From: "Susanne Barringer" Date: Sun, 13 Feb 2000 19:41:53 -0500 Subject: Change of Cast (1/1) by Susanne Barringer Source: direct TITLE: A Change of Cast AUTHOR: Susanne Barringer EMAIL: sbarringer@usa.net ARCHIVE: Gossmer use this version. Anywhere else 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 My other stories available at: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dreamworld/2442