchen.  Mismatched
containers sat on a formica counter, steam wafting from some,
creating a cacophony of aromas that Monica's very full stomach
did not welcome.  Several women sat around a utilitarian table in
the center, their hands waving over their paper plates as if
conjuring.  The conversation stopped as Monica stepped through
the doorway.

"Everybody, this is Monica," the young woman said proudly.  Half
a dozen pairs of eyes instantly fixed on Monica, making her
blush.

"Hi," Monica said, shuffling her feet slightly.

An older woman rose and was instantly at Monica's side.  She put
her arm around Monica's waist and ushered her toward the table. 
"I'm Rosemarie," she said officiously.  "Captain Williams is my
husband." She then proceeded with introductions, naming both the
wife or girlfriend and the man who justified her presence.

The final woman, closest to Monica, was named Teresa.  She had
long, carefully primped, dark hair framing exquisitely applied,
if not tastefully chosen, make-up.  She was quite pregnant, but
managed to lean to the side to offer Monica a limp handshake. 
"Welcome, have a seat," she said.  "We're all friendly here." 
Monica smiled, thinking the woman's accent sounded like a parody
of a Brooklyn accent.

"You're not from around here, are you?"  asked one of the women,
drawing disapproving glances from the others.

"No," Monica offered.

Before she could continue, another woman interrupted, "But you're
Italian, aren't you?"

"No," Monica said, laughing.

"Jewish?" another woman jumped in.

"No," Monica shook her head.

"Irish," another woman said hopefully.

Monica looked around the table skeptically.  "Not Irish either,"
she said cautiously.  "Why?"

Another woman snapped her fingers and said "Puerto Rican!  Reyes,
right!  That's Spanish!"

"No, I'm not from Puerto Rico," Monica said, becoming a little
defensive.  She eyed the group cautiously and the women closest
to her leaned forward trying to read her face.

"Are you black?" a tentative voice said.

"I'm from Mexico," Monica said, and the women all leaned back in
their seats.

"Ahhhh" they said, relief evident in several faces.

"Well, at least you're Catholic," Rosemarie said with finality. 
"That's good."

"Actually, I'm converting to Buddhism," Monica said cheerfully.

Silence greeted this announcement.  Monica's eyes darted from one
shocked face to the next.  "What?" she asked.  "Is there
something wrong with that?"

Teresa spoke first.  "Does Joe know this?"

"Sure, I've told him," Monica said innocently.  "Why wouldn't I?"

One of the other women made the sign of the cross over her chest
then said, "It'll kill his mother."

"I wonder if that's the point," another said, seeming to forget
Monica's presence as she went into a huddle with the two women
nearest her.

"Speaking of Joe's mother," Monica jumped in.  "Where's that
famous baked ziti?"

Rosemarie escorted Monica to a counter top populated by nearly
identical pans of pasta with red sauce and cheese.  "Mine is this
one," she said, proudly gesturing to the one with the least pasta
left.  "And this one is Joe's mother's," she nodded toward a pan
that was nearly intact.

Despite her engorged stomach, Monica helped herself to ziti from
both pans, then poured herself a coke.

Monica ate as much ziti as she could while listening to the women
talk about their pregnancies, their children, their sisters'
children...  Finally Teresa turned to her and asked "So,
Monica... How many children do you want."

Monica forced down a mouthful of ziti and tried to decide on an
appropriate response.  All eyes were suddenly on her.  "I haven't
really thought about it," she said finally.  "Two, I suppose."

"I thought Mexicans liked big families," a woman at the far end
said.  The woman next to her slapped her, and the other women
looked down.

"It's a little early for me to be thinking about a family anyway. 
I've just started my career, I just moved here..."

"You and Joe have only just met," Rosemarie added.

Monica blushed and stabbed her fork into some particularly tough
pasta.  "We're nowhere near talking about children," she
answered, then popped the pasta into her mouth.

"I want five," Teresa said, jubilantly rubbing her swollen
abdomen.  "Four more after this one, but we'll take what God
gives us."  She smiled beatifically, looking to Monica for
admiration for her faith.  Not finding it, she continued, "Frank
and I both come from big families."

"As does Joe," Rosemarie pointed out.

Suddenly several men marched through the doorway.  "Monica!" Joe
shouted.  He ran up behind Monica and wrapped his arms around her
chest, careful to keep them high and chaste.  He nuzzled her
affectionately and rocked her from side to side.  "You made it!"
he said into her ear, but loud enough for the others to hear.

Monica smiled and rocked with him.  Despite her doubts about the
relationship, it felt good to be appreciated.  She put a hand on
one of his meaty forearms and looked into his face.  He smiled
and kissed her, not passionately, but with enough affection to
make the ladies say "ahhh," and the men say, "Joe, you old dog."

An Office Romance, by Scifinerdgrl   Part 8


The men hovered over the kitchen counter, talking and laughing
between bites of well-loved food, as the women pointed out the
dishes that were to die for.  Joe tossed his paper plate into the
trash then pulled a chair beside Monica.  He sat down and put his
arm around her shoulders, pulling her toward him possessively. 
She smiled uncomfortably but didn't struggle as he kissed her
cheek to a feminine chorus of "ahs."  Encouraged, he pulled her
face toward him and gave her a long, passionate kiss.  Monica
felt both exhilarated and embarrassed by the cheers and shouts of
"Get a room" that accompanied this second kiss.  She was almost
grateful when her cellphone rang.

She fumbled for the phone then came up with it, triumphantly
silencing its ring.  "Hello?" she asked, of course knowing who it
would be.  She stood and walked to the hallway, listening more
than talking.  "Okay, I'll be here," she said, and turned around
to see Joe following her.

"Your boss?" he asked, disappointment in his voice.  

She nodded and put a hand on his arm.  "Another case.  On the
island.  This one's an adult female, but with the same injuries. 
He's picking me up in fifteen minutes."

"You'll miss John and Barb," Joe said.  "Their kid is sweet too. 
You'd like him."

Monica became quiet.  "I'm sorry," she said sincerely.  "I wanted
to meet them.  But I really need to go..."  She started walking
toward the kitchen but he stopped her.

"Are you okay, Monica?" he asked, his eyebrows knit together in
confusion.  "What is it?"

She smiled wistfully.  He was getting to know her, and she liked
that.  "I told you I'm converting to Buddhism, didn't I?"

His face blanched.  "Well, I knew you were..."  He stammered and
looked around, afraid of eavesdroppers.  "No, I didn't think you
were converting...  I mean, you're Mexican... Won't your family
be..."  He stopped when he saw the determination in her slightly
pursed lips.  They both sighed and studied each others' eyes.

"Joe, does it matter?" she demanded.

He thought for an instant then softly said, "Yes... it does."

Turning away, Monica said, "I have to get my purse."  She rushed
toward the kitchen, said her goodbyes, then rushed back to a
stunned and confused Joe.  "I'll wait out front for him," she
said tearfully.

Joe followed her outside, drawing the attention of the
receptionist.  "There goes another one," she said to herself.

They stood in silence in front of the station for a few moments,
then Joe reached out and stroked her hair.  "Monica," he started
tenderly.  She turned to face him, revealing a face wet with
tears.  "Monica, can we talk some more... after you finish? 
Please?"  He continued stroking her hair, looking tenderly into
her eyes.

Trying to smile, but only managing a weak grin, Monica nodded. 
He took her head in his hands and kissed each of her tear-stained
cheeks, then her lips.  The softness of his kiss surprised her,
but she didn't respond in kind, even when he dropped his hands to
the line of her jaw.  He pulled back and sighed.  "Can I come
over later?"

"Sure," she answered.  "Just call first.  I don't know when I'll
be back."

Brad pulled to the curb, unnoticed, as the two lovers huddled in
intimate conversation.  He bowed his head and took a deep breath. 
I needed to see that, he thought.  Vowing to keep that vision in
his mind every time he thought of Monica, he closed his eyes
tightly and tapped the horn.

Joe and Monica jumped at the sound of the horn.  "Why don't you
call me when you get back?" Joe asked, stroking her cheeks with
the palms of his hands.  "It doesn't matter what time.... anytime
is fine.  Ma is staying overnight at my sister's in Staten
Island.  She's helping with the new baby."

Monica nodded.  "I'll do that.  We do need to talk."

A wistfulness passed over Joe's eyes, and he bent forward to kiss
her.  The kiss was tender, passionate, and sad, as if it might be
their last.  He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and hugged
her to him.  A loud blast from Brad's horn interrupted them. 
"I've got to go," Monica said.

"I know."  He ran his hands over the last traces of her tears. 
"Don't forget to call me."

Brad and Monica both sighed as he pulled away from the curb. 
Monica glued her eyes to her mirror, watching Joe watching her,
until Brad made their first turn.  Brad gritted his teeth and
made a point of looking everywhere but in Monica's direction
until a deep sigh caught his attention.  He looked over to see a
tear dropping from her jaw onto her shoulder, Monica's face
staring straight ahead as if there were no tears.

"You okay?" he asked.

She sniffed and wiped away her tears. "Yeah," she answered in a
high-pitched voice.  "Just time of the month, I guess."

He couldn't claim to know Monica well, but he knew women well,
and he knew a conversation-stopper when he heard one.  They drove
the rest of the way in silence, yet their breathing revealed more
to each other than any words could have.

By the time they arrived at the crime scene both agents were in
full possession of their faculties and ready to face a new case. 
They marched to the scene and found A.D. Williams looking over an
officer's notepad.  "Brad," the older man nodded.  "And this must
be Agent Reyes."

Monica nodded her acknowledgment then asked, "Where's the body?"

Williams' eyebrows raised in a silent question to Follmer, whose
eyebrows raised in confirmation.  "Over here," he answered,
leading them to a culvert passing under a main road.  "She was
dumped here, just as you see her now.  Forensics has gone over
the ground near the body.  You can get closer."

Stepping lightly over the leaves and fallen branches between the
road and the culvert, Monica felt a pull from the body.  Where
she had expected to find nauseating heat and feelings of evil,
she found a serenity and coolness that was inexplicably
attractive to her.  The body was bruised, with black fluid
staining the woman's blouse and burns disfiguring the woman's
face and hands.  Yet despite these horrors Monica found only
beauty as she looked on the victim's face.

...until she realized she recognized her.


Monica looked over her shoulder, searching for Brad's face.  His
back was to her, but she recognized him instantly, and instantly
felt anchored, safe, and a little excited.  As if sensing her
feelings, he turned and saw her looking at him.  He responded
immediately to her expression of concern and bounded toward her.

"What's wrong?" he asked, looking from Monica to the victim.

"This woman," Reyes started.  "I recognize her."

"You know her?" Brad seemed shocked.

She shook her head.  "No, I recognize her... from earlier today. 
She was in that Chinese restaurant the same time we were."

Shock turned to astonishment on Brad's face.  "You *recognize*
her?  Where was she?"  He searched the woman's face for familiar
features.  Nothing about her rang a bell for him.

"She was..." Monica rose to face Brad, giving herself time to
think of a response.  "She was at the register when I went to the
ladies room.  I remember her."  Brad's eyes narrowed as he
studied Monica's expression.  She could see his skepticism and
whispered, "I felt something... evil... I followed her when I
sensed that."

Brad blinked a few times then glanced at the victim.  "I don't
remember her," he said, shaking his head.  How could he not
recognize her?  Was he losing his touch?  He looked at Monica's
face again, and everything else seemed out of focus suddenly. 
She raised her eyes slightly to meet his, and his heart skipped a
beat.  Yes, he thought, I am losing my touch.

Reyes interrupted his thoughts.  "That evil... it's what I
noticed about her.... and now I don't sense it.  In fact, I sense
the opposite."  Brad's eyebrows queried her for more, and she
complied.  "This body... there's no evil here, no trace of evil
at all.  Not even the amount you'd sense in ordinary fallible
humans."  Brad blushed and closed his eyes.

"What I'm saying is," Monica started with forced patience.  "This
was another *successful* exorcism.  In fact, even more successful
than the last one.  He's getting better."

"Better?" Brad repeated.  "The victim died!"

"Well... yes..." Monica stammered.  "But, remember?  The baby? 
That baby was evil, still evil, even after he died...  That's how
I found him."

Brad took her elbow and escorted her away from prying ears. 
"Monica," he said in a low voice.  "That's between us, okay?" 
Her eyes widened into an expression of innocence that melted his
heart.  "Monica," he repeated from the side of his mouth.  "You
weren't supposed to be there... your name is not on the report."

Monica swallowed and looked into Brad's eyes defiantly.  "But you
do believe me?  That there really was evil there?"

He ran a hand through his hair.  "Monica..." he started.  "I
don't know what to believe."  He looked into her eyes, meeting
her determination with an equal measure of his own.  "I believe
that *you* believe it... And I believe it's possible that the
killer believes it.  At this point, and this is only instinct,
mind you," he paused and took a deep breath.  "Yes, I do believe
you.  But I warn you, nobody else will."

Grinding her teeth, Monica struggled for words, but before she
could answer him, Williams approached.

"Agent Follmer, Agent Reyes," Williams nodded.  "Well?  Anything
look familiar?"

"The victim," Monica answered immediately.  "I saw her earlier
today, in a restaurant."  

Williams' head jerked downward slightly, turning his ear slightly
toward her.  "You recognize the victim?"

Monica nodded.  "Brad was there."

Williams looked at Brad, who grimaced and blushed.  "We were
having lunch."

"After observing the autopsy of the second victim," Monica
offered.  Williams turned to Brad again, this time accusingly. 
Monica continued, oblivious to his reaction.  "This woman..." She
noticed Brad's wary expression and slowed her speech.  "When I
saw her, she was with two other people..." and she continued her
description for Williams, with no reference to evil.

Williams pursed his lips and looked from one to the other several
times before speaking again.  "Agent Reyes," he said assertively. 
"I'm starting a task force on this ritualistic abuse.  These
crimes don't fit into any of our divisions.  You'll be on it." 
He turned and addressed Brad, "Her partner will be on it too." 
Brad eagerly nodded his compliance.  "Have them both come to my
office at 10 Monday morning," he ordered, then walked to the knot
of officers gathered around the body, talked to them a few
moments, then escorted one back to take Monica's statement.

In the car, Monica reviewed the evening's events, and when a few
silent minutes had passed, volunteered, "I don't feel comfortable
lying to a superior."

Brad grinned.  "That's good to hear."

"I mean, lying to Williams."

"You weren't lying to him.  You just didn't tell him things that
were unprovable," he looked over and studied her face.  "I
appreciate your..." he thought for a moment, trying to choose his
words carefully.  "integrity.  But that was a special situation. 
I was trying to protect you."

Monica sighed.  "I know... I appreciate it, but I don't need
protection."  

Hearing the resignation in her voice, Brad pulled to the shoulder
and put the car in "park."  "Look, Monica...  This isn't some
knight-in-shining armor thing.  I'm just trying to ... guide
you." His voice became gentler as he added, "You have a lot of
potential, but there's a lot you need to learn."  In the faint
light from a distant street lamp he could barely make out her
sigh.  Instinctively, he reached for her hair and stroked it. 
"You're going to be a damn fine agent," he reassured her.  "The
way you recognized that woman's face..."  He shook his head in
admiration and shifted the car into "Drive."  "That was amazing."

After an uncomfortable silence, Monica asked, "I have a partner?"

Brad cleared his throat.  "Well, not yet.  I've been thinking
about who to assign you to.  I have someone in mind, and I'll
call him tomorrow after church."

"He's religious?" Monica asked cautiously.

"Yes, very," Brad smiled.  "Orthodox Jew.  Devoted to his
family... Sends his kids to yeshiva, observes all the holidays." 
He checked traffic then looked toward the passenger side.  "And,"
he added significantly.  "He takes Saturdays off.  You can
continue your religious studies without worrying about being
called out on an assignment."

As the significance of Brad's words sunk in, Monica beamed at him
in appreciation.  "You're arranging things so I can..."

"Sure," he interrupted, a touch of pride in his voice.  "He's the
perfect partner for you."

Monica leaned back in her seat and rested her hands on her
thighs.  "Thank you," she whispered.

He gulped and whispered back, "You're welcome."

They drove the rest of the way in a comfortable, easy silence,
and neither wanted to break the mood when the car stopped in
front of her apartment.  Monica spoke first, "So, you won't be my
supervisor anymore... for how long?"

"Until this case is resolved at least," Brad answered, looking
ahead.  "Depending on how many other victims show up, whether
this is some cult with multiple suspects, or whether other
unrelated crimes fall to this new unit..."  He looked into her
eyes, which had become slightly dewy.  "It could be months, even
years."

She sighed deeply.  "In that case, thank you for everything."

Brad's face softened and he leaned forward slightly.  "You're
welcome.  You're a joy to train."  He swallowed, then added, "And
anyway, I've enjoyed your company."

"We'll still see each other, though?" Monica asked tentatively.

"A little," Brad tried to grin.  "Hallways, meetings,
elevator..."  A mist clouded over his eyes.  "We'll still see
each other," he resolved.

Monica put her hand on his thigh, and asked a little
provocatively, "Can we see each other socially?"

Brad knew the answer should be "no," that he and Monica could
never date as long as they were both in the FBI, and he closed
his eyes, praying a silent mantra of "no, no, no, no, no..."  He
opened his eyes to see her anguished face, her eyes reflecting
the pinkish light of the street lamps.

And he said, "Yes."

At that moment they heard a sharp rap on the passenger side
window.


Monica's hand jumped off of Brad's thigh, and grabbed her purse. 
She looked up to see Joe's face peering in the window.  She
couldn't help hyperventilating as she looked from Joe to Brad. 
Brad sighed and leaned away from her.  "Goodnight," he said,
relieved to have been rescued from himself.

"Goodnight," Monica answered, her lips pursed as if to prepare
for a kiss.  "See you Monday."

As soon as Monica had closed the car door behind her, Brad took
off, forcing himself to focus his eyes ahead, and not in the
rearview mirror.  But at the corner, he felt the irresistible
urge to turn around and catch one last look at her... at them. 
Their silhouetted embrace seemed so intimate, so close.  He
sighed.  "What am I thinking?" he thought.  He drove home with
that vision in his mind, resolved that after Monday morning's
meeting he would have her transferred to another division
permanently.

But once inside his apartment Brad couldn't help wondering what
it would be like to hug her... kiss her...  He got undressed and
lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, seeing a pair of
dew-stained sherry eyes looking down on him.  The more he tried
not to think about Monica, the more his thoughts went to
forbidden territory, below her eyes... her lips, which he'd seen
speak so many words and curl with so many emotions... her chin,
that jutted out when she was angry but also when she laughed...
her neck, long and smooth, begging to be stroked...  the valley
between her breasts and the nipples he couldn't help
envisioning.... and lower, over smooth skin and taut muscles, his
hand would be gentle over this area, delicately tracing a path
downward, giving goose bumps and making her smile.... and
finally, he would find her desiring him as much as he desired
her... and he would be everything she could want in a lover... he
would make her cry out in ecstasy, leaving her breathless, her
face flushed and glowing.... and they would curl up together in
an embrace filled with trust and gratitude... and love?

Aw, Jeez, Brad, he thought as he grabbed a kleenex.  Don't go
there.  Just don't go there.  But a few minutes later he was
asleep, and in his dreams he went there again.


As she hugged Joe, Monica couldn't help sneaking a look over his
shoulder, watching Brad's car pull to the intersection, and then
she thought she saw Brad turning around to look at her.  She
sighed, and Joe squeezed her more tightly.  When Brad's car
turned the corner Monica buried her face in the crook of Joe's
neck and let her body go limp against his.  He pulled her away
and looked into her eyes.  "Can I come in?" he asked tentatively. 
"I can stay the night tonight."  In the dim light his brown eyes
seemed to go far, far deeper into his soul, revealing a love and
a need that Monica couldn't resist.

"Sure," Monica said, grabbing his hand and leading him to the
door.  Once inside she led him to the futon, which was still
folded out as a bed.  "You wanted to talk?" she said softly.

She watched as he struggled to get started on what seemed to be a
prepared speech.  "Monica, ever since we met..." he paused and
took her hand in his.  "I thought, well... I know I was rushing
things, but I thought... that you might be the one."  He paused
and checked her face for signs she understood him.  Her surprise
wasn't what he'd hoped for, but he knew she was following him, so
he continued.  "You're everything I want in a woman...  you're
kind, and sweet, and gentle..." He stroked her hand with a slow,
gentle rhythm that Monica found almost too loving.  "From that
first day, all I could think about was taking care of you and
protecting you."  Monica grimaced, but Joe's eyes were on their
hands, and he added, in a soft voice, "And I think you'll make a
wonderful mother."

Monica pulled her hand free, and said, "Joe, where are you going
with this?"

He grabbed the errant hand and pulled it toward him.  The warmth
and gentleness of his hands made Monica relax and let him guide
her hand despite herself.  Joe continued, "I know you aren't
ready for me to talk this way...  and I wasn't planning to bring
any of this up until much, much later."  As one hand stroked
hers, the other massaged her arm, its fingers kneading her
muscles as it walked back and forth between her wrist and elbow. 
"But after today..."

"This is about religion, isn't it," Monica interrupted.

Joe nodded.  "I know it's your right to do what you want," Joe
conceded.  "But before you do something drastic, I want you to
talk it over with a priest.  I've asked my brother and he's
willing to talk to you.... privately, in confidence.... after
Mass tomorrow."  The pleading look in Joe's eyes surprised
Monica.

"Your brother is a priest?" she said incredulously.  "Here, in
Brooklyn?"

"St. Brendan's.  It's not far."

"Oh, Joe..." Monica sighed.  "I never was religious.  I don't
know..."

"Please?" Joe pleaded.  "If you don't want to talk to him, I
understand, but please... talk to someone.  If you'd rather talk
to a woman, my sister Anne is a good listener.  She's a nun.  You
can trust her."

Monica looked at him in disbelief.  "You have both a brother AND
a sister in the Church?"

"Yes, and an uncle... but he's in Trenton," Joe answered. 
"Please," he repeated.  "Come to Mass with me tomorrow morning,
then see my brother."  He cupped her chin in his hands and the
seriousness of his face, and Monica felt her resolve melting.

"Okay," she said resignedly.

He pulled her mouth to his and kissed her warmly.  "Thank you,
sweetie."  Putting his arms around her in a bear hug, he rocked
her side to side and buried his face in her hair.  "I worry about
you," he whispered.


Monica pulled away.  "You don't have to worry about me.  I'll be
fine," she insisted.

Joe stroked her hair and kissed her softly on the lips.  "Try
stopping me," he whispered into her ear.  "I can't help myself. 
You're too precious."

As much as she hated being worried about, being called "precious"
was nevertheless flattering and comforting.  Joe kissed her
again, lingering at her lips, waiting for her to respond. 
Instinctively, she kissed him back and pulled her hands up along
his back, settling on his thick, muscular neck.

They leant back and rolled onto the futon, Joe's hands caressing
Monica with a greater gentleness than they had before.  She
responded by rolling onto her back and passively letting him
explore her most sensitive areas.  She barely moved as he pulled
off her clothes, item by item, his fingers slowly grazing her
skin as he went.  Finally, she lay naked, looking up into his
adoring eyes, as his hands studied every part of her body.

She reached for the hem of his shirt and started to tug upward,
but he grabbed it himself and jerked it over his head.  He stood
up and quickly finished undressing, depriving Monica of the
chance to show her admiration for his body in the way he had for
hers.

He positioned himself over her and breathed heavily into her
hair.  "You are so beautiful, Monica," he whispered.  His hands
continued to explore her, and when he felt her respond, he moved
to consummate their evening.  Monica tried to focus on the man
she was with, but every twinge of pleasure brought a different
image to her mind.  Fortunately, the twinges ended within a few
minutes, and she could once again focus on Joe's satisfied face
gazing into hers.  He reached out and pushed a few stray hairs
away from her face.  "You are so beautiful," he repeated.  She
smiled weakly and stroked his chest, but before she could think
of something to say, he was asleep.

The next morning Monica awoke first, and for a few moments
watched the burly man beside her, innocently sleeping.  Moving
slowly so as not to wake him, she got out of bed and went to the
dining room, then turned a chair toward the corner and started to
meditate.  She breathed as she'd been taught, and tried to think
of Tao, of Chinese philosophy, of the few Buddhist lessons she'd
read.  But she could only think of Joe.... she knew in her heart
it was over.  She couldn't continue to lead him on.  It would be
unfair.... Having had this realization, her breathing deepened,
and she was able to move to an altered state of consciousness. 
She felt her apartment slip away, then her chair, then her skin
itself... until all her molecules, every atom, had dispersed into
the universe, her entire consciousness feeling at once immense
and minuscule.  She felt a freedom she'd never known before, an
awareness that was matched by a simultaneous obliviousness... 
She marveled at the experience but, fearing it couldn't last, let
her wonder dissipate into the universe along with her being.

A hand on her shoulder brought her out of her meditation.  "Is
this part of that Buddhist thing?" Joe asked, unsuccessful in his
attempt to conceal his contempt.

Monica rose and serenely took his hand.  "Yes, you should try it. 
It's wonderful!"

"Maybe next time," Joe said cautiously.  He grabbed his clothes
and started dressing.  "I've got to get my suit out of the car. 
Church is in an hour."

Monica found herself sighing frequently as the singing and
praying progressed.  She was more sure than ever that this
religion was not her calling.  Focusing on her breathing, she
tried to meditate as those around her prayed.  She was distracted
by the rhythmic vibrations of a child kicking the back of her
pew.  She started to look over her shoulder, trying to catch a
glimpse of the child, when she noticed Joe smiling broadly at
someone directly behind her.  It was the thumping child.  Monica
sighed in annoyance as Joe started waving and making funny faces. 
She closed her eyes and sighed loudly, then bent forward, putting
her head in her hands.  "What am I doing here?" she thought to
herself.

Afterward, Joe ushered her through a crowd of coffee-drinking
Catholics and introduced her to his brother.  Monica was
surprised at how little the two brothers resembled each other. 
Frank was much shorter, with a thin frame, and much lighter skin. 
But his demeanor was similar:  friendly, helpful, eager to be
liked.  Joe stood by, his hands in his trouser pockets, as Monica
and Frank retreated to the rectory.  Monica looked back and was
touched by his nervousness.  Joe was touched that she looked
back.

The room looked much like a living room or study, with books
lining two walls, comfortable overstuffed furniture carefully
arranged, and soft sunlight diffused through sheer curtains. 
Monica felt instantly at home, and Frank's casual friendliness
put her even more at ease.

He got right to the point.  "So... Joe tells me you're
considering leaving the Church?"

Monica fidgeted and thought carefully.  "I never really felt as
if I belonged in the first place," she said, admitting to herself
the truth of this statement for the first time in her life.  "I
never believed the things I pretended to believe.  I didn't even
believe that God would punish me for lying about believing in
him."

"Ahhhh" said Frank, leaning forward in a listening pose.  "And
what have you found that you think is better?"

"It's not ..." Monica stammered.  "It's not a matter of better or
worse.  I have this... sense... of good and evil.  I need to be
able to feel it without being overwhelmed by it.  In my job I'll
be coming across evil... I *have* felt the presence of evil...
and sometimes it... it's made me faint, throw up... Already with
a few lessons in Taoism and Buddhism I've been able to face it...
to accept it..."

"You *want* to accept evil?" Frank questioned.

"No, of course not!" Monica fumbled for a better way to express
herself.  "In the FBI, it's a fact of life..."

"You're in the FBI?"  Frank seemed surprised.  Monica nodded. 
Frank sighed and studied her face.  "So, you are fighting evil
every day?"  Monica nodded again.  He scrunched his forehead in
thought, then asked, "How were you coping with evil before you
found this..." He finished with a wave of his hand, as if even
uttering the names of other religions were anathema to him.

"Nothing," Monica said simply.  "I thought joining the FBI
*would* help me deal with my sense of evil... that if I could
*do* something about it, maybe it wouldn't be so troublesome, but
then... " A tear poised at the edge of her eye as she finished,
"it was even worse."

Frank sighed deeply.  "Well, Monica, I don't know what to tell
you.  The whole purpose of the Church is to fight evil with good. 
And I have that same sense that you do.  My religion has been a
source of strength as I've faced both evil and ... ordinary human
frailties that result in evil.  I sense goodness in you --
powerful goodness, but even guided by the Good within you, you
will need a higher Goodness to help you. I can help you find it,
if you want."

"Thank you," Monica said softly.  "I don't know..."

"Anytime... it doesn't have to be now," Frank offered.

The ticking of a mantel clock was the only sound for some
seconds, then Monica responded, "Frank... What can you tell me
about exorcism?"

*NOTE:  Part 10 will be posted soon*

An Office Romance, by Scifinerdgrl Part 9

After his handball game, Brad felt more relaxed than he had in
weeks.  In the locker room, Brad  said to Jeff, "Thanks for
suggesting this extra game.  I thought I had that situation
solved but then..."

"Uh oh," Jeff said.  "What did you do?"

"It wasn't me -- it was her!  I set her up with a task force --
to get her out of my division -- and she asked if we would still
see each other."

"Maybe it was innocent," Jeff offered.

"Jeff," Brad looked at him knowingly.  "She had her hand on my
thigh.  If her boyfriend hadn't interrupted I don't know what
would have happened."

"That changes everything!" Jeff said enthusiastically.  "She's a
slut?"  Before Brad could object, Jeff continued, his vicarious
excitement building.  "In that case, go for it!  Her boyfriend is
right there and she's making passes at you?  No way are you going
to get in trouble here.  Have some fun while you can!"

"Jeff, I don't think..." Brad started to argue, wanting to defend
Monica.  He stopped when he realized he wasn't sure if Monica
*was* a slut.

"Listen, Brad..." Jeff put a hand on his shoulder.  "Sleeping
with a subordinate... Bad news!  Sleeping with a co-worker... Bad
news!  Sleeping with the office slut?  Don't give it a thought!" 
He slapped him on the back then continued dressing.  "She's not
going to sue you, and chances are, by the time anyone else finds
out, she'll have boinked everyone who could cause trouble for
you."  He shook his head then added, "You lucky dog...  You've
found yourself a risk-free piece of ass."

Brad wasn't sure he agreed with Jeff's assessment of the
situation, but he wanted to believe he was right.  He left the
gym resolved to stop fighting the inevitable.


Monica emerged from the rectory armed with books, files, and
pamphlets.  Joe bounded over to her and took them from her, then
leant over them and gave her a very familiar kiss.  "You had a
good talk with my brother?" he said, smiling.

"It was great," Monica nodded.  "He's a great guy ... a really
good person, Joe."

Sighing, Joe's eyes glistened as he searched her face for the
answer he wanted.  Monica smiled then turned toward the exit, Joe
following a step behind her.  It wasn't until they arrived at his
car that he saw what the books were:  exorcism books, not
Christian instruction.  After Monica had buckled her seat belt he
handed them to her, a questioning look on his face.

"Joe," she said with sympathy.  "I'm not changing my mind.  These
books are research -- for that task force I told you about."

They drove to her apartment in silence, each writing their
speeches.  Joe double-parked and let the engine run.  As he
turned in his seat, Monica unlatched her seatbelt and started to
open her door.  He grabbed her arm and looked deeply into her
eyes.  "Monica," he started.  "I think we both know the truth...
this isn't going to work out, is it?"

She shook her head slowly but didn't say anything.  He studied
her face as if to memorize it, then stroked her hair.  With a
catch in his voice, he said, "I guess this is goodbye, then." 
She nodded and leaned forward to meet his final kiss.  As they
parted each looked sadly into the other's eyes.

"Goodbye, Joe," she whispered with finality.

"Bye," he answered.


The sun was setting behind her as Monica sat at her desk reading
through Frank's books on exorcism.  Frank had confirmed some of
Monica's suspicions, and he promised to let her know if he heard
of anyone performing unauthorized exorcisms.  As she read, she
kept a running list of thoughts, ideas, clues to look for... and
she didn't notice the time passing, nor the footsteps in the
hallway.

A metallic scrape sent her flying to her feet.  When the door
flung open she was ready, her feet spread and her arms
outstretched and pointing her gun toward the doorway.  The
silhouetted figure put up his hands and said, "Monica... it's me,
Brad."

She let him approach, and as the overhead fixture lit his face
she relaxed and lowered her shoulder, then holstered her gun. 
"Brad!" she yelled.  "What are you doing picking my lock?!?!"

He held up a key for her inspection.  "Master key.  I'm your
supervisor, remember?  I can open all of the doors in this
hallway."

Monica sighed.  "What do you want," she said with irritation.

"I'm preparing for tomorrow's meeting," he said a little
nervously.  I need to look up a few cases..."

"Come on in," she said, ushering him in, and waving toward the
door.  He closed the door obediently and took a few steps
forward.

"I might ask you what *you're* doing here," he said.

"Just a little research," she nodded toward her desk.  "I picked
up some material on exorcism.

Brad picked up one of the books and thumbed through it
appraisingly.  "Frank Costello?" he asked, his eyebrows raised in
surprise.

"Joe's brother," she answered, grabbing the book from him and
putting it back on the pile.  "He's a priest."

"So..." Brad carefully feigned a casual interest.  "You and Joe
went to church together today?  Things are progressing nicely."

"We broke up," Monica announced.  "Happy?"

"Of course not," he said, genuine hurt in his voice.  He rubbed
his hand up and down her upper arm.  "It's always sad when..."

"Do you want to know why?" she asked accusingly.

"No, not really," he said, still stroking her compassionately. 
"What happened between you is none of my business.  I'm just
sorry you were hurt."

She put her hand out to his other hand, and he took it.  "I'm
sad, but more sad for him.  I'm not what he thought I was...  but
I already knew he wasn't the man for me."  She squeezed his hand. 
"He wasn't my type either."

Brad gulped.  "And what *is* your type?"

In answer to his question, Monica leaned forward, her lips
demanding to be kissed.  His lips obeyed.


Their first kiss was tentative, but it didn't take long for their
pent-up desire to express itself in a passionate kiss that melted
Monica's spine and made Brad weak in the knees.  As they came up
for air, Brad put his hands behind her head and drank in the
vision of her flushed face.

"Am I your type?" he asked breathlessly.

"Oh, yes," she sighed, bringing her lips to his for more.  His
lips were soft and warm, and they seemed to embrace her mouth,
moving in constantly evolving patterns that took her to higher
and higher planes of desire.  She couldn't help leaning into his
body, delighting in its warmth and suppleness.  She loved
everything he did to her -- did *for* her.  She'd never felt this
way before.

Brad followed as she backed herself toward her desk, and when she
jumped up onto it and wrapped her legs around him he pulled away. 
Her legs maintained their grip on his hips as he said, in a
strained voice, "Monica... we can't ... we shouldn't..."

"You're not my supervisor anymore," she flirted, pulling on his
tie.  He responded by smoothing his tie against his chest.

"I need to prepare for the meeting...." he said between gentle
kisses.  "Can you wait..." he looked at his watch.  "An hour?"

She smiled, thinking how long she'd waited for a kiss like that. 
All her life, she realized.  What was one more hour?  "Okay," she
said, her lips curled into a mock pout.  "I'll be waiting for
you."

She watched as he gathered his materials, his businesslike
demeanor convincing her to go back to work herself.  As he closed
the door he looked into her face once more, and she smiled with a
joy no other woman had ever shown for him.  "An hour," he
promised, then closed the door.


An hour later, Monica was engrossed in her studies when she heard
a tentative knock on the door.  She flew to the door and opened
it to find a smiling yet insecure Brad Follmer.  They stood
facing each other for a few awkward seconds until Monica stepped
backward to shut the door.  She leaned against the door and
smiled giddily at Brad.  "You came back!" she said excitedly.

"Of course," he whispered, reaching for her hand.  "I needed to
be sure I wasn't dreaming earlier."

Smiling, Monica grabbed his hand and pulled it around her waist. 
Brad ran his free hand along her jaw line, and when it reached
her chin he tilted her head upward.  Their lips joined in a
tentative kiss that deepened as they pulled each other closer. 
After several minutes of slow, sensuous probing, their mouths
separated and formed smiles that were mirror images of each
other.  "It was no dream?" Brad said finally.

"I'm not sure," Monica whispered.  "Reality's never been like
this before."

"No?" Brad seemed surprised.

Monica ran her hands over his chest, marveling at its subtle
geography.  "Nobody's ever kissed me like that," she blushed and
studied her hands as they continued roaming over his body.  "I
never knew..." she sighed.  "I never knew a kiss could be like
that."

Brad tilted her head upward and planted another soft sensuous
kiss on her waiting lips.  "Like that?" he asked softly.

She inhaled deeply, drinking in the scent of his closeness. 
"Yes, like that," she sighed.

She's no slut, Brad realized suddenly.  "There's more where that
came from..." he said, then gave her a long, lingering kiss that
took her breath away.

When they came up for air she put her hands on his cheeks, taking
in the sight of his shining eyes.  "I hope so..."  Her thumbs
traced the outline of his lips, following their contour as he
smiled under them.  "Joe never had any idea..." she stopped when
she realized what she'd said.  The surprise in Brad's face urged
her to an explanation.  "He never knew that when I was with
him..." she blushed but felt an overwhelming need to tell Brad
the truth.  "When I was with him... I mean really *with* him... I
couldn't help wishing I was with you."

Her confession caused Brad's heart to skip a beat, and he pulled
her closer to him.  She responded by wrapping her arms around his
neck, and he nuzzled the hair over her ear.  "I was wishing the
same thing," he whispered.

And in that moment, Brad knew that this woman would be both his
salvation and his undoing.


He drove her home that night, but despite an hour of lingering,
sensuous kisses, she didn't invite him in, and he didn't suggest
it.  Monica thought of her sheets, where Joe had so recently
been.  Brad thought of his meeting, his first as a supervisor. 
It was all he could do to spend that hour finishing his
preparation; he knew he'd never pull it off if he spent the night
with her.  He was the one who started the good-bye process,
reminding her that they each had a stressful morning ahead.

Monica attended the meeting, her first and last in the division. 
Jacob Franklin, her new partner sat with her, giving her a
running commentary under his breath as Brad went through his
carefully prepared speech.  Despite frequent whispers of
"ass-kisser" and "spoiled brat" from both beside and behind her,
Monica thought it was an excellent speech.  She blushed when he
mentioned her name and said how sorry they were to be losing her
so soon.  She left halfway through to keep her appointment with
Williams, but couldn't resist the urge to turn around at the door
and gaze at the man who took her breath away.  He saw her,
stumbled over his words, then glued his eyes to his notes.  On
the way to Williams' office Jacob ran through a list of both Brad
and Mike's faults, which only served to make Monica love Brad
more.

She was disappointed to find Brad's office empty after her
meeting, and decided to get some lunch.  Janet was standing in
her usual place, smoking.  She greeted Monica and the two began
chatting.  Monica told Janet about her break-up with Joe, and
Janet's understanding demeanor made Monica want to tell her
everything else besides.  But she knew she couldn't.  Janet
noticed Monica's anxiety and said soothingly, "Don't worry,
honey.  The right man is out there somewhere.  It's a big city."

"Thank you, Janet," Monica sighed.  "I hope so."

"Monica, I heard about your transfer," Janet put a hand on
Monica's arm.  "You can still come by and talk to me.  Anytime."

Smiling both inwardly and outwardly, Monica answered, "Thank you. 
I might just take you up on that.  It's only been half a day and
already I miss our chats."

"Brad will be back with our lunches any minute.  We're working
through lunch today," Janet explained.  "But we can talk until he
shows up, anyway."

Monica brightened at the realization she could see Brad so soon,
and let Janet probe her on all aspects of her relationship with
Joe.  But when the subject turned to sex, Monica's stomach grew
queasy.  "Um, Janet," she said cautiously.  "Could I bum a
cigarette?"

After a few puffs Monica felt calmed.  Janet was surprised to
find Monica so comfortable with a cigarette.  "I bet Joe didn't
approve of that, either," Janet said knowingly.

Monica laughed.  "He's such a fitness nut..."  Brad's sudden
appearance behind Janet made Monica inhale sharply.  She quickly
threw the cigarette to the ground and stomped it out.  "Hello,
Agent Follmer," she said with forced casualness.

"Agent Reyes," he nodded.  "Janet, they were out of prosciuto. 
I'm sorry."   He turned toward the door, indicating that Janet
should follow, then addressed Monica in a formal tone.  "Good
luck in your new assignment, Agent," he said, then disappeared
into the building, leaving Monica wondering whether she'd
imagined the night before.

At the end of the day, Monica returned to her office to find a
voice-mail from Brad.  "Hi Monica, it's Brad... Listen, when
we're at work, we have to be all-business, okay?  Stop by my
office when you're finished, and we can talk about it.  I let
Janet go home early."

Monica's heart was racing as she turned the knob on Brad's office
door, but all her doubts were erased as soon as she was inside. 
He grabbed her and kissed her passionately. "I was afraid you
wouldn't come," he whispered.

"I couldn't wait!" she groaned, her hands roaming over his back.

He cupped her jaw in his long slender hands and said, "We
shouldn't see each other during the day.  I'll never get any work
done."  He kissed her again, his lips growing softer and more
sensuous as her body danced in his hands.  As he ground into her,
he pushed her further and further back until she was up against
the wall.  She drew one knee up along the side of his leg as she
nuzzled his neck.  "Oh, Monica," he moaned.  "You're making me so
hot...."

"Good," she whispered into his ear.


He ground against her, and she could feel his pleasure growing as
she met his grinding motions with sensuous movements of her own. 
Her arms slipped under his jacket and pulled him even closer as
her hands wandered aimlessly across his back.  Following her lead
in this dance, Brad's hands roamed over her back.  Her ragged
breathing sent waves of hot desire over his face, then his neck,
then over his chest as she loosened his tie and unbuttoned his
top buttons.  As her head bowed to delight in the warmth under
his shirt he leaned over, whispering behind her head, "yes,
yes..."  She responded by undoing the rest of his shirt buttons,
until she came to the top of his trousers.  She looked up,
smiling into his eyes as she grabbed his belt buckle and quickly
freed its clasp.  He swayed backward with pleasure, and he felt
as if he might have collapsed if she hadn't been holding onto his
waistband.  She continued holding him up with one hand as the
other went lower, exploring layer by layer until she found what
she was looking for.  He groaned as she explored him, and with
what willpower he had left he moved his hands to her breasts,
caressing then pinching them through the silky fabric of her
blouse.  She let go of his manhood and breathed some breathy
sighs as his hands repeated for her what hers had done for him. 
She undid the clasp of her trousers, letting him explore whatever
he wanted... and he wanted to explore all of her.  His long
fingers expertly found places she never knew could feel good. 
Grinding against him, she let go of herself, letting him guide
her to heights she'd never imagined.  Panting, she leaned against
his shoulder, hugging herself to him for support as she
recovered.

When her breathing had slowed, Brad pulled her face to his.  He
offered her a slow, tender, affectionate kiss that was unlike any
kiss she'd experienced.  She pulled away and her dewy eyes looked
at him with wonder and gratitude.

"Like that?" Brad murmured, then leaned forward to nuzzle behind
her ear.  "There's more where that came from."  When she didn't
answer he looked into her eyes again.  "Are you one of those
women who can..." he paused when she seemed puzzled.  "How long
should I wait?  Minutes?  Hours? Till tomorrow?"   When she still
seemed not to understand he decided to be blunt.  "Monica, how
many more orgasms can you have?"

"I don't know," she breathed.  "I've never had even one like that
one!"

"No?" Brad was astonished.  She shook her head to confirm her
answer.  "Well then," he growled.  "Let's experiment..."  He
reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, then extracted a
linty, crinkly package.  "Want to put it on for me?" he asked as
he tore it open with his teeth.

Recognizing the object before her, Monica felt flushed and
excited.  "I wouldn't know how..."

"No?" Brad felt both guilty and honored to be the one to teach
Monica the fine art, leading her hand along his shaft as together
they unfurled the condom that had waited so optimistically for so
many years.  When the job was done, he smiled and kissed her
again, grinding his newly clothed member against her hot, moist
skin.  He slid his hands down her back, then cupped her asscheeks
and started to lift her off her feet, a low growl escaping his
throat as she giggled into his lips.  

She parted her legs as he lifted, wrapping them around his hips. 
She breathed heavily into the nape of his neck, alternating
breathy moans with light kisses.  She could feel him seeking
entrance and wiggled to help, when suddenly she heard him utter a
low, frustrated, "Damn!"

He exhaled and lowered her to her feet, then repeated, "Damn."

"What's wrong?" she asked, her frustration equal to his.

"The condom broke," he muttered.

Just then they heard the door open.



Janet hurriedly closed the door, and by the time Brad opened it
she had disappeared.  He slammed it shut, then turned the lock. 
"Damn," he muttered.

Monica came up behind him, and put her arms around his waist. 
Instinctively, he turned and embraced her tenderly.  "I hope this
wasn't a mistake," he said thoughtfully, looking over her
shoulder, taking in the patriotic accoutrements of his position. 
Her arms shifted, somehow finding just the right way to comfort
him.  He buried his face in her hair and sighed.  "No," he
whispered.  "This is no mistake."

She grinned contentedly, her sigh offering him even more comfort. 
"We just need to lock the door," she whispered back.  He laughed
in spite of himself and pulled away to drink in her serene face.

"Good thinking, Agent," he said, his eyes sparkling with
admiration.  "Because now that I've found you, I can't imagine
giving you up."  He took her head in his hands and kissed her,
with passionate tenderness that astonished her.  She marveled how
each kiss from him seemed different, and how each one
communicated such depth of feeling.  She would never have guessed
he could be so passionate, and if not for the power of her own
feelings she would have felt overwhelmed.

This time it was her turn to pull away and gaze lovingly at him. 
"I don't want to give you up either," she said breathily.  She
caressed his cheek, and he leaned into her hand.  "I want to take
you home with me and never leave the house."

He laughed.  "Then maybe we should go to my place."  Pulling her
to him, he let her feel his eagerness for her then added, "We'll
need to get out occasionally to stock up on condoms."


Monica was surprised by the appearance of Brad's apartment.  It
was almost as small as hers, furnished with pieces that had seen
better days, and not very neat.  It was so different from the
clean, modern efficiency of his office.  She stood behind him as
he locked the door, eyeing the shabby sofa.

After locking the door, Brad set his keys on a small table then
put his arm around Monica's waist.  "It's not much, I know," he
said, following the direction of her eyes.  "That sofa came from
Goodwill... but it's sturdy.  It'll last forever."  He spun her
around to face him then took her face in his long hands.  "I look
for quality....  always," he said, looking deeply into her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she stammered.  "I didn't mean..."  She could tell
he didn't want an apology, but she continued anyway.  "I just
expected something more... modern."  She smiled weakly, hoping he
wasn't hurt.  He was.  She wrapped her arms around his waist and
said impishly, "I hope your bed is sturdy."

"There's one way to find out," he smiled.  He kissed her
hungrily, letting his hands roam over her back.  She responded by
pulling at his lapel, then pulling off his suit jacket, keeping
her lips on his.  She threw the jacket on the floor then pulled
him to her.  He suddenly pulled away, then bent to pick up the
jacket.  "Sorry," he said as he hung the jacket over the back of
a chair.  "This is my best suit."  He pulled off his pants and
gently smoothed them before draping them over another chair.

He stood before her in his socks and underwear, trying to look
sexy.  Monica barely suppressed a laugh. But soon he was wrapped
around her, his cotton undershirt rubbing against her cheek, then
against her skin as her blouse fell to the floor.  Leaving a
puddle of clothing at their feet, they explored each others'
bodies with caresses and kisses that made each of them gasp. 
Brad cupped one of Monica's breasts in his hands, and leaning
forward, tongued a line from her nipple to her collarbone, then
traced a path of light kisses that finished behind her ear.  She
shivered in his hands and pulled herself closer to him.  "Cold?"
he whispered into her ear.  She nodded, and he responded by
rubbing his hands up and down her arms.  "C'mon," he reached for
a hand.  "Let's go to bed."


Her hand in his, Monica eagerly followed Brad through the bedroom
door.  A dim pink light filtered up from the street, casting long
dark shadows onto the ceiling.  Brad pulled her toward the bed
and caressed her face between soft, tender kisses.  "You're so
beautiful," he whispered huskily.  "Do you have any idea what you
do to me?"

She pushed her hips toward his, and he laughed into her mouth as
his eagerness felt the soft flesh of her abdomen.  "Yes, I guess
you do," he answered himself.  She reached for his cock and
stroked it gently, then more firmly as she felt him pressing into
her.  He groaned into her ear and started humping into her hand. 
"You're driving me crazy," he growled, then quickly pulled away
from her.

"I thought you liked it?" Monica said innocently.

"Too much," he gently pushed her back toward the bed.  "I want to
drive you crazy first," he grinned, and in the dim light his face
took on a sinister cast.

"Let's turn the lights on," suggested Monica, resisting his
efforts to lay her down.  "I want to see everything.  I want to
look into your eyes."

At his hesitation she struggled weakly to raise herself up.  He
sat on the edge of the bed, his knees turned toward her, and bent
to kiss her.  "Why?  Isn't this much more sensuous?"

"Please?" she begged, as his dark features started to frighten
her.

Sighing, he leaned toward the bedside lamp and turned it on.  The
glare upset his eyes, and he fiddled with the shade for a few
moments until casting the light against a wall and mirror. 
"How's that?" he turned toward her.

She was sitting up in bed, one hand on his thigh, her eyes
drinking in the sights around her before answering his.  His
bedroom was even shabbier than his living room, and except for
the immaculately neat closet visible through an open door, it
looked both dingy and a little messy.  She tried to hide her
disappointment, but his entire being was focused on her happiness
and pleasure.  His ability to read every nuance of facial
expressions and body language was renowned in the FBI, and when
it came to her it verged on ESP.  "It's not much, I know... but
by New York standards..."

"I understand," she smiled.  "I was apartment-hunting only a few
weeks ago."  She took his face in her hands and drew it to her,
experiencing for the first time a hint of hesitation in his
affection.  She kissed him tenderly, with a softness that almost
erased Brad's feelings of shame for arousing her pity.  As they
kissed she leaned back, and he crawled forward, finally laying on
top of her, his hurt pride forgotten.

He pulled away and raised himself up in a sensual push-up.  "You
still want to watch?"  She nodded and breathed deeply as he
trailed light kisses down her neck.  Watching everything he did,
Monica spread her arms out and grabbed the bedcovers.  As he
started to lick and fondle her nipples, she writhed in pleasure,
trying not to notice the nubbly pills covering the bedspread.  He
was an expert lover, bringing her almost to the brink of orgasm
as his tongue worked over one nipple and his fingers caressed the
other.  She gasped when he moved his mouth to the other nipple,
the canyon between her legs suddenly gushing with desire. 
Instinctively, she parted her legs and drew them up alongside
his, offering him entrance to her core.

Accepting her invitation, Brad slowly explored every inch of her
body on the way to his destination.  His hands found the ticklish
place just below her ribcage; his mouth circled her navel as her
chest heaved above him; keeping his eyes open, he drank in every
detail, every mole and muscle, until he found the curly hairs
that exuded a musky warmth.  Monica felt her insides melt, as the
sex act she'd only read about seemed imminent for her.  "Oh...
Brad..." she sighed involuntarily.  "Yessssss..."  He slowly
teased her opening, first with his fingers, then his lips, then
finally running his tongue over all her hills and valleys.  Her
twitches, sighs, and groans were all the navigation he needed as
he drove her to an orgasm that threatened to suffocate both of
them.  He was sure he was bruised where her heels had knocked
against his back, but he considered it a small price to pay for
the satisfaction of bringing satisfaction to her.

As he crawled upwards over her body, she looked down with a
beatific glow that made him smile with pride.  Seeing his face
slathered with her silky juices, his shiny lips breaking into a
broad smile, made Monica smile herself.  But as his lips reached
for hers she instinctively turned away, forcing his cheek to rub
against hers, leaving a sticky streak from her mouth to her ear. 
He hummed into her ear, rubbing his face into her hair.  "Don't
like that?" he whispered.  "No problem..."  He pulled away and
faced her, his hands stroking her hair back from each temple. 
"Just let me know..." he said.  "You can tell me anything."  She
nodded faintly.  "Want me to wash my face?" he added, his
eyebrows scrunching his forehead in expectation of an answer.  A
slight grimace was all the answer he needed.  "Be right back," he
said cheerfully, and bounded toward the bathroom.

While she waited Monica basked in the afterglow of her heavenly
climax, but couldn't help noticing the crooked drawer of his
dresser and the crack in his mirror.  She closed her eyes and
breathed deeply, willing herself to forget the dissonance between
the Brad she worked with and the Brad she was with now.  "Back in
a bit," she heard him say as he shuffled toward the living room. 
She sighed.  He was so cheerful...

He returned with the package of condoms and jumped into bed next
to her.  "You're not tired yet, are you?" he asked solicitously.

"No," she said, then realized he must have read something in her
face.  "No," she repeated more forcefully, grabbing him around
the waist.

"Good," he growled, wrapping his arms around her.  "Because I
have a few ideas..."  

She kissed him, taking him by surprise.  He marveled that such an
inexperienced woman could be so eager, bold and passionate.  He
pulled her with him as he reached for the condoms, then placed
one in her hand.

Within minutes his sheathed member was teasing her swollen labia,
moving in sensuous circles, the tip rubbing against her clit at
each pass.  She writhed under him, eventually succeeding in
clasping his cock in the strong walls of her vagina.  He gasped
then pushed in slowly, feeling her accepting him as her legs
wrapped around him.  When he was fully inside her he paused and
sighed into her ear, "My god, Monica... you're perfect..."  It
felt so natural, so right for him to be with her.  He raised
himself up a few inches, keeping his mouth near her ear and
whispering something that might have come out as words in another
setting.  He let one hand slide over her shoulder down to a
breast, palming her nipple in a gentle circle.  "We are so
perfect together," his husky voice huffed into her ear.

She smiled as he uttered these words, feeling the same sentiment,
as Brad's stiff cock slid into her slippery channel.  He filled
her completely, and as his hairs tangled with hers she felt an
almost spiritual union with this man.  Wordlessly she started to
urge him on, and he took his cue, sliding in and out, in and
out... slowly, as if to memorize every moment of the journey. She
groaned softly as he continued to control their pace, speeding
almost imperceptibly, lingering over each sensation.  Gradually,
without her realizing it, her tension built, opening a new realm
of feelings, both physical and spiritual.

Acknowledging his mastery, she let him take control.  His grunts,
sighs, and, eventually, shouts, urged her on to her own noisy
expressions of pleasure, until eventually she erupted in a howl
that she only later realized was her own.  She felt her body fall
away from her, as her mind exploded into the vastness of the
universe, seeing only light, hearing only silence, feeling only
electricity...

Sensing her final release, Brad took his mind off tennis and gave
himself over to his own release.  With a loud groan he filled the
condom to overflowing, then collapsed on top of Monica's
shuddering body.  He buried his face in the space between her
neck and his pillow, and waited for his body to remember itself. 
His eyes squeezed shut as his breath struggled to escape in heavy
pants.  With a final sigh he relaxed into her fragrant softness,
struggling to return to the real world.  He rubbed his face up,
down, and around her hair for several seconds before realizing
why -- his cheeks were wet with tears.  His pride returned, and
he buried himself even deeper into the protection of her hair,
even as the tears continued to flow.  Instinctively, he snaked
his arms under her and hugged her to him tightly.

Monica responded by wrapping her arms around his back, but within
a few moments felt herself struggling to breathe.  "Brad," she
gasped.  "You're too heavy -- I can't breathe."

Brad sighed and rolled to his side.  He knew too well the gravity
of what they'd just done.

Title:  An Office Romnce, part 10
Author:  Scifinerdgrl
Rating:  NC-17
Category:  S/X/R
Keywords:  Follmer/Reyes Romance, Pre-XF, X-File
Spoilers:  Foreshadowing of Empedocles, Release
Feedback:  scifinerdgrl@hotmail.com or scifinerdgrl@mail.ev1.net
Flames:  dontyouhaveanythingbettertodo@getalife.com

He awoke to find himself alone in bed, and for a moment was
relieved.  Maybe he'd just been dreaming, maybe he hadn't just
made love to a subordinate...  But as his mind cleared he
remembered more details -- sounds, scents, tastes... It was all
too real.  Exhilaratingly, horrifyingly real.  He rolled onto her
side of the bed and mashed his face into the pillow, her scent
reassuring him the night before had actually happened.

He found her in the dining room, seated, facing a blank wall. 
Immediately he deduced what she was doing, and took advantage of
the moment to study her features.  She sat tall and erect, her
eyes lightly closed, breathing slowly and deeply.  His chin on
one hand, he lay on the sofa, peering over the worn arm with
intense interest.  She was wearing one of his shirts -- a light
blue one -- making her appear girlish in contrast.  He traced her
profile with his index finger, memorizing every contour in case
the moment would never be repeated.  Moving to her breasts, tiny
at this distance, but with enough curves showing through the
shirt, he remembered the vision he'd drunk in the night before,
the nipples he'd caressed so lovingly, the feel of her silky skin
under his hand...  How long would she continue?  He didn't dare
interfere, but he wasn't sure how long he could continue to
torture himself this way.  Yet he couldn't stop.  His mind moved
all over her body, sending tingles to his lips and fingertips as
he imagined them exploring her once again.  Without meaning to,
he let out a loud sigh, causing her to look in his direction.

With a regal bearing, she turned her head, only her head, in his
direction, and, seeing him eyeing her, bestowed on him a Mona
Lisa grin.  She turned back to her meditation and soon took three
very deep breaths, followed by a graceful rise from her seat, and
a soundless procession to the sofa, his eyes following every step
with interest and awe.  Laying her palm on the nape of his neck,
she summoned him to follow her, then turned toward the bedroom. 
He wouldn't remember making the journey... he simply arrived. 
Taking her head in his hand, he kissed her lightly, giving
himself over to her control.  Monica wrapped her arms around his
waist and slowly, lazily, let her thumbs lead her hands upwards
along his spine.  He sighed into her mouth and whispered
hoarsely, "Monica, I adore you," before he had a chance to think.

Sighing, she answered by nuzzling, then nibbling his neck, just
below his strong jaw line.  He leaned into her attentions and
relaxed his body against hers. "You were magnificent last night,"
he whispered.

She pulled away suddenly, and with a glint in her eyes said, "So
were you.  I've never had an... experience like that."

He stroked her hair with both hands and smiled, his own eyes
acquiring the glint he saw in hers.  "You almost didn't last
night!" he chuckled.  "I don't think I could have held out any
longer."

"You waited?" she asked with surprise.  "You were waiting for
me?"

He nodded.  "Of course," he answered, as if there could never be
any doubt.  "I want you to," he paused, searching for a euphemism
to match hers.  "...enjoy being with me.  I can't be happy if you
aren't."

Her chest heaving with gratitude and desire, her lips reaching
for his, she pulled him closer, the pressure of her hands pushing
his center toward hers.  He took the hint and carefully,
tenderly, laid her on the bed.

She looked up at him, her heart racing as he leaned forward to
kiss her.  His kiss was warm, soft, comfortable and very, very
natural, yet at the same time passionate and exciting.  It was
the memory of his lips that had intruded on her meditation.  Try
as she might, whenever she let go of her conscious thoughts, the
memory of his kisses had floated to the surface of her mind that
morning.  When she heard him tip-toeing at the other end of the
apartment she had doubled her efforts to concentrate, but instead
of slowing down, her heart started speeding up.  As she continued
trying to capture that sense of well-being that meditation
promised, the sounds he made as he laid on the sofa, breathing
softly and shifting his weight occasionally, were as loud and
crisp as if she'd taped them and played them back through
headphones.  Although he was at least twenty feet away, her mind
placed her close to him.  His sigh coincided with the inward sigh
she'd felt when she realized she had far to go on her spiritual
journey.  One day she would be able to meditate with him in the
room, but for now, her thoughts were far more corporeal than
spiritual.

When she saw him laying there, studying her, she remembered Joe's
reaction to her meditation.  Seeing Brad watching her, knowing he
had tried not to disturb her, sent a thrill of desire through her
body.  As he followed her into the bedroom she felt at once
powerful and enslaved, pulled toward the bed by her desire for
him, yet exerting an undertow that he was powerless to escape. 
These unseen forces met in her center, and as Brad drew closer
she felt herself halfway to ecstasy before she could feel his
breath.

Brad brushed a few strands of hair away from her face, his hand
following her hair down to her shoulder, then over her neck. He
rubbed his fingers against the placard of the shirt, running
downward along its edge until they came to the first button. "You
are the most incredible woman," he sighed.  She smiled and
breathed deeply, staring into his eyes, as he fumbled with, then
succeeded in unbuttoning the shirt, keeping his eyes on hers. One
button at a time, he pushed the fabric to the sides, and by the
time his hand came to the hem of the shirt, she was breathing
heavily and curling her spine to bring herself closer to him. He
found her center without looking, its damp heat and her movements
guiding him as he gently tickled his way toward the seat of her
desire. She gasped when he found her oily folds.  As he started
to investigate, her body gushed its approval, making him smile in
spite of himself.  "We don't have much time before work," he
grinned.  "But I get the impression you don't want me to dawdle
here."

For an answer, she grabbed his head and brought it to hers,
engulfing his lips in a passionate kiss that took his breath
away.  With his free hand he reached blindly for the condoms on
the night stand, and pulled away to tear at a package with his
teeth.  The sight of his animalistic attack on the package sent
Monica to a new level of desire, and she eagerly snapped up the
contents as he dropped it onto her chest.  He rolled onto his
back, letting her cover his manhood, first with latex, then with
herself.  They both groaned as their love-making grew
exponentially, taking them to a simultaneous release, each
watching the other's face, each feeling the joy of mutual
passion.  Panting, Monica collapsed on top of him, her damp hair
draping over his face.  Brad put his lips to her ear but couldn't
think of words to express his feelings.  Instead, he gently
kissed the curves of her ear, reaching for each ripple, his
kisses slowing as the passion of their love-making drained away. 
She rolled off of him, leaving an arm draped across his chest. 
"Are you always this good?" she said with a flirtatious grin that
barely masked the genuineness of her feelings.

"I'll give you a few phone numbers," he grinned back.  "You can
take a poll."  He paused when her face turned serious, then
reached for her cheek and stroked it tenderly.  "But there's
another way you can find out..."

"I think I prefer the other way," she chuckled.  She pulled
herself closer to him and relaxed into a comfortable hug. 
Resting her head on his shoulder, she sighed, relieved to think
this hadn't been a fluke for him.

As if knowing she needed reassurance, he kissed the top of her
hair and gently stroked her arm.  "I'm not sure a poll would be a
good indicator anyway," he said finally.  "I've never felt so..."
he paused, searching for the right word, and she lifted her head
to look into his eyes.  The sight of her chocolate eyes searching
for answers in his brought words to his mind that were far too
powerful for such new love.  He let the thoughts drop and started
over.  "You're very special," he said softly.  "It's never felt
like this for me, either."

She put her head back down, and they lay in their afterglow until
his alarm went off.

***********************
Part 2, Chapter 1

He knew it would be awkward, but it had to be done.  He had to
talk to Janet about what she'd seen.  After dropping Monica off
at her apartment, Brad waited in his car, double-parked, drumming
his fingers on the steering wheel.  He'd seen Janet several times
a week for years, and he thought he knew her, but this morning it
was obvious to him that he didn't *really* know her.  He didn't
know whether she would be disapproving, or what she would do
about it if she did.  Would she report him to Williams?  gossip
about them to her smoking friends?  try to talk Monica out of it? 
He couldn't afford to wait until the answer was obvious.  He had
to ask her.  The question was, how?

After a few minutes Monica returned, dressed in her most
business-like attire and smelling of delicately applied perfume.
She leaned toward him in expectation of a kiss, but he turned
away and reached for the ignition key.  Monica put her hand on
his thigh and looked at him quizzically.  "What's wrong?" she
asked.

Sighing deeply, he put a hand over hers.  "Janet," he reminded
her.  "We have to be careful, Monica.  You know the rules..."

She rotated her hand until it clasped his, then squeezed it.  "I
know..." she sighed.  "That's why I couldn't believe you...  you
were willing to be with me."  She sighed again, this time more
deeply, and pulled her hand away.  "I knew it was too good to be
true," she added, her voice starting to crack. He reached for her
jaw line, caressing it as he directed her face toward him.  "You
have no idea how thrilled I am to hear you say that," he smiled. 
"I'm not telling you this shouldn't have happened.  Only that we
shouldn't get caught."

She nodded, obviously relieved.  He had been all she could think
about as she dressed, the touch of her own hands as they brushed
against her skin reminding her of him.  She'd never been so
completely smitten before, so completely ruled by her feelings.
It was wrong, it was against FBI policy, and it was a little
dangerous, but it was what she wanted.  And she trusted her
instincts on this one.  As she brushed her hair and touched up
her make-up she realized this one might be THE one, and she
caught herself smiling.

******************************************
"Janet," Brad motioned to his secretary when she arrived.  "Can I
speak with you a moment?"

"Of course," Janet answered, setting down her purse.  "You can
speak with me anytime.  I'm your secretary."

"I mean, in confidence," Brad said awkwardly.  "About something
personal."  He could feel the heat in his cheeks as tell-tale
pink rose to the surface.  "About me and Agent Reyes.  What you
saw--" he began to explain.

She put up a hand, interrupting his well-rehearsed speech.
"Everything you tell me is confidential.  And everything I see is
confidential.  I have security clearance, remember?" 

"It's not what you think.  It'll just be her," he assured her.

"I know," she nodded.  "Don't give it a thought.  But I would
prefer it if you locked the door first."

He let out a sigh. "So you haven't told anyone?"

"Just my sister," Janet admitted.  "But who would she tell?"

Brad chuckled uncomfortably, but his relief was genuine if not
complete.  "The thing is, Janet.  I'm not really like that. 
*She's* not like that.  If we'd me under any other
circumstances..."

Janet interrupted again.  "I know," she said with almost maternal
compassion.  "You're good people.  And I'm glad you found each
other."  She adjusted her seat and switched on her computer. 
Looking over her shoulder, she added, "Just be careful, okay?"

"Thank you, Janet," he said sincerely.

"Anytime," she said, smiling.  She turned the page in her
calendar and said efficiently, "You asked me to remind you to
call the car pool..."

***************

In a semi-detached brick house in southern Bensonhurst, Janet's
sister's husband's brother's youngest daughter balanced a baby on 
her knee and clamped a phone under her chin.  The clear vinyl
cover on the sofa groaned loudly as she leaned back and shouted, 
"I know!"  Then, with as much excitement as if she actually knew 
the principals involved, she said, "It's happening everywhere!  
My aunt in the FBI walked in on her boss while he was boinking 
some woman in his office.  THE FBI!!!!  Can you believe it?  I 
mean, if they can't keep it in their pants, who can?"

****************

A few minutes later the phone rang at the Regali residence.
Regali listened with interest as his caller said, "Remember when
you said you'd pay good money to you to find a weak link in the
bureau?"


***************

Monica sat opposite her partner, Pete Franklin, watching his
hands as they gestured over the files laid across his desk.

"I just don't see any connection, other than the pattern of
injuries, but even there you yourself admit there are variations. 
How do you know these aren't just similar crimes?" he challenged
her.

"Variations, yes," she conceded.  "But within a narrow range of
possibilities, and all explainable within a single theory.  I
think we're looking at someone who is experimenting, refining his
method."

"Honing his exorcism skills?" he mocked.  "Practicing exorcizing
demons on random victims?  What would be the point?  The victims
weren't even evil!"

"Weren't they?" Reyes challenged with equal determination.  "We
all have evil within ourselves.  Isn't that the basis of a lot of
religious ritual?  To purge ourselves of evil, to atone for our
misdeeds, or at any rate to learn to live with aspects of
ourselves we don't like?  Doesn't the Jewish faith have a process
of atonement?" she demanded.

"The ten days of repentance," he said softly, leaning back in his
chair and eyeing his new partner warily. Was she turning his
religion against him?  "I know where you're going with this. 
Yes, Rosh Hashanah is for reflection, and Yom Kippur is the day
of atonement.  But there's no exorcism.  Just prayer and acts of
charity."

"And Christianity has Holy Communion, for forgiveness of sins,"
she added.  "Even without any suggestion of demon possession."

He pushed his chair back a few inches and eyed her warily.  "But
that's voluntary, without any abuse, and completely in the
control of the Church.  I don't see why you are trying to make
this into..."

"Look," she leaned forward with confidence.  "All I'm saying is
that we need to be open to the possibility.  This killer is odd. 
His crimes don't fit any of the standard profiles of serial
killings.  We have to start with what's the same across the
cases, then look for a pattern, however bizarre, to give us some
direction.  This guy doesn't think like us.  We have to learn how
to think like him."

"I know that!" Pete snapped. "That's how the standard profiles
were developed in the first place!"

It was Reyes' turn to lean back in her seat and assess her
partner's motives.  "So what do you think is wrong with my
theory?"

He fumed for a moment then jumped to his feet and began pacing.
"The victims!" he said.  "They have nothing in common."  He
paused at the window and put his hands on the sill as he looked
into the air shaft.  "Absolutely nothing," he muttered.

"Except that they were human," Reyes pointed out.  "And all
humans are capable of both good and evil."

Franklin whirled to face her.  "Not babies!" he shouted.  "How do
you explain the dumpster baby?"

Reyes thought for a moment, reliving the sense of evil emanating
from the dumpster.  At the time she'd assumed she was sensing the
evil of the crime that had been committed, just as she'd sensed
evil in the photos in her office.  But now she wondered:  could
the baby himself have been evil?  "I can't explain it.  But I bet
the parents can," she said significantly, raising her eyebrows.
"And until we get a match on the footprints we can't question 
them.  So what next?"

Smirking slightly, Pete sat down again and grabbed the files.
"Interview whoever we can," he said, knowing that she knew the
answer to her question.

"And, remember, I saw her at that restaurant.  Maybe she paid
with a credit card," Monica suggested.

******************

Part 2, Chapter 2

By the end of the day they had the last victim's name:  Sheila
Binford.  After delivering the news to Williams, Monica and her
partner went their separate ways:  he to his family, she to the
office of the man who had been on her mind all day.

"Hi Janet," she said, using the excuse of closing the door to
avoid looking Brad's secretary in the eye.  After a day of
reminiscences of her night of passion with Brad, she'd almost
forgotten about their near-miss in the office.  Seeing Janet
jogged her memory.

"Hi Monica," Janet said soothingly.  "He's in a meeting, but I
know he'd like to see you."

Monica blushed.  "No, I don't need to see him," she stammered. 
"I just wanted to give him an update on the case..."

Janet put her index finger up to shhh Monica, then hit the
intercom button.  "Agent Reyes is here to see you," she said with
impersonal efficiency.  She waited a moment then said, "Okay,
I'll tell her."   Monica's smile, at once hopeful and dismissive,
made Janet smile broadly.  "It'll only be a minute," she assured
her.  When Monica sat down, balancing her briefcase in exact
duplication of the anxious Monica of her first work day, Janet
felt compelled to say something.

"Monica," Janet moved to the seat next to the younger woman.  "I
want you to know, I understand."  Monica opened her mouth to
object, but Janet interrupted.  "I'm happy for you, and I promise
you, nothing that happens in this office leaves this office."

Monica sighed, relieved as much about Janet's approval as her
secrecy.  Janet returned to her computer and made a show of
putting on her headphones and typing up the notes she heard. 
Janet looked over at Monica for a moment and said, "Just be
careful," with a friendly wink.

The inner door opened, and two agents, both tall men, walked out
with serious expressions. They ignored the two women in the outer
office and proceeded directly to the outer door.

"Agent Reyes," Brad said formally as he ushered Monica into his
office, but over his shoulder he winked at Janet.

He locked the door, then grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed
her.  "God, you look hot," he growled.  "I've been thinking about
you all day."  His hands rubbed up and down her arms, pushing her
inch by inch toward his desk until she was backed against it.  He
buried his face in the hair just behind her ear, his breath
tickling the nape of her neck.  She drew one leg up, teasing his
thigh with her knee.  He reached under that thigh and pulled it
higher, then slid his hand along it until it could squeeze her
ass.  His other hand then reached around, and the two hands
played together, alternatingly cupping then squeezing the
sensuously curved buttocks he'd been secretly eyeing since the
day he met her.

"Brad," she sighed, running her hands along his back.  "We
shouldn't..."  His response was to pull her toward himself, his
hands still on her ass, pressing her inward until he was sure she
felt how much he wanted her.  "We're in your office," she
protested.

Brad silenced her with a kiss, the most passionate and sensuous
kiss they had yet shared.  When they came up for air he said, "I
want you," in a voice that almost seemed to belong to someone
else.  "You make me so hot..." he added, then silenced himself by
kissing her urgently.  He slid his hands downward then pulled up
on her thighs, forcing her to sit back on his desk.  A flash of
guilt passed through him as he realized the control he was
exerting over her, but when her legs wrapped around his, all
guilt vanished.  "Janet knows," he whispered.  "And she's okay
with it...." he said, madly planting kisses from her collarbone
to her ear and back again.  "As long as we've locked the door..."

"And turned off the intercom," Janet's voice rang out from the
desk.

************************

Monica turned around and slapped the correct button.  "You're
sure?" she asked when she faced him again, but Brad didn't speak. 
Instead, he buried his face in the space between her breasts and
slipped his hands under her blouse.  Laughing, Monica unbuttoned
the top few buttons, giving Brad access to the silky front-hook
bra.  Somehow he undid the hook with his teeth, then spared no
centimeter of her exposed skin his devoted attention.  She
sighed, arching her back to meet him, and ran her fingers through
his hair.  He took this as a sign to snake kisses upward to her
earlobe, and she countered by moving her hands downward, over his
chest, and toward his belt buckle.  "How far can we go here?" she
asked, her index finger dipping under his waistband.

"Ugh, no condoms," he groaned quietly into her ear.  Backing
away, he could see the desire he'd ignited burning in her eyes. 
His hands were still on her breasts, massaging and teasing them,
their nipples hardened beyond what he'd thought possible.  Moving
one hand downward, he slipped an index finger under her
waistband, matching all the motions she was making under his. 
Feeling her holding her breath to make room for more, he
flattened his hand and moved it downward.

She tried to lean backward, but he grabbed her hands and pulled
her away from the desk.  Walking her backwards, his mouth on her
neck for most of the journey, he pulled down on her pants and sat
her in his desk chair.  "I like the way you think, Brad Follmer,"
she whispered.  By the time her pants were around her ankles, his
breath was warming the insides of her thighs and setting a few
other parts of her anatomy on fire.  "You're so good to me," she
sighed, spreading her legs as much as she could.

He knelt before his goddess and inhaled her incense.  "I adore
you," he whispered, then began making his offering.

Monica pressed her head against the back of the chair, and her
hands clutched the arms.  "Yes, yes, yes..." she chanted.

Brad moved in harmony with his goddess's wishes, and stroke by
selfless stroke, he watched and listened for signs of approval. 
Monica moaned softly and slid downward to give him easier access,
and when he deftly penetrated her with his expert tongue she
gasped.  "Brad..." she panted.  "Don't... stop..."  He worked his
magic, slurping, licking, sucking, until her breath came in
desperate gasps.

"Agent Follmer?" the intercom sounded.  "A.D. Williams is here to
see you."

Brad's head snapped to attention and he slapped the buttons on
the intercom.  "Yes, Janet," he said in his most officious voice. 
"Just a minute please."  He put a finger to his lips and nodded
to the intercom.

Monica's eyes were mere slits as she struggled to regain her
senses.  She hit the correct intercom button then whispered, "You
really need to figure this thing out.  It's not rocket science."

He smiled weakly and pulled her bra closed.  "I'm sorry," he
whispered as he fastened the hook.  "Call you?"  She nodded as he
continued dressing her.  He smoothed her hair as she smoothed
his, then held her head firmly in his hands.  "Maybe it's just as
well we got interrupted," he said, smiling a little more broadly
as he recovered his composure.  "You need more time than this." 
He kissed her lightly then added, "You *deserve* more than we had
time for."

She nodded uncomfortably, still not used to such adoration, and
wiped his mouth with a kleenex.  "We shouldn't be doing this
anyway," she sighed.  "Want to come over later?"

"That depends on what Williams wants," he said, watching her hand
follow his lips as he spoke. "I'll call you," he promised.

Monica went to the door, armed with her briefcase, and ready to
face Williams.  She turned suddenly and said,  "The reason I came
here was to tell you that I found the name of the adult victim. 
It wasn't what you think..."

"And the reason I wanted to see you was to give you this," he
answered, pulling a key ring from his desk drawer.  "Your
carriage awaits, milady."  At her surprised expression, he
explained, "The bureau's carriage awaits.  Take good care of it. 
I had to call in some favors to get it for you."  She took the
keys and he added, "Your parking space is number 42."  He kissed
her before she could speak, then said, "You're welcome."

In the outer office, Janet was leaning over, picking up her
purse, as Williams and Monica exchanged greetings.  Janet met
Monica at the elevator and whispered, "You might want to check
your make-up."  A flustered Monica  fumbled through her
briefcase, her shaky hand finally coming up with the compact. 
Janet held the briefcase as Monica struggled to put herself
together, her composure lending strength.  "That was a close
call," Janet said as Monica, her face and hair now in order, took
back her bag.

"I could use a cigarette," Monica sighed.  "Mind if I borrow
one?"

"I understand.  I always have one before the subway anyway.  I'll
join you," Janet offered, eager for some hint about what happened
on the other side of the door.

**********************************

By the time Monica had become stuck in traffic on the way to
Battery Tunnel, her delight at having a bureau vehicle had faded. 
The ring of her cellphone, nearly drowned out by the sounds of
honking horns, only added to her jangled nerves.  "Hello," she
barked.

"Follmer here," Brad's voice said, rather formally.  "I'll be
working late tonight.  Can we reschedule that handball game?"

Monica sighed.  Williams was still in the office.  Those warnings
about workplace relationships suddenly rang true, but for
different reasons than the schoolmarmish workshop leader said. 
She knew she wanted Brad, but she wanted the world to know, too. 
Keeping her feelings secret wasn't just difficult.  It was
unnatural.

Remembering back to her afternoon's frustration, she drummed her
fingers on the steering wheel and as she did with every other
frustration in her life, tried to think of a way to solve it. 
Was this something the Tao could settle for her?  Was there a
Buddhist approach?  She thought back to her incipient belief
system and suddenly remembered seeing a pamphlet on the Ch'i of
sex.  Taking advantage of the latest in a long series of
gridlocked intersections, she reached for her briefcase and
riffled through it.  Behind the files, personnel fliers and car
pool regulations she found the book store flier she'd picked up
at the temple.  No point in going home, anyway, she thought, and
took her first New York-style U-turn.

The store was everything she expected:  incense wafted out the
door as soon as it opened, and tiny chimes announced her arrival. 
The noise and frustration of Manhattan traffic receded deeper
into her subconsciousness as she browsed the books, fondled the
statuary, and sniffed the incense.  She found a book called
Healing Love Through the Tao, Cultivating Female Sexual Energy. 
And, lest the clerks think she was a pervert, she loaded up her
wicker basket with books, statues of fat, happy Buddhas, and
scented candles.

The pale-faced, black-haired, multiply-pierced shop girl rang up
her purchases with a knowing grin.  "That's a great book," she
said, pointing to the one book Monica hoped the girl wouldn't
notice.  "Those exercises are incredible."  Monica blushed and
thanked the girl for her advice, but the girl seemed not to
understand she'd just been given perfunctory, hurried,
please-forget-you-saw-me thanks.  "If you need help, there are
some sex therapists on the wall over there," she added, nodding
to a wall plastered with business cards.  "Of course most of them
do other kinds of chi work too," the girl winked.  "But even if
it's listed last, you can bet they do a lot of sex therapy."

"Thank you," Monica said, quickly grabbing her bag and credit
card.  "I'll take a look."  She walked to the wall feeling as if
she owed it to the girl to look through the cards, yet secretly
suspected she'd need one if office quickies were going to be a
way of life for her.  As she looked over the cards advertising
every kind of folk medicine, Eastern philosophy, and New Age
hokum, her eyes lit on one in particular:

Sheila Binford
Spiritual Advisor
Psychic Readings
Astrological Charts
Meditation Instruction
Spiritual Cleansing

Title:  An Office Romance, part 11
Author:  Scifinerdgrl
Rating:  NC-17
Category:  S/X/R
Keywords:  Follmer/Reyes Romance, Pre-XF, X-File
Spoilers:  Foreshadowing of Empedocles, Release
Feedback:  scifinerdgrl@hotmail.com or scifinerdgrl@mail.ev1.net
Flames:  whocareswhatyouthink@biteme.com


An Office Romance, Part 11


Monica grabbed Sheila Binford's card from the wall and dashed out
the store, oblivious to the smirk on the face of the clerk.  She
grabbed her cellphone and dialed her partner's number.

"Franklin," he answered.  "This better be good.  We're about to
eat."

"Pete!" Monica gushed.  "I have new information on Sheila
Binford.  She was a spiritual advisor, and get this!  She also
advertised that she did Spiritual Cleansings!  I just saw her
business card!"

"Agent," Pete said condescendingly.  "This can wait until
tomorrow.  We're getting a search warrant for her premises,
remember?"

"But--" Monica objected.

"But nothing!  I'm off the clock, Agent." he snarled.  "The next
time you interrupt my dinner it'd better be life or death."  With
that he ended the call, leaving a hurt and frustrated Monica
sitting in her car wondering what to do next.

She dialed Brad's cellphone number.  "Follmer," he answered after
several rings.

"Brad?" Monica's voice was unusually high-pitched, and he didn't
answer immediately.  "It's Monica.  I need your advice."

"Shoot," he answered, happy to hear her voice.  Williams had left
earlier, instructing him on the reports that needed to be done by
the following morning.  He'd been working non-stop and welcomed
the break.  Monica explained the situation, and Brad had to smile
at the naive woman's excitement over her find, and her
disappointment in her partner's response.  "He's right," he
assessed.  "You would have found out sooner or later, but you did
the right thing."  His voice softened and he added, "Until you
have more time under your belt it's going to be hard for you to
know what's important and what can wait."

"Thanks," she said, still disappointed not to be acting on this
new lead.  "You always know what to say."

He sighed.  "To you, yes.  And don't ask me how or why.  A little
mystery is a good thing."

"So I'm not following up on this lead?" she said flirtatiously. 
"I guess I'm free tonight.  Want to come over?"

"Not tonight, Monica," he said.  "I might not even go home to my
own apartment.  I'm swamped here."  He twirled his seat until he
was facing the window, the evening fog obscuring the lights of
the other office workers putting in overtime.  "Why don't you
just relax, do your meditation thing, listen to some soft music,
maybe take a bubble bath?"  Hearing her disappointed sigh, he
decided to add, "So you'll be well-rested when I ravage you
tomorrow."

She sighed again.  "Okay.  I'll try."

"That's my girl," he said, smiling.  "I know it's tough, but
we'll work things out."

"Goodnight," she said, not sure how to tell him how much she
missed having lunch with him, talking with him on long car rides,
walking down the street talking about nothing... "See you
tomorrow," she said as hopefully as she could, then hung up.

Monica wandered aimlessly around her apartment, suddenly unused
to spending the evening alone.  Following Brad's advice, she
opened the tap for her bath, then dug through her sack from the
book store.  She lit the scented candles, put on one of her new
CDs, then started thumbing through the book.  By the time the
bubbles reached the top of the tub, the book had provided her
with a few ideas of ways to spend the evening.



Sheila Binford's "office" was the living room of her Brooklyn
apartment.  Monica let Pete take the lead, and he accompanied his
methodical search with a running commentary on why he does things
differently from FBI protocol.  She wasn't sure she wanted this
kind of instruction, so she sneaked away when his back was
turned.  She found the bedroom, and surveyed its decorations.

The late Sheila Binford obviously had held eclectic beliefs.  A
Native American Sun Catcher hung in one window, a stained glass
praying hands in the other, and one corner of the bedroom had
been decorated as an ancestor altar, with icons from several
Eastern religions competing for space.  Monica sniffed the burnt
incense and the scented candles, and recognized their scents as
being common aroma therapy prescriptions.  Being careful not to
touch anything, she leaned over the bed and sniffed, expecting to
find traces of aroma therapy oils with the same scents there, but
instead the faint smell of garlic rose from the pillows.  Her leg
knocked against the night stand, and when Monica looked down she
realized it wasn't a night stand, it was a file cabinet.

"What are you doing in here?" Pete demanded from the doorway.

"Just checking the bedroom.  I think I've found something here,"
Monica said innocently.

Veins started to appear in Pete's neck but he restrained his
voice, saying, "I told you to stay with me.  Don't go off on your
own.  You're still in training, and I'm in charge here.  You do
what *I* tell you to.  Understand?"

"But I didn't touch anything," Monica pleaded.  "I was just
looking around."

"Did you hear me, Agent?" Pete scolded.  "I *said* don't go off
on your own.  I don't care what you think..."

"Okay, okay," Monica conceded.  She started for the doorway and
asked, "What did you want to show me in the other room?"

"Forget it," Pete snapped.  "There's nothing there.  Just a lot
of New Age nonsense."

"No evidence?" Monica asked, feeling guilty for needling him. 
She couldn't help it.  She was starting to loathe this man and
his arrogant attitude.  After working with Brad, she knew things
didn't have to be this way.

"Evidence that she was loopy," he snarled.  "And don't take that
any way but what it is.  It's just a coincidence that our victim
had goofy beliefs."

"Then we shouldn't look in here," Monica suggested, walking back
toward the bed and indicating the file cabinet.

Pete bounded to the cabinet, elbowing Monica out of the way.  The
labels on the two drawers read "Spirits:  Calling Forth" and
"Spirits:  Sending Away."  Pete sniggered but nevertheless
grabbed the handle on the "Sending Away" drawer.

Monica sat on the edge of the bed, looking over Pete's shoulder
at the files, books and notebooks he thumbed through.  She sighed
loudly, but Pete seemed not to notice.  His running commentary
seemed to be in his head now, with no "instructional" comments to
his young partner.

"Ah-hah!" he said finally, triumphantly pulling a bound book from
the files.  "Appointment book!"  He moved to the chair between
the two windows and flipped through the pages, oblivious to
Monica's presence.

Pete made a few scornful grunts as he pored over the book, and
Monica took advantage of her invisibility to take a closer look
at contents of the file cabinet.  At the back of the drawer,
lying flat behind the other files, were several files marked
"Case Closed" in hand-written magic marker letters.  Monica
smiled at the amateurish filing system, and gently pulled up
until she had all the files in her hands.

The files seemed to be ordered by date, and Monica went
immediately to the most recent.  Self-congratulatory notes
indicated the elimination of evil from the character of several
customers, but the language of the notes seemed to change. 
"Pete," she said, not thinking about his reaction.  "Did you see
these?"

Pete's head snapped up, and he immediately became annoyed at his
partner's unauthorized initiative.  "What do you have there?"

"Cases," Monica said, thoughtfully poring over the files.  "She
was doing exactly what I'd suspected.  Amateurish exorcism."  She
looked up to see her partner reaching for the files.  She pulled
them toward her possessively.  "But there's something odd here. 
She started this business after calling forth spirits and not
being able to send them away again," she said, putting the files
in her lap but still holding them tightly.  "She was in over her
head right from the start, but by the end," she picked up the top
file and waved it significantly.  "Her last cases she was getting
quite good at it.  A little too good.  And her descriptions
change too.  Listen to this," she said, opening the file to read
from it:

'They fight the inevitable, knowing that I am superior to them
now.  My power grows with each one, and only the purest of the
Good can resist my efforts.  Fortunately, this is New York.'

"Don't get too smug," Pete warned.  "She's a victim, not a perp. 
Your theory doesn't explain that."

"No, it doesn't," Monica said thoughtfully.  "What's in her
appointment book?"

A faint blush washed over Pete's ears as he turned the open
appointment book toward his partner.  "She made notes on her
appointments, so it looks like this one," he indicated with his
long, bony finger, "was the last."

"Unless she died *at* the next one, here," Monica pointed, her
hand somehow making Pete's jump away from the page.  I scare him?
she thought briefly.  How was that?  But she pushed those
thoughts aside and asked, "Should we call him?"

Her partner seemed a little flustered.  "Yes, I think so," he
stuttered.  "But we should discuss this with Williams first."

"Shouldn't we question him right away then?  He could kill
again..." Monica said, her heart starting to race.  "We have to
find him before..."

"Procedures, Agent Reyes," Pete chided.  "Let's not get ahead of
ourselves."

Monica fumed silently as Pete dialed Williams on his cell phone
and moved to the other room.  More as an antidote for her anger
than out of curiosity, she thumbed through the files in her hand
and mulled over the patterns that she was sure would emerge.  If
only she could study these more closely...

She laid the files out on the bed, in chronological order, then
pulled out the hand-written summaries for each.  As she surveyed
the pages she saw a change in the writing style, from flowery,
even and feminine to hurried, jagged writing with daggerlike
letters and sharply drawn ends.  She leaned over the first one
and read the innocent musings of a spiritualist who had recently
hung out her shingle.  "When the spirits come forth," she'd
written.  "A chill settles in the room, but the family feels no
fear, only joy as they recognize the departed soul returning to
comfort those left behind."

Bland, very bland, thought Monica.  Like the ramblings of any
bunko artist.  She skipped a few then read, "The departed soul
arrived, and a dry desert wind swept through the gathering. 
Unlike previous seances, this one terrified the bereaved, and the
baby, whom they brought to meet his grandfather, started to wail. 
Things flew around the room and everyone was in a panic, until
suddenly all went quiet, including the baby.  Everyone was
relieved, and I gave them their money back.  But then I got a
call from the baby's mother..."

The page fluttered to the bedspread as Monica fought back a wave
of... not nausea, but something she'd never felt before.  Horror,
perhaps?  The baby had been possessed, and this woman had called
forth the ... what was it?  A demon?  An evil ancestor?  A spirit
looking for a host?  She wasn't sure she wanted to know.  And
then she tried to set things right, and the child died in the
process.  She remembered the case of the child killed during a
"re-birthing" procedure.  Could this be the same kind of case? 
Were the parents afraid of being implicated?  Is that why the
baby didn't miss any missing child reports?  She set the file
aside and looked through the rest, quickly coming to the case of
a mentally disabled boy who claimed to be possessed, and finding
two more cases.  Monica sighed.  This woman may have been in over
her head, and she suspected she might be too.

She wrote down the names of other victims then set their files
aside.  As she looked toward the doorway, hoping to overhear
Pete's conversation, something niggled at her conscious, and she
reached for the appointment book.  The last appointment.  Pete
seemed odd after seeing the name, as if he recognized it.  Monica
jotted the name in her notebook then put the appointment book
away.

When Pete came back into the room he announced that everything
had been arranged.  Forensics was on its way to collect evidence,
the files would be shared with the rest of the task force, and
all of Sheila's clients would be interviewed.  Pete finished by
saying, "I'll finish securing the apartment.  I've set up some
time for you at the practice range.  Both of us don't need to be
here."  He smiled a patronizing, controlling, scheming smile as
he escorted her to the front door, then he pushed her through the
doorway, saying, "Happy shooting."



Janet looked up to see a furious, slightly teary-eyed Monica
standing in the doorway.  "Is he in?" Monica demanded.

Janet nodded and cautiously hit the intercom button, "Agent Reyes
is here to see you."

The door immediately swung open, and Brad smiled broadly.  "Agent
Reyes, what a pleasant sur--"

Monica stormed past Janet's desk and through the doorway,
brushing past Brad as if he were invisible.  Brad and Janet
exchanged puzzled glanced, then Brad shut the door.  "What is
it?" he asked solicitously, turning her from her place at the
window, forcing her to face him.  "Did I do something?"

"No, not you," Monica apologized.  "It's Pete. I was right, Brad,
about everything!  It's all coming together and we just found
dynamite evidence."

"So what's the problem?" Brad eased her toward the visitor's
chair and leaned against the desk, looking down on her tenderly. 
"You're solving the case," he said with a trace of pride.

"Pete's solving the case," Monica croaked.  "He scheduled me for
target practice while he and the rest of the task force finish
collecting evidence..."  Her jaw jutted forward and she exhaled
in short angry bursts.  "It's not fair!"

Ahhh, thought Brad.  This is the kind of thing he'd expected in
this job.  Professional jealousies, mismatched partnerships,
frustrated rookies...  He remembered himself in that seat a few
years ago, bringing problems to his mentor.  "Tell me
everything," he urged.  "What did you find?"

She pulled the notes from her briefcase and ran through the
details of the case for him.  Just as he'd trained her to do,
she'd taken down all the information she'd believed pertinent and
some that might be false leads.  When she looked up from her
notepad she saw his face beaming with pride.  She'd taken good
notes, she realized, and she couldn't help blushing.

"Let's see the names from the appointment book," he said,
crossing to lean over her shoulder.  His scent hovered over her,
making her hand shake slightly as she turned the pages.  But
Monica needn't worry that they would lose control.  Brad
hmm-mmm'ed through the notes until coming to the end, with an "Oh
no...."

"What?" Monica asked, turning her face upward to see his
horrified expression.

He sighed, barely aware of her presence.  "I know why Pete cut
you out of the investigation," he said.  "This man," he pointed
to the last name in Monica's notes.  "Travis Montagu.  He's one
of us."



"One of us?" Monica repeated.

"He's in the bureau.  In this building," he said, reaching into
his drawer for his gun.  "Got yours?" he asked as he loaded his
and checked it.  She nodded.  "Let's go."

Monica followed Brad as he raced past Janet's desk, his gun
drawn.  She drew her gun and matched his movements as he ran down
the emergency stairs.  He paused at the door and breathlessly
instructed her, "Stay back, let me do the talking. I know this
guy."  Brad grabbed her shoulder with his free hand, and said
reassuringly, "I've had my doubts about him, but I never expected
anything like this.  I think I can handle him.  You just back me
up, okay?"

She nodded and followed him out the emergency door and down the
hallway.  With every step she felt a growing sense of dread,
turning to nausea, and finally an intense dizziness that made her
lean against the wall for support.  "Brad--" she whispered.

He turned to see her crumpling to the floor, then stooped to help
her up.  "What is it?" he asked.

"Remember?  When I was in your office?  And I fainted?" she said. 
"And then in the hall...  I felt it again, when two agents and a
suspect passed by?"

Brad's brow furrowed as he struggled to remember, then realized
with a start it was the same agent.  "He was in the room next
door.  He and his partner were questioning the suspect..."

Monica nodded and clutched her stomach.  "Give me a second," she
pleaded.  "I'll be okay."  With closed eyes she accessed the
peaceful part of her soul, breathing according to chi principles,
focusing her mind on strength and goodness, until finally the
nausea subsided and she felt able to continue.  "I'm good," she
said, opening her eyes to see a worried Follmer.  "Really.  I'm
good," she repeated.

He sighed and decided to take her word for it. The pair proceeded
down the hallway until reaching the far end, where a plaque read
"Travis Montagu, Organized Crime Task Force."  When he rapped on
the door, a voice called out, "Go away.  I'm busy!"

"Agent Follmer here," Brad called out.  "Just a minute of your
time... Please."  He looked to Monica as they waited, and she
nodded that she was still feeling up to the job.  He couldn't
help grinning in admiration of her courage and persistence, and
she grinned back with determination.  "Agent Montagu?" Brad said
to the door.  "I need to speak with you."

After waiting a moment, Brad sighed and pulled a pick from his
pocket.  He nodded to Monica to watch his back, then began
picking the lock.  "Ahhh..." he sighed as he felt the lock give
way.  He straightened and dropped the pick into his pocket just
as the door swung open.

"What is it?" a white-haired, red-faced man in a dark suit
demanded.

At the opening of the door, the death of Sheila Binford flashed
through Monica's mind.  Sheila had been called by Montagu for a
consultation, but when she arrived she found an evil more
powerful than herself, more powerful than all the evil she had
absorbed.  Monica could see Montagu's eyes, glowing yellow, then
red, as Sheila began to exorcize him.  Montagu's voice became
deep and menacing, laughing at Sheila's ineffectual attempt. 
"You dare to challenge my hold on this man?  He's MINE!" 
Sheila's eyes glowed yellow, then a deep golden hue, but never
red, never with the intensity of Montagu's.  The two pairs of
eyes stared at each other, until Sheila began to shake. 
Frantically, she pulled garlic from her bag and waved it in front
of her enemy, and when that elicited only laughter, Sheila
withdrew a silver cross and held it in front of her face. 
Montagu's laugh turned even more sinister, and flames flew from
his mouth, enveloping the cross, turning it into a dense, black
fluid that spewed onto Sheila's blouse.  Sheila's hands burned
like torches, and she shook them, trying to put them out. 
Montagu laughed at her pain, and as he did, flames flew to
Sheila's face.  She screamed, but her screams turned into flames
of her own, reaching half-way to Montagu then merging with his. 
Montagu took a deep breath, inhaling his own and Sheila's flames,
then swallowing with a satisfied grin.  Sheila's body crumpled to
the floor, a peaceful expression in her eyes as she exhaled her
last breath.

"Brad!" Monica shouted.  "It's him!"

Montagu turned toward Monica and smiled demonically.  "Yes, I'm
Travis Montagu."  Brad looked from Monica to Montagu, and without
knowing why, felt Monica needed his protection.

Brad stepped between them, eliciting a growl from Montagu,
followed by a trail of flames coming from the office then
encircling Brad's legs.  "STOP IT!" Monica shouted, drawing her
gun.  Brad stood, fixed in his place by a force beyond his
control.

"We are legion," Montagu's voice sounded, the same voice Monica
had heard in her vision of Sheila's death.  "We are powerful."

"Not more powerful than GOOD," Monica shouted.  "Leave him
alone!"

"GOOD?" Montagu laughed.  He turned his attention to Brad, then
said, "Join us.  We have the power you want!"

Montagu's eyes turned red, and flames reached toward Brad's face. 
On instinct alone, Monica fired her gun, a single bullet, hitting
Montagu in the chest.  "NO-O-O-O!!!!!" Montagu shouted as he flew
backward into his office.  He hit the floor with a loud thud,
then stood and approached Brad again.  "Come with us," he
gurgled.  "Why stay with this weak one?"  He took another step
toward Brad, and Monica fired again, this time hitting him in the
head.

Montagu fell against the door jamb, then slid down, leaving a
trail of sizzling hot blood.  Monica rushed to Brad, who was
still transfixed, and shook him.  He came to as Monica wrapped
her arms around him.  The pair held each other tightly as they
looked down on Montagu.  Montagu's breaths came in tortured
gasps, until finally, with a loud rattle, he exhaled his last
breath, a white-hot gust that flew toward them, then detoured as
Monica shouted "NO!!!!!!"  The gust circled them once then flew
into a vent and disappeared as Monica and Brad looked on.  When
Monica looked down again Montagu's body was charred black, and 
shriveled to half its size.  "Did you see that?" she looked at 
Brad, who was still in shock.  "His body is..." She looked down
again and saw only a peaceful-looking Montagu, his body intact,
lying at their feet.  Monica knelt to put a finger against the
man's jugular, and felt the same sense of coolness she'd felt
from Sheila's body.

"It's gone," she announced.  "The evil.  It's left him."

Brad knelt at her side and put his arm around her shoulders. 
"What the hell was that?" he asked.  "Do you know?"

She shook her head, but  before she could say another word, they
heard the sound of a dozen agents running toward them.  Brad
whispered into Monica's ear, "Let me do the talking."


EPILOGUE

Williams was understandably distressed at having a shooting in
his own building.  The usual procedure was for the agents
involved to be put on two weeks' suspension, but in this case he
opted for a month for both Monica and Brad.  Brad wondered about
the extended suspension, but after sharing his first day off with
Monica, a day spent mostly in bed with a long excursion into the
shower, he decided not to contest it.

For the next month, the couple explored the Tao of sex, took
trips to the Poconos and Atlantic City, and shared romantic
dinners in dark corners of upscale restaurants.  They took
advantage of an unseasonably warm day to walk the boardwalk on
Coney Island, holding hands and brazenly kissing, and on an
unseasonably cold day they explored the Metropolitan Museum of
Art.  To all appearances they seemed an ordinary couple,
honeymooning in the City that Never Sleeps.  And by the end of
that month neither could imagine life without the other.

When they returned to duty, Williams announced that Brad would be
in charge of the Organized Crime Task Force, much to Brad's
surprise.  He suspected some ulterior motive, and months later
his suspicion would be confirmed, but on the surface, Williams'
motives seemed solid.  Brad's experience with the Narcotics
division in Los Angeles brought him into contact with one segment
of Organized Crime, and his courage in facing Montagu would be
respected by the mobsters he'd be pursuing.  Monica would return
to the Crimes Against Children division, working under her former
partner, who would now be in charge.  At first, she dreaded this
arrangement, but she soon realized she would now be spending less
time with him than before, and her new partner was much easier to
get along with.  Pete would never forgive her for going behind
his back, and he watched her carefully at first.  But she would 
give him no reasons for reprimanding her, and he had to admit 
finally that she was a damn good agent.

Two months after the shooting, Monica leaned against Brad as they
both read over files for their respective cases, the sofa in his
apartment sheltering them from the evils of the world.  Brad
stopped reading and looked down into Monica's face, which was
earnestly scouring an autopsy report in search of new clues.  She
felt the warmth of his gaze and looked into his eyes.  "What is
it?" she asked.

"You," he said.  "Just you."

"Just me what?" she laughed, putting down her files.

"Just you and how special you are," he said, stroking her hair. 
"And how much I love you."

Monica looked up at him, beaming with joy.  It was the first time
he'd said these words.  "I love you too," she answered, as sure
of her feelings as she'd ever been sure of anything.

They set their work on the coffee table and made love on the
sofa, taking each other to new heights of pleasure, consummating
their words with their actions.

And as their souls joined together they couldn't hear the whirr
of the camera whose pictures would start in motion the forces
that would one day tear their souls apart.

THE END

===============================================================================
"Office Romance, An (2/2)" by Scifinerdgrl

This story was downloaded from the Gossamer Project on 11 November 2010.
Do not archive stories elsewhere without permission from the author(s).
See the Gossamer policies for more information:
http://tooms.gossamer.org/local/policies.html
===============================================================================