TITLE: A Change of Cast
AUTHOR: Susanne Barringer
EMAIL: sbarringer@usa.net
ARCHIVE: Anywhere okay with these headers attached
CATEGORY: SR
KEYWORDS: Pre-XF, Scully/Other
RATING: *NC-17*
SPOILERS: Lazarus
SUMMARY: The unauthorized, uncensored true story of Dana
Scully and Jack Willis.
DISCLAIMER: Just borrowing the characters from 1013, Fox,
and Chris Carter. No money being made; no infringement intended.
THANK YOU to Sue Schramm for truly unwavering support, even
when I'm in my most self-defeating mood. And for betaing, of
course.
NOTE: The Pre-XF timeline is really screwy, particularly when
one takes into account the information in Lazarus. I did my best to
follow it but adapted it when needed. So sue me.
_______________
A Change of Cast
by Susanne Barringer
~~~~~~~
I see my present partner
In the imperfect tense,
And I don't see how we can last.
I feel I need a change of cast.
--"Nobody's Side" from _Chess: The Musical_
~~~~~~~
When the alarm goes off, I've already been awake for half an hour,
maybe longer. My mind is too busy to sleep, filled with the anxious
colliding thoughts that come with beginning something new. I'm
nervous about today, about the changes that are about to become
part of my life, yet I also know that these are the needed first steps
in mapping out a new life for myself.
The emotions of this morning aren't lessened any by the memories
of Jack Willis that have flooded me since I woke. He called me last
night, from out of the blue really, but not without reason. We've
certainly been amicably friendly since the break-up, so it shouldn't
have been a surprise. Still, when I heard his voice, immediately the
images came rushing back, reminding me of the old feelings that
had been part of my life for so long. Last time I was on the verge
of such a life-altering change, he was right there with me. This time
I'm alone. I chose for it to be that way.
I think there was a time when I loved Jack more than I loved
myself. By the end, my love for him had remained the same, but my
love for myself had grown and blossomed under his tutelage and his
steady lover's hand. He had fine-tuned my instincts as an agent,
helped me find my natural investigative abilities, and given me the
knowledge I needed to survive as a rookie agent. He also taught
me passion, to receive pleasure, to love my body, to learn how to
use it. For all those things, I will always be grateful. In the end,
however, I loved myself enough to know that he had given me all
he could, or would.
Despite the fact that I've always told people Jack and I met at the
Academy, the truth is we actually first met in a small grocery near
my apartment. I had just moved in, having taken a place closer to
Quantico. I went to the store late at night after spending the day
unpacking the rest of my belongings.
Jack was in front of me in what turned out to be an incredibly slow-
moving line. He caught my eye and smiled when he heard my
heavy sigh as yet another customer chose to write a check and
didn't have the foresight to get out her driver's license before the
cashier asked for it.
"We picked the wrong line," he said, his voice deep and soothing.
He was a striking man--tall, rough-hewn, with broad shoulders and
tanned hands peeking out from his overcoat.
"It's the only line," I commented, wishing I had gotten a job out in
the suburbs where the grocery stores seemed to be the size of a city
block and there was always an express line.
He smiled at me warmly. He had a slightly lopsided smile that ran
wildly across his face, crinkling up near the eyes. Even then, that
was the thing I most noticed about him.
The check woman finally left, and Jack grouped all his items closer
together on the counter so that there was a spare corner of open
space. "Let me help you with those," he said, holding out his hands
to assist me with the uncomfortable armload of items I'd
accumulated. When I assented, he grabbed a few things off the top
of the pile and placed them in the space he had cleared, then
stepped aside so I could put down the rest.
"Thanks," I mumbled self-consciously, embarrassed that I hadn't
picked up a basket on my way into the store. I really had meant to
buy only a couple of things, but somehow they had multiplied.
Jack rolled his eyes at me as the woman in front of him began
bickering with the cashier over the price of canned tomatoes. I was
starting to wonder if I was going to be stuck in this line until dawn.
Jack reached over and picked up one of the tabloids from the rack
in front of us. The headline was hard to miss, "RUSSIAN
WOMAN GIVES BIRTH TO ALIEN BABY." I chuckled to
myself. Jack looked at me over the paper, his eyes questioning my
reaction.
"That stuff's ridiculous, isn't it?" I asked, surprised at myself when I
realized just a small part of me was trying to flirt with this total
stranger. Technically, though, he had started it. He also hadn't quit
grinning at me since our last exchange. Something about him was
magnetic, and I wasn't unaware of how attractive he was.
He placed the tabloid back on the rack as the woman in front of him
finally got her total and took a year to count out a handful of loose
change.
"If you're going to be an FBI agent," he turned to look at me, "you
need to learn to have a more open mind. About everything."
I'm sure I looked as dumbfounded as I felt. How did he know who
I was? Hell, not even who I was but who I hadn't even yet
become? I searched for something to say, finally snapping my
mouth shut as I realized I looked as if I actually had a reply.
"Jack Willis." He extended his hand to me. "I'll be one of your
instructors at the Academy." I felt something like relief. At least
that explained how he knew me. Sort of.
"Dana Scully," I said, shaking his hand which enveloped mine in its
immensity. His grip was strong and warm, and he held on a bit
longer than I expected. "But I suspect you know that already."
"Another thing worth developing is a good memory for faces. I've
seen your file. That's how I recognized you." I nodded and smiled,
feeling much relieved about the whole turn of events. "You're a
physician, correct?"
"Wow, you do have a good memory."
"Just for faces. I'm sure that's important in your line of work, too.
You need to remember patients when you bump into them in the
grocery store or wherever, right?"
"I'm in forensic pathology," I replied. His laugh was loud and
booming, and caught me by surprise. It rolled over me, bringing a
broad grin to my face. The woman counting out change turned to
look at what was so funny.
"Well, there, I didn't remember everything I read about you." He
gave me a quick wink, the guffaw returning briefly. "I guess I can
see how recalling your patients isn't exactly a high priority then."
"Not especially." His eyes sparkled at me, and I couldn't seem to
bring myself to look away. Finally, the cashier began reaching for
his groceries and I concentrated on rearranging my items as I slid
them forward to make room for the man behind me.
"You live around here, I take it?" he asked, as he watched the
cashier ring up the few items he was purchasing.
"Just around the corner, on Oakdale Street." I motioned in the
appropriate direction.
"Ah, good choice. It's a nice area. I live about half a mile away,
but I was here having dinner with a colleague of mine." He paid the
cashier but kept his eyes on me. Now that I knew who he was, and
that I was soon to be his student, I was starting to feel weird about
the familiar way he looked at me.
"Listen," he remarked as he picked up his bags, "it's against policy
for instructors and students to fraternize, but you're not technically
a student until you move into the dorms on Monday. Can I buy
you a cup of coffee? Give you a few pointers on how to survive
the Academy?"
I liked the idea. To say I was nervous about entering the Bureau
was an understatement. I had spent many sleepless nights
wondering how I was ever going to get through the training, which
was reportedly difficult not only physically and mentally, but
emotionally.
"That would be nice, but I have ice cream." I motioned to the
Double Chocolate Chip the cashier was reaching for. Not one
container but two. Indulgent. And embarrassing. It was my
comfort food, calming to the nerves, constant in the chaos of the
major overhaul my life was going through.
"I noticed." His comment was accompanied by another hearty
laugh that somehow eased my embarrassment. "We could go to
P.J.'s. It's right there on the corner, near your place. You can go
put your ice cream away, and I'll meet you there in a few minutes.
Deal?"
I didn't have to think about it. "Deal." It was probably good
business. Nobody would know better than he what to expect, what
kind of inside information would help me out. Not to mention he
was breathtakingly handsome, which had suddenly become
exceedingly inappropriate for me to think, but it was too late now.
If he hadn't waited so long to tell me who he was, I could have
curbed those thoughts immediately. Maybe.
He waited until my groceries were bagged so he could walk out the
door with me. We parted ways at the corner, and I walked the few
buildings up the street to my apartment, my heart pounding in
anticipation of something I couldn't quite pinpoint.
*****
When I entered P.J.'s it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to
the dim lighting, barely supplied by a small lamp on each table.
Jack gave a little wave so I could see him, and I made my way over
to the table and sat down.
The light from the lamp shone up into his face, highlighting the
slight stubble across his chin and the squint lines around his eyes
brought out by the smile he was giving me. Under other
circumstances, I definitely would have found him sexy, but I was
trying my best not to. The waitress quickly appeared to take our
orders and relieve some of the tension I was starting to feel.
"I'm glad you decided to join me," he commented after she left,
breaking the silence that had settled since I sat down.
"Me too. I don't really know anyone here, besides my family."
"No boyfriend?" His eyebrows lifted as if surprised. I knew I was
blushing but couldn't seem to do much about it except be grateful
for the low lighting.
"Not really. I mean, I was involved with someone from med
school, but he's taken a job in Houston, so we decided there was no
commitment. It wasn't really all that serious anyway." I don't
know why I always felt the need to defend my break-up with Tim; I
had never expected it to last. Somewhere along the line I had
realized that while we loved each other, neither of us was in love.
Medical school relationships were notoriously temporary, born of
the need to relieve the stress and pressure of intense studying and
long hours.
"I see. It's probably for the best. Maintaining a relationship during
your training is difficult. It's a long four months."
At least there was a silver lining to being alone. "So, you're not
married?" I was surprised at my audacity. He had been personal,
but then again, he was going to be my superior so he had a certain
right to be. I, on the other hand, had no idea what was appropriate.
I decided to let him take the lead in the conversation, just so I
wouldn't inadvertently make things difficult for myself.
"No, I've never been married. My career takes up a lot of my
time." I nodded my understanding. From what I'd heard and
researched, being an agent could easily take up a big chunk of one's
life, particularly if one was ambitious.
"You're with Violent Crimes?" I wasn't sure how I knew that, but
something about his intensity made me think he wasn't out there
catching check forgers.
"Ah, good insight, Ms. Scully." I couldn't help but notice the slight
emphasis he put on the "Ms," as if reminding me of what I had
given up. At the Academy, I would be just another cadet, nothing
more. "I'll be doing a big part of your behavioral science training.
It's the hardest part, from a classroom perspective. So much of it
can't be taught, it has to be instinctual."
That was my worst fear, and I wondered if he sensed it. I had made
it through medical school, so I knew I could handle the studying,
the memorizing of facts, the application of information to common
sense scenarios. I was also fairly confident in my ability to pass the
physical portions, having started conditioning as soon as I was
recruited. But the instinct part, the ability to read criminals' minds,
the ability to anticipate their moves--that was something with which
I had absolutely no experience, and no idea how to get it.
After the coffee arrived, Jack filled me in on what to expect from
the Academy and patiently answered my questions, as much as he
could. In the end, he told me little more than I had read in the
manual; not many of the details of FBI training, for obvious
reasons, are revealed ahead of time.
Instead, he insisted it was the things that I wouldn't learn in the
classroom that would be most important if I was to make it through
the training and the probationary period as an agent. At first I
thought he was trying to scare me, or at least I was hoping he was.
"It's still a boy's club, Ms. Scully. As sad as that may be, it's a fact.
You'll be an easy target--not only because you're a woman, but
because you're small."
His bluntness intrigued me. I didn't know what to say in response--
there wasn't much I could do about either of those things.
"You'll need to be tough from day one, never let a weakness show.
You have to act three times your size. Learn to use your voice and
stance to create the illusion of physicality." His tone was harsh,
demanding, as if he was already instructing me on the rules of the
game.
"I've had some self-defense training, so I already know a little bit of
how to do that. The self-defense I get at the Academy should help
as well, shouldn't it?"
He shook his head in the negative. "You're missing my point. Of
course the criminals are a large part of your concern, but it's just as
much your colleagues who will be looking for every opportunity to
look down on you. The best piece of advice I can give? When you
get your first paycheck, invest in a pair of really comfortable heels."
I felt my eyebrow lift in surprise. "Heels?"
"They may seem impractical when you're running around collecting
evidence or tracking down suspects, but the edge they'll give you is
immeasurable. Wear them."
I barely knew the man, but despite my desire to believe he was
kidding me, I could tell he wasn't. Nothing he had said since we
started talking about the Bureau had been said lightly. Still, it didn't
seem like all this intimidation would be necessary in my line of
work.
"I was hired for pathology. I'll be spending most of my time in the
lab." I could hear the questioning in my own voice. Already he
was making me question myself, and that was definitely not what I
needed five days from my first day of training.
He chuckled at my statements. "Don't be naive, Ms. Scully. You
might have been hired for forensics, but there will come a time
when you'll be needed in the field, and you're likely to get a full field
assignment at some point eventually. Besides, being in pathology
will only make it harder for you to prove yourself. The other
agents will constantly be looking for ways to 'just' you."
"Just me?" I wasn't sure what he was getting at.
"You're just a woman, you're just a doctor, you're just a lab vulture.
You're not a 'real' agent when all your suspects are dead on the
table." He leaned forward across the table, his voice becoming
softer in volume but the hard tone remained. "Take charge the
minute you walk into that lab and don't let it go. Once they've seen
your weakness, you're doomed. Watch your back, Ms. Scully--not
just in the field, but in the lab."
I swallowed hard, trying to absorb what he was saying, trying to
decide if he was purposely attempting to make me sweat. "I think I
can handle myself, Agent Willis. I don't usually allow others to
walk all over me."
He gave a slight nod but didn't move away. His close presence was
beginning to make me uncomfortable. Was he testing me? Seeing
if I would flinch?
"That's good, but drop the 'I think' and the 'usually.'" He inched his
face closer to mine. "Can you handle yourself or not?" It sounded
almost as if he was barking out an order, like some sort of drill
sergeant from a bad war movie. I didn't answer, and I don't think
he expected me to. "You have to be cocky, on the outside. In
here," he reached out and touched the center of my forehead, "you
have to know exactly what you're up against, where you really
stand. But don't let it show."
Then he leaned back, taking a long sip of his coffee, his eyes not
leaving mine. I was getting the message. Analyze the situation,
evaluate my own weaknesses, but look and sound in control.
Always.
"I'll be fine, Agent Willis." My statement had an edge on it this
time, a touch of definiteness I didn't actually feel. But it sounded
right.
He suddenly grinned at me, the first time since we had begun
discussing the Bureau. "Yes, I can see that you will." His eyes
danced across my face, still not looking away even as he set down
his cup. "I do believe that you will be quite fine." Another smile
and I felt an unexplained warmth rise through me that had nothing
to do with the coffee. I looked down at my cup, empty even
though I didn't remember drinking it.
We didn't talk anymore about anything Bureau related but stayed
another fifteen minutes talking about ourselves, our families, our
interests. Normal things. Once we were off the subject of work, he
made me laugh constantly, even though my hands still trembled
from his intensity, from the warnings he had given me, from the
relentless power behind his gaze.
Before we parted in front of my door, he gave me his last words of
advice. "As of Monday, we don't know each other. I'm just 'sir.'"
"I understand, sir." I wondered how different he would be under
the hierarchy of the Academy, if the kindness in his eyes would
show through the necessarily brusque manner he would adopt.
I needn't have worried. It shone through like diamonds as he
stepped closer to me and placed a warm hand on my shoulder.
"But if you have any trouble, need anything, you ask to come see
me. You can request a conference at any time with any mentor you
choose. Anything, Ms. Scully. You come see me first."
"Thank you." I thought about adding the "sir," but his close
proximity was making my heart beat faster and the blood rush to
my face, so "sir" seemed not only out of place but ridiculous. He
squeezed my shoulder gently and smiled that gorgeous light-up-the-
face smile, then walked away.
I went to bed that night with two things endlessly circling through
my mind. The first was how in the world I was ever going to get
through this challenge I had chosen for myself. The second was
that Jack Willis had the most intense gold-brown eyes I had ever
seen.
End 1/4
~~~~~~~~
Part 2/4
My days at the Academy ran the gamut from exhausting and
frustrating to ecstatically satisfying. I did well, but it took every
ounce of strength and determination I had to stay at the top of my
class. Jack's advice was always in my mind, and I made sure that,
even on my worst days, I looked and sounded like I was in control.
After a couple of weeks, it became habit. It was, perhaps, the most
useful thing I learned.
My contact with Jack was minimal at first. We exchanged smiles
when we passed in the hall, and he'd give an approving nod in the
classroom for my work. I chose him as my mentor, as he
suggested, so after the initial training period, we met one-on-one
weekly to review my progress. At those times, he would drop
some of the formality and return to the easy conversation that we'd
shared when we first met. He was encouraging and complimentary
of my accomplishments, yet he always had some suggestions for
areas to improve. I never walked out of one of our meetings
without at least a couple of good laughs. As serious and
professional as he was in his Agent persona, once those barriers
were broken his deadly sense of humor couldn't be hidden.
Jack's behavior always remained well on the professional side of the
line, but there was just enough of something indescribable in the
things he said and the way he looked at me to make me wonder. I
was never entirely sure he wasn't simply a seasoned agent who had
chosen an unlikely new agent as his pet project. At the same time, I
was never entirely sure he wasn't spending his off-time thinking
about sleeping with me.
I still remember the moment when I began to suspect that what was
happening between us went beyond the confines of the mentor
relationship. It was little more than a week before the end of
training; Jack and I were having a scheduled meeting to discuss my
evaluations. I had to write a self-evaluation of my skills,
preferences, and goals before my first assignment would be
finalized.
We were reviewing my roughly-drafted statement. Jack leaned
over to look at the report in front of me, his hand propped on the
back of my chair. His face was right next to mine. I was keenly
aware of the smell of him, the gentle odor of his skin and hair. He
smelled like a campfire--warm and outdoorsy, burnt wood and
starry skies. I heard his breath near mine, nearly drowned in the
pounding of my heart. He turned his head slightly to look at me. I
looked straight ahead, aware that if I turned my head as well, our
lips would be close, too close. The image filled my mind--I bet his
lips were soft and rough all at once, tasting of those wood-scented
stars and black night.
"Agent Scully?"
His voice called me back from flashes of touching him, being
wrapped in his arms.
"Uh, sorry, um, the section on preferred assignments? I wasn't sure
how specific I should be." I could hear my heart beating in my
voice and wondered if he could sense the upheaval I was feeling.
"I just explained that," he said, and I wanted to sink into the floor in
embarrassment. "Am I making you nervous, Agent?" His words
puffed against my neck, and there was a slightly teasing note to his
voice, enough to make me suspect that he was doing it on purpose.
I wasn't sure if that made me feel better or worse about the arousal
leaping up between my legs.
"Nervous isn't the word I'd use," I replied, wondering if I intended
him to read between the lines or not. I paused slightly before
adding, "Sir."
His laugh sprang up next to my ear, that boisterous laugh that I had
first heard in the grocery store. For some reason, it felt like a laugh
reserved for me. I had never once heard it the whole time during
Academy training, only when we were alone together.
"You are a straight-shooter, aren't you?" he commented, the laugh
fading away as he stood up straight behind me. I did not turn
around to look at him, afraid he would see what his simple presence
was doing to me. "I do like agents who tell it like it is." I nodded
so he would see I understood. "And women too." He stepped
away then, leaving me staring at the paper in front of me, the words
blurred in the rush of confusion I felt about what had just happened
between us.
He dismissed me just moments later, but I think that was the first
time I realized that the attraction I felt for Jack was mutual, and
that the rules of the Academy were the only barriers stopping him
from doing something about it. He was not the type of man to put
his entire career on the line for a fling. Later I would learn, in
actuality, he was as much concerned about my career as his. His
restraint was a good thing, for it was the only time in my life that I
was ever even tempted to play with such dangerous fire.
By the time I graduated from the Academy, thoughts of making
love with Jack filled my dreams every night and more or less every
waking moment that wasn't occupied with the demands of final
evaluations.
The night of the class graduation, I shared a celebratory dinner with
my parents. Dessert had no sooner been served when I pleaded
exhaustion, ducked out early, and went straight to Jack's house.
*****
Our relationship was intense from the beginning. Four months of
waiting had created a profound need that I had never known before.
I was already in love with him by the time we went to his parents'
cabin the weekend after Thanksgiving, only three weeks after our
first night together. It was so cold that weekend that we spent
practically the whole three days curled up in front of the stove,
either making love or resting up for the next bout.
I had had a handful of lovers in the past, through college and
medical school, and while I had loved each of them, it wasn't until I
met Jack that I realized that I hadn't ever been in love. Not really,
down to the core in love. I fell in love with Jack fast, and it was the
most liberating thing I'd ever felt. He was good to me, but I always
knew that my feelings for him were stronger than his for me. For a
while, however, I was able to naively revel in the emotions of that
initial stage of the relationship, when every moment together is one
of wonder and learning.
Our first night together, the night I graduated from the Academy,
seemed like something out of a movie to me. When I arrived at his
house, we barely spoke. He took me into his arms right there in the
doorway, pulling me to him so fast that my breath was knocked out
of me. His kisses were desperate and rough, and I responded in
kind. I had known passion and need, but not like that, and the
animal nature drawn out of me that night became something that
would characterize our love-making in the months to come. I could
be myself with Jack, more than myself, which was something that
I'd never quite been able to find with anyone else. He made me feel
safe enough to let go, and the first jump was as thrilling and scary
as anything I'd ever done before, or since.
I had had my doubts, the whole drive over to his place and then the
long moments before he opened the door. It was crazy for me to
be there. But he had invited me. That morning, as the graduating
class reviewed the procedure for the ceremony, he had pulled me
into a corner of the corridor.
"Congratulations, Agent Scully. I knew you would make it
through." His gaze was bouncing from my face to my body, taking
in the crisp black suit and high heels that I was wearing.
"Thank you, sir. I appreciate your confidence in me."
"No need to be so formal anymore. As of tonight, I'll no longer be
your superior." His hand came up to rub over his mouth. I couldn't
keep my eyes off the motion, off his lips. "After you're done with
your family tonight, maybe you'd like to come over for a drink? A
little celebration?"
I was struck dumb, my blood racing at the proposition. He smiled
at my lack of words, then added, "I'll be up late." His eyes glinted
with the broad lopsided grin that reached right up into them.
Then he was gone, that smell of him that I couldn't shake lingering
over my body and filling me with unquenchable need. I understood
the invitation, and my hands shook in anticipation, but I wasn't
convinced that I would go through with it.
I was still questioning myself when I knocked at his door. It wasn't
until the moment that our eyes met, right before he took me in his
arms, that I understood.
Once we got inside, he had already removed my suit coat and was
reaching for the buttons on my shirt. The door clicked shut behind
us and he took the opportunity to turn us around and press me
against it, his hands frantically running up and down my body.
I opened my mouth wide to his, my own desperation creating the
need to taste him fully. He pulled off my blouse, then reached for
the hook on my bra while I was just beginning to manage to
function enough to unbutton his shirt.
He stopped before he unhooked my bra and took a step back, both
of us gasping frantically for air. "Dana." It was the first time he
had called me by my first name, and the sound of it was alone an
invitation. "I'm glad you came over." He laughed then at the
absurdity of his words, and I saw his chest shake under his open
shirt.
I reached up to touch that tanned chest that I had only imagined,
running my hands over his firm muscular form. "Jack." I said only
his name, needing to feel that connection, the personal part that had
been denied to us.
"Say it again," he commanded, his voice suddenly hoarse.
"Jack." Then his lips were on me again before I could take a
breath. He pulled me away from the door and knelt down, bringing
me down with him.
We struggled with the rest of our clothes, tumbling to sitting
positions to get off his pants and my panty hose. Finally, divested
of all clothing, he looked at me, his eyes following the line of my
body from shoulders to feet.
"Lie down." I did what he said, lying flat on my back on the thin
carpet, my eyes roaming over the strong contours of his long body.
He began running his hand across my shoulders and neck, following
with quick kisses and strokes of his tongue. The desperation of our
first kisses melted into a contented slow-building arousal as he
worked his way in similar fashion down over my breasts, across my
ribs, around my navel, then down across my hips. His hands and
mouth avoided my genitals, instead drifting down my thighs,
weaving from outside to inside and back, then my knees, my lower
legs, and finally down to my feet. The sensation was both beautiful
and arousing, the alternating touch of his hands and tongue creating
hot and cool waves across my skin.
When he reached my feet, he carefully ran his tongue across the
bottom of my soles, the tickling sensation making me pull my legs
up away from his mouth. I laughed loudly and he looked up at me,
a wide grin plastered across his face.
"Noted for later," he whispered, then placed his hands on the back
of my legs and guided me to turn over.
The procedure of touch and tongue continued on the back of me,
stroking up my legs, across my buttocks, then up my back. The
butterfly kisses floating up my spine sent the heat shooting between
my legs in a way that made me gasp. I hadn't known how sensitive
the center of my back was, but his light kisses were fast driving me
to the edge. I moaned under his touch, but he continued, working
his way up to my shoulder-blades, which he took into his mouth
one by one, then stroked over gently with his tongue. By the time
he reached the back of my neck, my body was humming and I was
practically begging for something more intense.
I tried to turn over, to free myself so I could return some of the
sensations that he had given me, but he pushed me back onto my
stomach. His arm came around to lift up my hips and I realized that
he wanted me on my hands and knees. The thought of being taken
that way sent a shiver through me that ended in a rush of wetness
between my legs. A sound came from my throat as I realized the
plan, and there was nothing left to hope for except that he would
hurry.
When he got me the way he wanted, he kneeled behind me, his
cock stroking up between my buttocks. I could feel how swollen I
was already, and the need to have him inside me was beginning to
drive my hips back toward him.
He placed his hands on my hips to stop my motion, then stopped his
movement all together. I peeked over my shoulder to see what was
happening. Why was he stopping? He smiled a broad grin at me,
then leaned over to kiss my buttocks. He nipped at the flesh in
between the kisses, the alternating sensations sending vibrations
through the entire lower half of my body, each one centered around
the new place where his teeth and lips marked me.
Then he shocked me by reaching down and entering me with a
finger, fast and smooth. The sensation caught me so much by
surprise that I fell forward onto my elbows, raising my hips into the
air. Taking advantage of the new angle, Jack parted my legs
further, then worked his fingers over me with purpose. The circling
near my clitoris and the finger stroking inside me were driving me
fast toward the inevitable detonation. My body trembled with the
rising power, tensing in rhythm to his even strokes.
He stopped as suddenly as he'd begun, leaving me dizzy and
buzzing and aching. I could hear in the whine from my throat how
desperate I was. He grunted his approval, moving up behind me
again. He wrapped his arm around my thighs to pull me off my
elbows and back up into the hands-and-knees position. I felt his
cock again, stroking up and down against the part of me that was
throbbing in hot pulses. I parted my legs more, and he slid into me
in one long slow stroke that sent sparks out through my legs and up
my spine.
He stroked in and out gently just a couple of times before moving
to a deep, quick rhythm, his groans signaling his frantic need. I
could feel my vaginal muscles grabbing onto him with the
desperation of how near he'd already taken me. The power of his
deep thrusts drove me forward across the floor, until finally I was
able to brace myself against the side of the couch. The added
leverage allowed me to push back against him, and we fell into a
frenzied and hard rhythm, every thrust from him sending wails up
from both of us.
I came before him, bucking up from my position, straight up on my
haunches, holding onto the couch to keep from falling forward. He
stayed with me through the shudders enveloping me, stroking
steadily all the way, his arm wrapped around my waist holding me
against him. I had no sooner calmed then he reached between my
legs from the front, his fingers coming to rest on my clitoris. Just
then, he picked up the pace of his strokes once more, plunging
more deeply into me than before. The massaging of my clit sent me
spiraling once again toward culmination, the second orgasm riding
the leftovers of the first in a way that made my body convulse
violently against him, and a feeling of utter paralysis ripped through
every part of me.
My arms gave out and I sank forward onto the floor, his arm
around me helping to ease me down gently. Even then he didn't
stop, continuing to stroke inside me, finally coming in a burst of
shouts and fire inside me and furious thrusts of his hips against my
buttocks. He slumped on top of me and I invited the weight of him
on me, and inside me.
We slept, for I don't know how long. When I finally awoke, I was
conscious of my knees digging into the itchy welcome mat and my
head laying partially under the couch. I maneuvered to sit up and
my movement awoke him.
"Dana?" His voice was groggy, but his eyes were dark with
concern. "Is everything okay?"
I laughed at his question. We were lying naked in front of the front
door. Everything was wonderful. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just . . . I
thought maybe we could sleep somewhere less . . . hard?" I smiled
to let him know that I wasn't technically complaining. Not about
anything.
He sat up and took my hand in his. My eyes were drawn to his
body which I really hadn't had much chance to study in spite of it
all. He smiled when he realized what I was doing and let me look
for a moment.
"I'm sorry. You're right. I do have a bed." He rose to his feet,
then pulled me up beside him, suddenly leaning down to kiss me
deeply, his tongue tracing patterns across mine. He buried his face
in my hair and pulled me to him tightly. I felt his cool skin next to
mine, his cock pressed against my belly.
Then he surprised me by picking me up and carrying me into the
bedroom. He set me down gently on the bed, kissing me again
before lying down next to me. We made love once more before we
slept, this time gently and slowly. With Jack, it never mattered how
we did it--the effect on me was always the same. Absolute and
stunningly complete.
Jack was a giving lover in every sense of the word. He always
made me come first. No matter how much I tried to pleasure him
first, to just once give him pleasure without it being reciprocal, he
would not allow it. At the very least we would work together, as
we did that first night, but even then he would never reach orgasm
until I had. Most nights, he would drive me to orgasm-- sometimes
once, sometimes more--then allow me to doze for a while before
waking to have intercourse or to perform fellatio or whatever other
activity he had up his sleeve. A woman couldn't ask for much more
from a lover, even if it sometimes seemed obsessive to me that he
never allowed himself the first pleasure.
Even so, our love-making never reached the point of monotonous
or predictable. Sometimes serious, sometimes funny, but always
intense. It was something I never wanted to give up, even though I
knew an eventual end was inevitable.
I loved him more than he loved me. That's ultimately what it came
down to. Eventually passion ran its course and the love remained,
but he had less than I did. I spent months waiting for the other
shoe to drop, for the day he met someone new--someone more
mature, someone more like him. Maybe even another student,
another green agent to take under his wing and teach not just law
enforcement, but passion and love and raw sex. I was not the first
and was destined not to be the last.
End 2/4
~~~~~~~~
Part 3/4
I woke up the morning after our first night together to the smell of
breakfast cooking and the sound of Jack humming "This Land is
Your Land." I slipped into one of his pajama tops that was strewn
over a chair, then crept to the doorway of the kitchen. Silently, I
watched him for a few minutes.
He was wearing only pajama bottoms, the muscles in his arms and
chest rippling as he chopped a green pepper, then an onion. The
humming wandered from the patriotic number to "Seventy-Six
Trombones." Odd music choices, but somehow charming. He
cracked four eggs into a frying pan, one-handed, then whirled
around to finish chopping. I never would have pictured him so
domestically, if I hadn't seen it for myself. He definitely seemed like
a pizza-on-the-run kind of man.
He looked up suddenly, spying me watching him, his face breaking
into a grin. "Morning. Sleep well?" I approached him and he
leaned over to kiss me on the cheek.
"Yes, sir."
The laugh exploded out of him. "Oh God, please don't call me 'sir'
anymore. You'll give me a complex."
I hadn't meant to, so I couldn't help but smile at my slip. "I'm sorry,
Jack." He smiled back at me. "It's just habit I guess."
He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around my waist, then
reached up to unbutton the top button on the pajama-top I was
wearing so he could drop a kiss above my breasts. "How can we
break you of that habit, Agent? More practice?"
Already my blood was rushing to the spot he was kissing, so easily
aroused by this man. "Practice might work," I teased, pulling his
head up and planting a kiss firmly on his lips. We kissed for a few
moments, enjoying something we had mostly skipped over last
night in our rush. Finally he turned back to attend to the eggs.
"Breakfast first, okay? I'm beyond starving. I was just getting
ready to wake you."
That morning we decided over omelets to keep our relationship
quiet for a while. There wasn't anything technically illegal about it--
Jack was not my superior and, in fact, we weren't even in the same
department. He was worried about me, though, about my
reputation. It hadn't even been twenty-four hours since graduation
so, naturally, anybody would assume that we had started our
relationship while he was still my instructor. Jack insisted that
nothing could be more harmful to my future as an agent than the
belief that I slept around, and especially that I had slept my way
through the Academy.
I appreciated his desire to protect me from a professional
standpoint, and I certainly couldn't argue with his expertise. After I
took the teaching position, we often ran into each other at Quantico
, but we met only on the sly for the first couple of months.
Eventually, however, as the relationship grew, it became public
knowledge. I don't think my reputation suffered from it, but I'll
never know for sure. Jack, as I eventually found out, had certainly
been known to get involved with young agents, many of them his
former students.
By the time our birthdays rolled around in February, we were pretty
much out of the closet. Jack and I shared the same birthday, so we
decided to make it a big celebration. We spent the evening in some
dive, playing pool on a slanty table and drinking cheap beer.
Afterwards, Jack took me to a seedy motel that rented by the hour-
-by no means our usual idea of a romantic evening, but he decided
we should keep up the "theme" of the night.
Despite the surroundings, I was having the most fun I'd had in years
that night. The motel room smelled of stale cigarette smoke and
something more acrid, but I couldn't have been more content. Jack
and I sat on the bed, and I couldn't stop laughing at his descriptions
of the people we'd seen in the bar. He couldn't even go out for
some fun without profiling everyone he saw.
"Did you see that guy playing at the back table? The one with the
scar above his left eye? What was a scum like that doing with that
gorgeous blonde? Talk about robbing the cradle!"
We were sitting on the bed, both leaning back against the wall in
the absence of a headboard. "Robbing the cradle, Jack? I think you
have some expertise in that area," I teased.
He squeezed my hand which was wrapped in his. "I'm not *that*
much older than you."
"I know. It just seems like it sometimes." He turned to look at me,
his brow creased in question.
"What's that supposed to mean, Dana?"
How could I explain? He had been my counselor, given me advice,
helped me through this part of my life, but sometimes he made me
feel like a child. It wasn't purposeful on his part, I'm sure of that.
But I couldn't quite shake his veiled criticism of my lousy pool
playing, the sometimes not-quite-condescending way he advised me
about my career, or even the way he eyed all the pretty women in
the room as if I wasn't there. Still, we had had a wonderful evening
together, and I didn't want to ruin that by starting a conversation
that was sure to end up in an argument.
"Time for your present," I replied changing the subject. I reached
over to get the box out of my purse. I had bought him an engraved
watch as a gift, something special and personal to show how much
I had come to love him. It was a serious gift, one that worried me
slightly, but Jack loved it and wore it every day after that. He gave
me a book about J. Edgar Hoover.
We'd been together a couple of months, but I understood where
things stood between us. I had no doubt that Jack loved me and
cared about me, but a long-term relationship was not a priority for
him. He was married to his work, and that would never change.
That night, I got a taste of the differences between us, how what
we each needed from a partner was something different than the
other could provide.
When he began kissing me, my skin tingled. I never quite
understood what it was about him that could stir me up so quickly
and powerfully. Some nights, one kiss from him would have me
grasping desperately for more. He worshipped my body in a way
that made me feel every inch the woman. Through that I had come
to feel the same about myself, and I sometimes felt never quite so
much myself as when he was loving me.
Although always creative, our love-making had never changed in
the sense that he would always pleasure me first. As ritualistic as it
was, there was something selfish about it on his part, in a reverse
kind of way. Just once, I wanted to make love to him, give my all
to him, without it being a follow-up to the intense satisfaction he
had already given me.
Jack had already stripped me of my shirt, always an almost
immediate action on his part. He loved my breasts and never failed
to show me or tell me, spending long minutes fondling and kissing
them. His technique was always startlingly unpredictable, and my
arousal was stoked long before he ever reached between my legs.
This night, he had begun stroking my breasts and pinching my
nipples when I shifted and rolled over on top of him. I dropped
kisses across his face, first his forehead and eyes, then his cheeks
and chin. I worked my way down, burying my face in his tanned
neck, tasting the salty adventure of him. Seeing a rare chance to
turn the tables, I responded to his grunts of approval by delving
lower, thinking that finally I would be able to do to him what he
had always done for me.
I kissed my way down his chest, tasting that woodsy scent that had
become so familiar and that managed to overpower the lingering
cheapness of the room. He had the softest skin, something one
would never guess from the craggy look of him. I alternated
tongue strokes with light kisses, recalling the incredible sensations
he had drawn out of me on our first night together when we hadn't
gotten any farther than the front door. He sighed and quivered
under my mouth, confirming my own pleasure. I ran the path down
his belly, around his navel, then stroked lightly over his hip bones
which angled out like rocks in the smooth desert.
Finally, I ran my tongue near his cock, licking briefly over his
testicles before stopping at the base of the shaft, which had already
grown fully hard beneath me. I took it in my mouth, always hungry
for him, and then began light kisses and licks. I watched the
increasing rate of the rise and fall of his chest, finally taking him
fully into my mouth, running my tongue in circles around the tip
and shaft, using my lips to create the up-and-down pressure I knew
worked best with him. I had spent enough time in this position to
know what most pleased him. Sure enough, he grunted and
moaned with the pleasure of what I was doing to him. The thought
that I was doing it to him on my own, before anything else between
us, only increased my desire to take him this way.
I could feel him getting close, his hips rising off the bed to meet me
as I moved up and down over him. I treasured the opportunity to
do this for him, loving for once that he was letting me love him
first.
"Stop, Dana." I ignored his words. He was so close, it was crazy
to stop then. I took him as deeply into my throat as I could
manage.
He tugged at my hair. "I said stop!" He jerked out from under me,
his knee accidentally knocking against my jaw. The movement
startled me and I rolled away as Jack sat up on the edge of the bed.
Trying to rub the pain out of my jaw, I came up behind him,
wrapping an arm around his shoulder.
"I don't understand, Jack. Why won't you let me finish?" I could
feel the edgy rise and fall of his breathing beneath my hand, but he
didn't move.
He answered me in a flat tone. "It's better for you if you let me do
you first. Once I come, I'm finished." I heard something terrifying
in his lack of tone, in the cold distance underlying what he was
saying.
"That doesn't matter. It doesn't always have to be that way."
He shrugged my arm off his shoulders. "We do it my way or we
don't do it at all." That flat tone again, followed by his rising from
the bed and going to stand in front of the window as if he could
actually see the view through the thick dark curtains.
His words hurt, his inability to accept love from me stinging my
eyes. I turned away and moved to sit on the other side of the bed.
We left the motel shortly after that, our passion deadened by the
argument, which wasn't really an argument since, in Jack's eyes,
there was only one side. It was the only time the issue was ever
brought up. I was afraid to try again.
It took a long time for me to understand Jack's obsessive need to
control the order in which we reached orgasm. I'm still not sure I
totally understand it now. One thing about Jack was that he could
never fully relax, and I think that had something to do with it. He
slept little, only a couple of hours a night, and during the hours
when he would have otherwise been sleeping, he would think about
his cases.
Jack could sit for literally hours in a chair by the window, looking
out into the world and working over cases in his mind. It seemed
sometimes like the bulk of the investigating was done in his head,
not on the street. His obsession with cases and suspects was
unnerving at times--I was well aware that he could never fully let
go of those thoughts, even in our lightest, most humorous
moments. Jack was an agent through and through, every single
part of his life revolving around his work. There wasn't room for
anyone else, not on any kind of regular basis.
It wasn't like he was unable to get close to people. He certainly
was, in fact, better about expressing emotion than I was.
Ultimately, however, that need was temporary, and he could just as
quickly shut someone out as let them in. The need to control when
and where he expressed himself was, no doubt, related to his sexual
technique. It must have seemed to him that to take pleasure
without giving it first was some kind of weakness. I was never able
to convince him otherwise.
We survived that first and only crisis. Jack wasn't one to let a
disagreement turn into an argument. Quite the contrary, in fact, he
seemed to try to avoid confrontation at all costs, highly ironic given
his choice of careers. Our relationship continued on the even plane
of the long-term but casual involvement. Jack's interest in me
would wane and recuperate, moving from what seemed a conscious
distancing, then returning to not being able to get enough of me.
Each time his interest waned, I felt the growing cracks in my heart,
wondering if this would be the last time, the time when he told me
he was involved with someone else. Even when he inserted himself
back into my life on a regular basis, the only question was how long
it would be until the next time.
At some point, and I'm not sure when exactly, I realized the
relationship would end only when I ended it. He would never take
that step. There would come a day when I just couldn't handle the
distance anymore, or wouldn't allow myself to be one of two
women in his life, or would fall out of love. The latter never
seemed to happen, and so I sat marking time, waiting for the day
when he would push me too far and force my hand.
Living that way seemed insane, and it began to take its toll on me--
all the power rested with him. As much as I loved him, as much as
I longed for the relationship to continue, I knew it wouldn't. The
end was coming and I was sitting around waiting for it to happen
instead of making it happen myself. It's one thing to get your heart
broken; it's quite another to see it coming a mile away and just
close your eyes and wait for the cracks to deepen.
So, I woke up on a crisp fall morning when rain was expected and
made a decision to change my life.
End 3/4
~~~~~~~~
Part 4/4
I have always considered myself a person of action--one who acts
instead of waiting for something to happen. It's amazing how easily
one can be lulled into complacency, however, and how easy it
becomes to accept the status quo and keep on marching in place.
In such cases, one can actually believe that progress is being made,
until close inspection reveals the stagnation that is settling in so
gradually as to be imperceptible.
Jack and I had reached stagnation. I knew it instinctively, but for
some reason it didn't register until that one particular day which
was no day in particular. It had been raining for two days, both of
which I had spent trying to get in touch with Jack. After endless
phone-tag, my frustrations had built right along with the puddles on
the pavement. I knew he wasn't purposely avoiding me, but his
lack of trying was typical of what our relationship had become.
I sat and stewed in my apartment about how much he wasn't
committed to me, and how much I wanted someone to be. This
was no big surprise, but for some reason, it suddenly became a
burden that made the lump rise up in my throat and the tears battle
with my self will. I could only hold on so long before I would come
to resent both him and myself.
I did the actual break-up with his answering machine. A coward's
way, surely, but once the decision was made I couldn't wait another
two days for him to finally contact me. I left a brief message. He
called me back within fifteen minutes.
"Dana, you want to talk about this?" His voice was strong and
sure, not even close to being as quivery as I knew mine had been.
"I don't know, Jack. I don't think there's anything to talk about. I
just don't think I can do this anymore. I can't stay with something
that will never move forward."
He was quiet for a few moments. "You deserve more. I'm sorry
that I can't give it to you. You know ..."
I cut him off before he could finish. Yes, I knew where he stood.
He had never hidden it from me, or let me believe our relationship
was anything more than it was. I couldn't fault him for that--his
honesty had always been the least of my doubts.
"I know. I love you, Jack. We've just gone as far as we can go, I
guess." I was surprised at the way the words were tumbling out,
calmly and rationally, even though my insides were tossing.
"I love you too, Dana. Please don't doubt that. Just not the way
you need."
I listened to him breathe on the other end of line, so clearly able to
picture the rise and fall of his chest, the way his face would look at
that moment if I could have seen it.
I didn't say anything, part of me wondering if maybe just leaving it
at that would be best. Jack spoke up before I could decide. "You
have to do what best for you. That's all that matters. Don't think
I'm not sad about this," he hesitated briefly. Had I only imagined
that I heard the break of his voice? "But I understand. I'll miss
you. More than you know, probably."
The tears came from somewhere, breaking the restraint which I'd
been handling so well. I was glad this had happened over the
phone. If I had had to see him saying those words, I think my
resolve would have melted.
"I'll miss you too. I'm sorry."
He sighed. "Nothing to apologize for. We had a good ride, don't
you think?"
I could only nod, the words trapped in my chest, but I knew he
would hear me anyway.
"Can we get together for coffee in a couple of days, maybe? Just to
check in, catch up?" I'm not sure why his need to see me was
surprising. We had spent so much time together; logically, it would
be difficult to give up the companionship and support we had
created. And I suspected that we would, at some point, have to
talk about this more.
"Maybe in a couple weeks, Jack. I'd like that very much." I tried
to sound light, despite every part of my body feeling heavy and
cold.
"Good. I'll call you, okay?"
He hung up and I held onto the phone for another few moments,
amazed at how simply it had ended. We had made the jump from
colleagues to lovers in one night, and now we had gone from lovers
to colleagues in an even shorter time. The first had been furiously
intense, the latter nothing more than a quick conversation.
Unfortunately, I was mistaken in my initial impression that the
break would be so anti-climatic. Less than a week after I had called
it quits, I fell off the wagon, the physical need for him harder to
bear than the emotional. I knocked on his door at midnight. He let
me into his house without question, and then, when I begged him to
make love to me, into his bed.
He took me that night from behind, like he had the first time. I
preferred not to see what was in his eyes. It was much easier to
close my eyes and remember the passion and desire I had once seen
in him. He held nothing back, his arm around my waist pulling my
hips toward him with each thrust. His power pushed me forward
until I had to brace against the wall, its smooth satin paint caressing
my palms as he had once caressed my face, my breasts, my skin.
Now it was his smooth cock ramming into me, the rest of him
distant and unreachable.
For the first time ever, he came first and made no attempt to do
otherwise. He dozed immediately, and I slipped out of his bed as
soon as I knew he was asleep. I could not bring myself to wait for
him. I feared that if I did, I would never be able to get that memory
out of my mind.
He woke up before I could get dressed and leave the house.
"Dana?" His eyes were bright, even in the darkness.
"I have to go. This was a mistake. I'm sorry."
He said nothing in response. It was, after all, my mistake, not his.
I was achingly aware of that. He got out of bed, wrapping a sheet
around his waist in some sort of false modesty that only drove the
pain deeper into my heart. There could be no clearer signal that he
didn't consider us lovers anymore.
"I'll see you out." I had to fight to keep the tears back. No
argument, no insistence that I stay. At that moment I realized that
part of me had thought that he would welcome me back, want me
to come back. No matter how much I knew that would never
happen, I had wanted it to.
And that is when I knew for sure that we were over, that he could
never give me what I needed most.
The changes that resulted from the end of my relationship with Jack
were both obvious and subtle. On the most basic level, it left me
alone for the first time in years. I am a loner by nature, so even in
my relationships with Jack and the men before him, I had always
sought out solitary time on a regular basis. Still, I wasn't prepared
for the incredible loneliness of once again being entirely by myself,
no one to call when I most needed the connection.
The other changes were more gradual and unexpected, a growth
that came from being forced to find my way through life in the
Bureau by myself. I knew I could call Jack whenever I needed
advice, but I never could bring myself to actually do it. It's not that
I had become dependent on him, for that was certainly not the
nature of our relationship, but I didn't like the feeling that so much
of my life as an Agent had been centered around him. He had been
the one with whom I shared my successes and my concerns, and
distancing myself from him meant learning to celebrate with myself.
After breaking up with Jack, I started to think about requesting a
transfer. It wasn't so much that I needed to get away from him as
that I needed to change my life, a complete change of cast. I was
no longer the green agent, just graduated from the Academy and
constantly wondering if I had made the right decision.
I had spent over a year teaching pathology, and while I enjoyed it, I
had joined the Bureau originally because I wanted to make a
difference somewhere besides medicine. My teaching stint had
given me experience in law enforcement, garnered me respect from
both my superiors and my peers, and allowed me the opportunity to
learn to deal with the bureaucracy and politics of the FBI. I was
ready for a chance to be what I had been trained to be--a field
agent. I wanted the chance to work outside the lab, have a partner,
be a member of the team that solved cases.
I also thought the change would help me make the break from a
relationship on which I had relied since the day I graduated from
the Academy. It was time to be my own person and to find my own
way. Jack had given me the means to survive; now I had to prove
to myself I could do it.
And that is what has brought me to this moment, my transfer finally
granted all of a sudden, several months after I eventually made the
request. I stand on the verge of a new life, a new challenge that I
welcome with outstretched arms and the enthusiasm of a woman
faced with the opportunity to do with her life what she has always
imagined. I admit that I wouldn't be here, be this sure of what I'm
about to do, without Jack.
He had already been on my mind before he phoned me last night. I
moved just a few weeks ago, giving up the small apartment around
the corner from P.J.'s where Jack and I first began our journey for a
larger place more suited to my now settled life. As I closed the
door for the last time on that part of my life, the memories of all the
time Jack and I had spent there bubbled to the surface. I
remembered our silly conversations, our long bouts of love-making,
and the feeling of security and belonging that he had brought to me.
And then he called me. He had heard about my transfer and wanted
to express his indignation.
"Those bastards! I can't believe they stuck you with that
assignment! All that time teaching at the Academy, nothing but the
highest commendations. They owe you more!" His words were
harsh against my ear, but I was aware that his anger was not with
me.
"It won't be so bad, Jack. I needed to get a field assignment
anyway." I tried to sound positive, for I would never admit that I
was nervous about this new challenge.
"Still, they could have given you something else. This assignment is
suicide for someone with your qualifications. It should've gone to
some rookie or second-class agent. Was it Blevins?"
I wasn't sure how to answer that. The men who had handed me this
unusual assignment had been mysterious and secretive. "I think it's
higher up than that. There were others there when Blevins met
with me. It was all so strange."
"I should give that man a piece of my mind." His anger was
lessening, but I knew he could quite likely be serious.
"Please, Jack, stay out of it. Let me do my job. I got the
impression this is going to be short-term anyway."
He said nothing, so I continued. "I'll be fine, Jack." I wondered
how many times I had said that to him--with the tone and
confidence he had taught me himself.
There was another pause and I could almost feel his anger dissipate
across the phone line. "I know. I know you'll do the best job you
can and you'll show them what you're made of." His voice was soft
again and I could picture the kindness in his eyes that I had always
known.
"I had a good teacher," I replied softly. I could hear his smile in the
pause, that weathered smile that crept up to his eyes like vines
reaching for the sun.
"Be careful, Dana. Agent Mulder, he was a great agent once, one
of the best, but from what I hear he's gone off the deep end. He's
walking the line, constantly on the edge of being booted out of the
Bureau. Don't let him drag you down with him." One thing about
Jack, he never stopped giving advice. It had always been good,
from getting through the Academy to maneuvering my way through
the thicket of the boy's club.
"I know, watch my back. I remember."
"And wear heels," he added. The rumble of his chuckle soothed me
in a way that seemed so familiar. "You'll handle it fine, I'm sure.
Good luck, Dana. Take care, okay?"
I appreciated his confidence in me, but even more, I appreciated my
confidence in myself--partly developed from being with Jack, and
partly developed from being without him. His final words were full
of caring and affection that made all the love I'd felt for him swell
up with the memories. God, how I had loved that man. Once.
It reminded me of the last thing he said the night I walked out on
him, our last night together when I had returned for one more
chance to love him. "I hope you find the relationship you're looking
for," is what he finally said to me, right before I walked out the
door and away from him forever. It was what I had asked for, but
that didn't stop the stunning pain of realizing the choice I had made.
I hope I do. I hope I find the relationship built for me, not in spite
of me. I hope I find the man whose love for me equals my own,
whose intensity and need compliments my distance. I will never
again give more than I get back.
Now, I grab my suitcase and coat and prepare to travel to Oregon,
where I will begin my first assignment as a field agent with my new
partner. I take with me hope, knowing that I have grown and
learned enough to be the person I need to be. The cracks have
already started to mend, strengthened by my goals, promises, and
possibilities. That hope will keep me moving, questing after what I
need. A man who will teach me, as Jack did. A man who will
support me and respect me and help me grow, as Jack did.
And a man who will love me, as Jack couldn't.
END
__________
Feedback would make my week: sbarringer@usa.net
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