From: "Peggy O'Farrell" To: Subject: story submission...(DRR) Date: Friday, April 19, 2002 7:42 PM Title: Paperwork Author/pseudonym: PegE Email address: Feedback to mmo520@yahoo.com Rating: NC17 Pairings: Doggett/Reyes Warnings: If you're under 17, go 'way! Spoilers: Nope. Status: Complete. Date: 3/17/02 Archive: Ask. Series/Sequel: 1/1 Other website: Summary: No job is finished til the paperwork is done. Disclaimer: They're not mine. Just check my bank balance. Notes: It's my first fic. Try to be nice. Please? It was a little after 8 on a Wednesday night, and Monica Reyes had just clicked off CNN when the doorbell rang. Scully or Doggett? She flipped a mental coin. Scully. It was Doggett. So much for intuition, she thought. "John, what's wrong?" Her partner didn't wait to be invited in. "I need your signature on the Fitzgerald case report. Skinner wants it on his desk first thing tomorrow." No job is finished without the paperwork. "Sure. Want some coffee, or a beer?" "Beer sounds good. Thanks." He shrugged off his jacket and sat down on Monica's couch, then started spreading out a stack of files. Monica sighed and headed for the kitchen. Beer for John. Chamomile for her. She put the kettle on, grabbed a long neck from the fridge and a glass from a cabinet over the sink. When she got back to the living room, Doggett was studying the Fitzgerald file like it held the secrets of the universe. "Here's your beer.'' Anything interesting?" "Man, this guy's a loser," Doggett said, scanning the file. Peter Wayne Fitzgerald was a small-time bank robber who'd ended up murdering three security guards and a Syracuse cop when his last bank job went bad. He'd tried very hard to convince the Syracuse police to shoot him to death so he wouldn't have to go to prison, but they hadn't obliged. A nasty shoulder wound sent him to the prison infirmary for two months, then it was off to the real big house. Until last week, when he, a prison guard and a volunteer chaplain had all walked away from Waterville, leaving behind two dead guards and a wounded deputy warden who was still in a coma. The three men had climbed into the chaplain's pickup and disappeared. Neither they nor the truck had been spotted anywhere in New York or the surrounding states. "How the hell did they get out?" Doggett asked. "And where the hell are they now?" The files spread out on Monica's coffee table were the background files on Fitzgerald, the guard, Alan Edward Tubbs, and Michael David Beckman, the volunteer chaplain. Tubbs had a wife and two small children. Beckman, an amateur magician who worked a lot of birthday parties and bar mitzvahs, had never married. The love of Fitzgerald's life was a depressing blend of cheap scotch and cheaper whores. Monica sat next to him and grabbed the incident reports filled out by the Waterville PD. The witness statements all said the same thing. One minute, the three escapees were holding the guards and the deputy warden at gunpoint; the next, they were walking out an employee entrance to Beckman's truck. No one reported seeing them shoot anyone. But the two guards had each been shot execution-style and the prison warden had been shot twice in the chest. The weapons had belonged to Tubbs and the two dead guards, and ballistics said the bullets matched the guns. The kettle was whistling, but Monica ignored it, studying the reports she held. Doggett watched her read and waited for her to get up, get her tea and stop that annoying noise. She's very focused, he observed, trying to be fair. But that teakettle was the loudest damn thing... "Mon!" She looked up. "Your tea's ready." "I didn't even hear it. Thanks, John." She was back a few seconds later, steaming mug of – he assumed – something herbal and organic and healthy in her hands. Then she was focused on the reports again. Amazing, he thought. Some of Monica's ideas were a little out there for him, to be honest, and there was such a thing as being too open-minded. But she was smart and tough and brave and he trusted her with his life, and had ever since she'd stood beside him as he stared at his son's broken body in that field. Part of his heart was encased forever in ice when he thought of Luke's murder. But another part, growing larger every day, got warmer a degree at a time when Monica was near. He pretended to read Tubbs's file as he studied her. Everyone had a flaw, he knew, but damned if he could spot hers. She blew on her tea to cool it, and he focused on her mouth and the curve of her full lips. When she took a sip, a tiny drop remained pooled on her bottom lip and he looked away to resist the temptation to remove with his fingertip, or better still, his tongue. "So how do we explain this to the boss?" he asked. "I don't think Skinner is gonna go for your hypnosis theory." "It's the only thing that makes any sense," Monica argued. "What, they were beamed up to a spaceship and carried away to the stars?" Monica watched him read and re-read the statements. She didn't expect any revelations; she just liked looking at him. Long and lean and strong with a sad expression but the liveliest blue eyes she'd ever seen. When he fixed those eyes on her, the effect was hypnotic. She would follow him over a cliff or into a burning building. She picked up Beckman's background file and began leafing through it until she found what she wanted. "It says here that Beckman's specialty was hypnosis," she said, and waited for the explosion. "What, he put the whammy on seven armed men?" Doggett's tone was beyond skeptical. It was almost derisive. "Gimme a break, Monica." "Mass hypnosis is a well-documented – " She never finished. "You're starting to sound like Mulder," he said. It was not a compliment. The truth was, Doggett didn't really have a problem with the whole mass-hypnosis theory, though the truth was probably much simpler. He just liked the glint Monica got in her eye when she decided he was being stubborn and closed-minded. And when Monica was trying to prove a point, she somehow managed to both lean toward the person she was arguing with and hold herself very erect. And tonight she was wearing a tight red knit top with a deep V-neck. Sometimes it's the journey, he told himself, trying not to focus too obviously on her cleavage. Sometimes it's the destination. And sometimes it's just the scenery. Monica leaned forward a little further and he caught a glimpse of black lace. He let himself wonder, just for a second, if her panties matched. Monica had stopped talking, and Doggett had no idea what she'd said, though it had obviously ended in several exclamation points. "You're out of your mind," he said. That seemed safe enough, if a little insensitive. Maybe she'd lean more. She didn't. She sat back, arms folded across her front, and glared at him. "How can you be so stubborn?" she fumed. A few strands of hair fell across her forehead, and she brushed them back impatiently. "All right, Einstein. What's your theory?" "I don't theorize in advance of the facts, and right now, we don't have many facts," he said loftily. "We certainly don't have anything suggesting Beckman took out a gold watch, waved it at the witnesses and sent them off to la-la land while he and his buddies shot three men and ran away." Monica glared harder. She wasn't really all that annoyed. But he was so cute when he was being superior. And had he been staring at her chest? "Do we have the security video yet?" Time to show she had some grasp of reality. "They're overnighting it." "Well, we'll take a look at it in the morning and see what theories we can advance from there," she said, and stood. Time to test her theory. She yawned and stretched her arms over her head, then arched her back and gave a slight wiggle, as if to work the kinks out. Doggett's eyes stayed focused on her chest. I'll be damned, she thought. "Want another beer?" She needed time to think about this. "Sure," Doggett said, still thinking about black lace. "Thanks." This time she brought back a glass of merlot for herself, taking a sip as she handed Doggett his bottle of beer. Instead of sitting next to him on the couch, she tossed one of the cushions onto the floor and sat at his feet. She leaned back into the couch, stretching just enough to cause the hem of her top to slide up to her belly button and the neckline to fall open just a little wider. Yup, he's staring. Doggett figured it out about the same time Monica did, and asked the first question he could think of. "Seen Scully lately?" This time Monica was annoyed. That name again. "Yeah, we had coffee the other night. I can't believe how big William's getting. And she got an e-mail from Mulder." Now it was Doggett's turn to be annoyed. That jerk, he thought. "He coming home?" It couldn't hurt to remind Monica that her hero had run out on his girlfriend and son. "She didn't say." Monica sat up straight. Show's over, she thought, viciously. How could he be so hung up on a woman who was so hung up on another man? Doggett noted the change in her posture. How could she be so hung up on such an irresponsible flake? They both got to their feet at the same time, or they would have if they hadn't somehow gotten tangled. Monica stumbled as they collided and fell against Doggett, who caught her before she could tumble to the carpet. Startled, they stared at each other for a second and Doggett realized she was in his arms. Finally, he thought. She was looking at him like he'd lost his mind, and he thought, what the hell? And leaned forward to kiss her. Monica froze for a heartbeat as Doggett's lips brushed hers. What the hell? Then she felt his lips part, and she leaned toward him and kissed him back. The kiss grew more urgent until they had to pull apart, both out of breath and more than a little frightened by the intensity. Monica's arms were curved around Doggett's neck, and his arms encircled her waist. Their eyes met, and they were kissing a second time, then a third and a fourth and neither of them could keep counting. Doggett's hand slipped up to cup Monica's jaw, and he gently tilted her head back so he could kiss her more deeply. She sighed and started to draw back, but he tightened his grip and held her mouth firmly against his. Monica moaned a little, entranced by the slight show of forcefulness, and opened her mouth to him. Their tongues met and mingled, warm and wet and quicksilver, and when the kiss finally ended, Monica took his hand and began leading him toward the bedroom. Doggett hesitated for a second, then followed her. Monica didn't let herself think at all. When they got to the entrance of her darkened bedroom, she turned to him again and he pulled her into his arms to kiss her again. After the kiss ended, they stood, wrapped in each other's arms for several heartbeats until Monica reached over the nightstand and switched on the tiny bedside lamp. "I want to see you," she whispered, and kissed him again. Doggett couldn't move as her mouth trailed from his lips to his jaw line to his throat. She kissed the pulsing vein in his throat and let her lips trace the V of his collar, sliding her hands from his shoulders to his chest. Her hands brushed gently over his nipples and he inhaled sharply at her touch. Then she began unbuttoning his shirt, dropping another kiss along his chest as she undid each button. When she got to his belt, Doggett decided it was time to get in the game. He grasped her hands and pulled her into a hungry kiss, almost bruising her mouth with his. She moaned and he let his lips drift to her jaw and to that sweet spot where her jaw met her ear, and then along the strong line of her neck and throat. Teasingly, he let his tongue follow the deep neckline of her top and she sighed as his tongue dipped into her cleavage, then slowly traced its way back up to her shoulder blade. He let go of her hands, and as her arms circled his neck again, slid his hands across her hips to the firm round warmth of her ass. He kept kissing her throat as his hands wandered over each cheek, squeezing and fondling as she sighed and whimpered at his touch. "You feel so good," he murmured, squeezing each cheek in turn. They kissed again, and Monica let her hands slide to his waist to unbuckle his belt. She unbuttoned the waistband of his jeans and pulled his shirt free, impatiently undoing the remaining buttons. He shrugged out of it and she tugged his undershirt over his head. Then, before he could stop her, she pulled off her own top. She reached to unfasten her bra, eager to feel his hands on her breasts, but he got there first. "Let me," he whispered into her ear, and he unfastened the front clasp in a single, practiced move. Her bra fell open and his hands immediately covered her bare breasts. His hands were amazing, she thought, kissing him. He was rubbing his palms over her breasts, then he started stroking her nipples with his thumbs. When he began rubbing each nipple between his fingers, tugging and pulling them wickedly, she groaned, and he lowered his head to take one, then the other, into his mouth. He suckled her greedily, letting his tongue circle each ripe, red nipple several times before biting it gently. He kissed her again, and when they drew apart, she began kissing his bare chest, letting her hands wander down his back to his waistband. She slipped her hands into his jeans and under his boxers and began stroking his ass as she tongued one nipple, then the other. He groaned and she grinned, giving one cheek a squeeze. "Paybacks are a bitch," she whispered into his mouth, and he laughed. He slipped back onto the bed, pulling her down with him. She half straddled him as he kissed and fondled her breasts, watching his dark head bend attentively to the task. When she couldn't stand it anymore, she drew his hands to her waist and he immediately began tugging her jeans down over hips. When they were gone, he fingered the waistband of her panties. Black lace, he noted, triumphantly, then tugged them off as well. Before she could finish undressing him, he slid down on the mattress until he was between her thighs. He let his fingertips trail along her calves for a few seconds, then began running his hands over her thighs to her hips. His fingertips grazed the dark tangle of hair between her legs and he leaned up to inhale her warm, rich scent and he explored the lips of her pussy with one finger. He parted her labia and blew gently across her pussy, targeting the stream of his breath at her clit. He traced two fingers along her center, delighting in her wetness, then grasped her hips and pulled her body down to his waiting mouth. He fastened almost immediately on her clit, sucking and tonguing it greedily as she moaned and jerked her hips toward him. He grasped her ass firmly, and kept tonguing her, and Monica began moving in rhythm with him, riding his tongue as he pleasured her. A tiny bubble of heat began forming in the center of her stomach and it expanded rapidly as he tongued her. When it was centered on the exact spot of his attention, she screamed and arched toward him, unable to keep still as the pleasure overtook her. She gasped his name and held on for dear life, her fingers woven into his spiky black hair. She was afraid she would suffocate him as she pressed him even tighter against her body, but he kept licking her, and she felt a second orgasm building moments after the first finally subsided. She started to tell him to stop, but, he grasped her ass again and pulled her higher over him and it was too late. She was spinning toward the ceiling, floating with pleasure, but he held her fast as he licked and suckled and nibbled her hot liquid center. She came a third time, then a fourth and then she stopped counting. Doggett feasted on her hot, wet pussy, loving the way she came for him again and again. When he felt her body go limp, he stopped, kissing her thighs softly as she leaned against him, breathless and almost exhausted with pleasure. He waited until she caught her breath, then slid out from under her to lean against the headboard. He just grinned at her, drinking in the sight of her flushed face and breasts and the sheen of sweat on her skin. She let him stare until she finally worked up the energy to speak. "You bastard," she said, and dove to cover his face and chest with kisses. He laughed as she sucked and gently bit his nipples, then groaned as she tugged down his jeans and boxer shorts and slipped her hand between his legs to grasp his cock. He lifted his hips off the bed and together they pulled his jeans and shorts off. He kicked his sneakers off and Monica pulled off his socks, then slid back up to stroke his thighs before taking his erect cock into her mouth. "Jesus!" he gasped as she began tonguing him, licking long strokes over the shaft before thoroughly licking his balls. She worked her way back up to the tip and licked away the tiny drop of cum that glistened there before taking the head into her mouth. She tongued him mercilessly, concentrating on the vein on the underside of his cock and the sensitive spot just below the tip. Each time her tongue brushed him there, he moaned and pushed his hips toward her, and she drew back just a little, teasing him. Finally, he pushed her gently away. "I want to come inside you," he gasped, and she laughed, and swung her leg over his hip until she sat astride him. "Then come and get me," she teased, brushing his cock with her wet pussy. He groaned again and grasped her hips and pulled her hard onto his waiting cock. They both gasped as he entered her, bucking wildly for a few seconds until they settled into a rhythm. "God, you feel good," Monica breathed, leaning forward to kiss him, then straightening up again to ride him. She sighed and shifted slightly so that he was even deeper inside her and began working her hips luxuriously back and forth. She clasped his hands in hers, and their eyes met. Doggett watched transfixed as she sighed and rocked faster and faster. Her breathing quickened and the flush returned to her cheeks. He gripped her hips a little harder and began thrusting into her more forcefully. "Come on, gorgeous," he encouraged her, slipping one hand between her legs to stroke her swollen clit. "Give it up. Give it all up for me. I want to see you come for me." It was his voice that actually pushed her over the edge, Monica thought, as she groaned and thrust toward him and exploded. She cried out again and ground her hips against him as she came and the pleasure was just starting to taper off when it was his turn to cry out. He screamed her name and pulled her even harder toward him and with another cry, he exploded into her. She fell forward onto his chest, and they were both still for several seconds, locked in each other's arms and exhausted. When Monica could breathe, she straightened up, enjoying the feeling of his now- limp cock still buried deep within her. They grinned at each other and she pulled away, then stretched out next to him. He pulled her close and she nestled against him until her head rested on his chest. She kissed his shoulder and he stroked her hair and they held on tight, each feeling the other's racing pulse. Doggett closed his eyes and willed the room to stop spinning. Oh, my God, he thought, feeling Monica stretched out against him. His skin was super-sensitive, and he tingled from head to toe. He half expected to see sparks striking where his body and Monica's connected. Monica sensed, rather than saw, Doggett close his eyes and wondered if he was just exhausted or in denial. She had wanted him for so long that she couldn't bear the thought that he might consider their lovemaking a mistake. She had to see his face, she thought, and sat up. He felt her shift and rise, and he opened his eyes to look up at her. She's so beautiful, he thought, reaching up to stroke her cheek. Her dark eyes were wide and he could see the question there. He smiled and stroked her mouth with his thumb. "You are exquisite," he told her gently, "and I am the happiest man on the planet. And the luckiest, gorgeous. Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to make love to you?" Monica felt herself grinning like an idiot. "Not as long as I've wanted you," she said, and leaned forward to kiss him. They lingered, kissing, for several sweet minutes. Finally, reluctantly, Doggett shifted and eased Monica back to the mattress. Their eyes met and Monica reached up to reached up to brush his hair back. Doggett turned his head slightly so he could plant a kiss in the palm of her hand. He saw love shining in her eyes, and knew it was reflected in his own. "How are we going to make this work?" she asked him, her voice soft and very small. "Very carefully," he joked, then grew serious again. "You need to know this now, gorgeous: Now that I've got you, I'm never letting you go. Never mind the X Files, never mind the Bureau, never mind anything. You're mine and I'm yours and that's all that matters." He pulled her with him as he sank into the bed. Monica sighed and shifted until she was snuggled comfortably against his chest. "Works for me," she said. "But we still have that report to finish." "We'll get up early and finish it." Then Doggett reached over and turned off the bedside lamp. He kissed her softly, and she sighed and somehow snuggled even closer. "Well, we'll get up early and work on something," she said.