An Office Romance, by Scifinerdgrl Part 5

At 8:05, Monica rushed up the subway stairs, eager for a morning
chat with the smoking secretaries, but they weren't at the
entrance. She was running late, and she'd missed them. 

Janet sat at her desk, checking her e-mail while she sipped on
her coffee. She looked up as a somewhat rushed and disheveled
Monica threw open the door. "I'm late!" Monica announced,
breathing heavily. 

"Relax," said Janet. "He's not here yet." Monica sighed loudly
and sat down on the guest chair. "So tell me," Janet said, a
glint in her eye. "Did you see Joe again?" 

"Yes," Monica said, smiling a little dreamily. "We went to the
gym again..." Monica's mind drifted to the more pleasant memories
of her evening with Joe. 

"When is he going to take you on a real date?" 

Monica was taken aback by this question. "He invited me to the
farewell party for his partner. That's sort of like a date..."
Monica's voice trailed off. "I get to meet his mother's baked
ziti." 

"I bet his mother's baked ziti is the best in Brooklyn," Janet
nodded knowingly. Monica looked at her with a startled
expression. In answer, Janet added, "Every Italian boy's mama
makes the best baked ziti in Brooklyn. Someday I'll bring some of
mine in, and you'll see whose ziti is really the best." Janet
winked, and Monica grinned. 

"Anyway, we're just getting to know each other," Monica said, a
little defensively. "Going to the gym together is as good a way
to get to know someone as going to the movies." 

"Just don't go too far too fast," Janet warned. "Italian boys
don't marry hussies." 

Monica's jaw dropped. "Janet!" she exclaimed. "I'm not a hussy!" 
"I hope not!" Janet answered. "But I had to say it. If you didn't
know about baked ziti..." She stopped talking when the outer door
swung open. A flushed and panting Brad threw himself into the
waiting room. 

Janet and Monica looked at him, then at each other. "I'm sorry
I'm late," Brad said to Monica. It sounded to her as if he were
truly sorry, not just making excuses for himself, and she was
flattered. 

Janet interrupted, "A.D. Williams called. He wants you to call
him right away." 

Brad's worried expression surprised Monica, but he didn't notice.
He raced into his office and shut the door. Monica looked to
Janet for an explanation, but Janet had assumed the professional
demeanor of her office. 

A moment later Brad emerged, more calm, his color back to normal. 
"Agent Reyes," he said in his most professional voice. "We've had
a change of schedule. Instead of the simulator, this morning
we'll be observing an autopsy. It's the child from the dumpster." 

Monica swallowed and could feel panic threatening to overtake
her. If merely being near that child made her vomit... "I'm not
sure I can..." she looked at Brad pleadingly. 

"Surely you observed some autopsies at Quantico?" Brad replied,
keeping his businesslike expression. Monica nodded. "Well," he
said, "it's harder when it's a child, but it's part of our job.
And it's part of your training. As A.D. Williams pointed out, we
don't know when there will be another opportunity." He turned to
Janet and said "Please reschedule Ms. Reyes' simulator training." 

At the morgue, Monica felt her legs becoming heavier with every
step they took toward the autopsy room. Brad's steps seemed to
become louder and more determined in response to her attempt to
slow down. A few feet from the door, he turned to her and looked
into her eyes. "Monica," he said gently, "you don't have to stay
the whole time, but at least try." 

She felt a rush of gratitude, admiration, and, to her
astonishment, lust when he said this. "Thank you," she said
through lips that were stiffening in response to impending
quivering. "I'll do my best." 

"That's all I ask," he responded tenderly. He put his hand behind
her elbow, and escorted her to the door. 

Once inside, the matter-of-fact attitude of the medical examiner
helped Monica to put aside her feelings of dread. Brad explained
to him that Monica was there as an observer, and that he was
there because he had discovered the body. A glance from Follmer
told Monica not to let on that she'd been there. The three stood
together in an awkward silence, until the M.E. offered, "We're
waiting for the local P.D." 

As if on cue, Joe entered, his blue uniform straining over his
muscular physique, and Monica suddenly remembered her first, very
exhilarating, impressions of him. She couldn't help sighing, and
Brad couldn't help noticing her sigh. He shook his head and
resolved to figure out a way to nip this in the bud. 

Another man followed behind Joe. This man was tall and thin, and
wore street clothes. His shocking red hair topped a pale,
freckled face, his bright blue eyes piercing the pale fog of his
face. The man walked quickly up to the M.E. and extended his
hand. "Detective Patrick Williams." 
Brad made the connection instantly. Williams! That's how news was
getting back to FBI! He sighed as he realized how much work it
was going to be putting a plug in this leak.

The group maintained a respectful distance as the M.E. pulled
back the zipper on the tiny body bag and started his
investigation.  Follmer positioned himself to keep an eye on his
trainee and the two men who already knew too much.

As the M.E. described the injuries inflicted on this child,
Monica started to see the events surrounding them.  Repeated
blows to the same few locations, barely perceptible bruising
revealing weeks of injuries at different stages of healing, a
broken wrist, cigarette burns at very specific locations, each
paralleled by another on the opposite side of the child's body...
Monica felt the heat and nausea she'd felt when she'd first
encountered the body, and breathed deeply in an attempt to quell
these feelings.  It seemed to be working, and as the M.E. opened
the body and examined the organs, she felt in control of herself. 
One by one he pulled out the organs, described their condition,
weighed them.... and Monica felt stronger with each one.  Until
he came to the heart...

The baby's heart was slightly enlarged, according to the M.E.,
and when he pulled it out of the chest, Monica could swear she
saw it beat.  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and
when she opened them, the heart beat faintly, but regularly, its
muscles contracting and expanding more and more vigorously until
Monica felt overwhelmed by a wave of nausea.  She ran for the
door, feeling a hot breeze as from a hot furnace, chasing behind
her.  She slammed the door against he feeling, and looked for a
trash can.  She grabbed a small trash container and sat on one of
the benches that lined the hallway, retching violently the second
the can was under her.

After she was finished, her head still poised over the trash can,
Monica tried to focus on breathing deeply, her eyes closed
against the visions.  As her breathing slowed, her mind cleared,
her visions faded to black, and her stomach returned to normal. 
She rested that way for a moment, resolved to return to the
autopsy, when she felt a hand brushing her hair back.  She looked
up to see Joe, and she grinned grimly.  He offered her a glass of
water and she put both of her hands around it, lifting it to her
mouth and draining it quickly, keeping her eyes on his.  "Thank
you," she said when she was finished.

He stroked her hair with gentleness that astonished her.  "Are
you sure you're in the right profession?" he asked with genuine
concern.  Her eyebrows showed him he'd made a mistake.  "I mean,"
he continued awkwardly.  "You are so sensitive...  and you seem
to love children... It's hard enough for a man...  I can't even
imagine what it must be like for a woman to see something like
that."

A cold glint jumped into her eyes and her chin jutted out
slightly.  "I can handle this.  I'm not used to it... and what I
saw and felt, it's not just the body...  it's evil itself..." 
Joe's only response was an expression of pity mixed with
condescension, making Monica bristle more.  "Really, Joe.  If I
don't see those evil visions, I'm fine."

"Monica, think about it.  In your division, you will be seeing
these evil visions every day," Joe responded, enveloping one of
her hands into both of his, focusing his eyes on hers.

She looked back into his eyes, but before she could answer, Brad
appeared in front of them.  Monica's face flushed, her hand
instinctively pulled out of Joe's grasp, and she looked up into
his disapproving face.  "Are you okay, Agent Reyes?"  His voice
was hard-edged and professional, carefully modulated to mask all
traces of his jealousy, concern, and fear.

Absently handing the glass to Joe, Monica nodded and started to
rise.  Brad took a step backward to give her space.  As she
started to rise, Joe pulled at her arm and brought her body back
down a few inches.  "Think about it, okay?" he said.  With an
almost imperceptible nod, she shook her arm free from his grasp
and stood up.  Brad turned and walked toward the autopsy room,
and Monica took a few tentative steps in the same direction.  Joe
rose quickly and whispered into her ear, "We'll talk some more? 
Tonight? Same time?"  She nodded, a wistful sadness in her eyes.

When Monica returned to the autopsy room, she felt a change
there. The warmth, the evil, she'd sensed had disappeared. In its
place a different warmth suffused the room -- comforting,
enveloping, calming... The closer she came to the center of the
room, the more at peace she felt, and she sensed that the child's
dissected corpse was the source of this peace. 
She looked on calmly as the M.E. finished his examination,
oblivious to the glances that Joe and Brad gave each other as
each caught the other eyeing Monica. When it was over, Monica
approached the body, her hand outstretched, and stroked its hair.
The M.E. said, "Ma'am, this is one of the more brutal abuse cases
I've seen. If that makes you feel any better, most agents would
have difficulty observing this autopsy." 

Monica acknowledged his kindness, but then returned her attention
to the body. As if reading braille, she trailed her fingers over
the baby's skin, lingering over the bruises and burn marks. "This
wasn't ordinary abuse," she said softly. "This was an exorcism." 

"What?" the M.E. said incredulously. 

Monica straightened her spine and looked him in the eye. "These
burns -- they aren't from a cigarette. See how they trail up
here..." she ran her hand over one of the baby's arms then lifted
the other arm. "And here? These aren't burns, they're splatter
marks -- from Holy Water." 

The M.E. bent forward, and Brad, Joe, and Williams gathered round
for a closer inspection. The M.E. traced his fingers along the
same path Monica's had, and he looked up in surprise. "I agree,
these could be splatter marks... but they are definitely burns.
Boiling water, or maybe acid..." He began scraping the edge of
one wound and put the evidence in a bag. "We'll test this for
toxic substances. Thank you for pointing this out.... As for this
being an exorcism..." He raised his eyebrows at her then looked
to each man for validation. Joe and Brad seemed embarrassed for
Monica, and she sighed as each refused to defend her. 

"I know it seems unlikely," she said after taking a deep breath.
"But it fits the pattern -- for some kinds of exorcism, at
least." She turned to face Joe and asked, "Are there any cults in
this area that believe in spirit possession?" 

After an awkward, open-mouthed silence on Joe's part, Williams
stepped in. "There are several cults in Brooklyn. Almost one in
every neighborhood." 
"You should investigate them," Monica said earnestly. "Beginning
with any in the Carroll Gardens neighborhood." 

Williams nodded, somewhat condescendingly, but answered, "We'll
do that. At this point we need to consider every possibility." 

"Good," Monica answered approvingly. Williams smiled, and
indicated to Joe that it was time to leave. Joe sneaked a nod to
Monica then followed Williams out of the room. 

After they'd left, Brad asked, "Besides these burns, what else
makes you think this is an exorcism?" The M.E. looked on in
interest and the two waited as Monica, very clinically, examined
the body. 

"You see these bruises? The ones you identified as finger marks?
This child was being held by one person, from behind" she mimed
the motions she envisioned. "and another person, possibly two,
performed the ceremony." 
Brad nodded thoughtfully, and the M.E. said, "I can add that to
my report. What is your name again...?" 

"Don't use her name," Brad interrupted. "Use mine. She's still in
training. Her name can't be attached to any investigation." 

After stopping at a deli for sandwiches, Brad pulled to a bus
stop near a playground and put his "FBI" placard on the
dashboard. They ate in silence, for several minutes, watching a
child and his mother on a swing set. Swallowing the last of his
sandwich, Brad watched as the mother and child left the
playground, then turned his attention to Monica. He studied her
carefully as she ate -- intrigued by the motions of her jaw,
tongue, and throat... Suddenly she stopped eating, her cheeks
bulging with half-eaten food, and stared back at him. Her
eyebrows spoke to him as eloquently as her voice could. 

"I know, don't watch you eat," he said jovially. She started
chewing again, her mouth curling into a smile around the bulge.
He leaned back against the car door and languidly draped his arm
across the top of the seat, his fingers wafting lazily into the
space between the seats. He continued watching her, then
apologized, "I'm sorry. There just isn't much to watch besides
you right now..." 

She swallowed slowly, then said, "You could at least talk to me.
You're making me nervous!" 

He could tell by the sparkle in her eyes that she wasn't nervous,
and he smiled broadly. She was flirting! He couldn't believe it.
"Okay, Agent Reyes, what should I talk to you about?" 

"Tell me about your first week on the job. Was it anything like
mine?" As if to invite him to speak at length, she took a huge
bite out of her sandwich. 

He moved his mouth around in sympathy with hers, a sparkle coming
into his eyes as he watched her watching him. "It was nothing
like this. But I'm sure you knew that. Your introduction to the
FBI has been..." he paused, struggling to find the right words,
then finished, "unique." She grinned, but continued chewing. He
continued talking, "My first week was full of procedure manuals,
following agents around as they questioned suspects and witnesses
-- all white-collar crime. Then I learned how to read
spreadsheets. It was so boring I wondered if I'd chosen the right
profession!" He chuckled for a moment, but her face turned
serious and his demeanor immediately followed suit. "What? Did I
say something wrong?" he asked, his extended arm reaching for her
shoulder. 

She put her hand for a second, sending sparks through his body,
but removed it quickly as she saw the flush in his face. She
swallowed then said seriously, "Am I in the right profession?" 

He leaned forward and put his left hand on the top of her thigh
as his right hand pressed into her shoulder. "Absolutely," he
said with conviction. 

She inhaled deeply, and after exhaling just as deeply, quietly
said, "Thank you. I needed to hear that." 

"You've only been here a few days, and already I can't imagine
the FBI without you. I haven't regretted choosing you for even a
second," he said. 

The sincerity of his words both frightened and reassured her. She
laid her right hand atop his left and started stroking it slowly.
"I'm glad you want me here." 

They looked into each others' eyes for a long moment, and
Monica's fingers slowed their caresses, resting heavily on his
knuckles.  Brad pulled his hand away and brought it to her jaw
line, stroking it gently as he brought his face closer to hers. 
She allowed him to lead her toward him, and her mouth opened
involuntarily in expectation of a kiss.

Brad's mind was full of her -- her face, hair, voice, the faint
smell of deli bread on her breath... and his body fell toward
her, pulled forward by her lips.  His right hand lost its grip on
her shoulder, falling forward a few inches, his fingers pointing
the way to more trouble for him.  Suddenly he heard his own voice
in his head, reading "acts without thinking, letting his emotions
rule his actions..."

He pulled back suddenly and fastened his seatbelt.  "Ready to
go?"  Monica's shocked expression told him she might not be such
a model of self-control, but he resolved he would be.  She
nodded, and they drove in awkward silence to the simulators.

Brad looked on as Monica shot at simulated bad guys, good guys,
dogs... her concentration was off, and he held himself
responsible.  Her results would be going to Williams, and they
would both look bad.  He walked up behind her and tapped her
shoulder gingerly.  She turned around, keeping the virtual gun
pointed out, and whacked him in the chest.  He couldn't help
grinning at her embarrassed expression, which quickly changed to
an expression of amused annoyance.  "Sorry," she said
sheepishly."

"You seem nervous," Brad said, trying to keep a professional yet
helpful demeanor.  She nodded and formed something between a grin
and a grimace.  Brad leaned against the wall and crossed his
arms.  His relaxed pose was contagious, and Monica let her
shoulders slump a little.  Brad looked at her appraisingly, and
said, "The Agent Reyes who pulled a gun on me this week didn't
seem one bit nervous.  She was rather impressive, in fact.  Where
is she now?"

Monica sighed.  "That was impressive?"  He nodded
enthusiastically.  "Well," she began.  "That other Monica was
reacting to a situation..."

"And what was different about that situation?"  Brad probed.

Monica stared at the ceiling, replaying that day's events in her
mind.  "I was protecting someone..." Brad could see the
proverbial light bulb go on over her head.  "Someone else, not
myself," she added.

"Aren't you worth protecting?" he asked, then quickly answered,
"I think you are."

Monica took a deep breath and turned toward the simulator.  "I
want to try again," she said with determination.  "Turn it on,"
she ordered.  Brad complied, and watched as Monica's eyes scoured
the field for danger... dangers to herself...  She held back
until seeing a man pull a gun, and she shot him, hitting him in
the shoulder.

"Good!" Brad said, applauding energetically.  "Let's try another
one."  He watched her performance as it steadily improved, and by
the end of the afternoon, both teacher and student felt the
satisfaction of a task attempted and mastered.

"Thank you," Monica said as they were walking to his car.  "I
needed your encouragement."

"That's what supervisors are supposed to do," he answered,
somewhat paternally.  "It's my job."

After dropping her off at her apartment, Brad drove back to his
office to take notes.  "A model of self-control," he thought,
congratulating himself on his restraint that afternoon.

That evening Joe seemed very solicitous when he picked Monica up
at what was now their usual time.  In the car, he kissed her
tenderly, more tenderly than he had to now.  She sighed into the
kiss and responded with tender motions of her own, but pulled
back as he became more passionate.

"What's this about?" she asked, flirtatious yet genuinely
curious.

"I've been thinking about you all afternoon," he answered,
stroking her hair.  "You shouldn't have seen what you saw this
morning."  He watched his hand as it moved down and slightly
backward, behind her ear, but his eyes were seeing the morning's
autopsy.  "You are such a sensitive," he interrupted himself
deliver one short, tender kiss on the lips.  "sweet," he kissed
her again, "wonderful person..."  He pulled back and looked into
her eyes.  "You're the last person who should be working in that
division."

Monica's breathing heaved as she fought to suppress her rising
anger.  "I'm going to try to make it work," she answered as
straight-forwardly as she could.  "Please don't make an issue of
this..."  She waited for him to answer, and when his eyes became
even more pitying, she added, "I'll be fine...  Really."  Her
raised eyebrows signaled her determination to change topics, but
Joe seemed not to notice.

"Monica, if my partner -- an experienced cop who's seen
everything -- can't deal with this kind of case, why do you think
you can?  You're a lot like him.  I just can't see...." he
stopped when he noticed her angry expression, and decided to get
to the point.  "You should ask for a transfer.  You've just
started.  You don't even have a partner yet...  Your supervisor
has seen how sensitive you are..."

At the mention of Brad, Monica became suspicious.  "Are you
jealous of my supervisor?" she exclaimed, raising her voice.

"No!" he belted out, a little too quickly.

"You don't have *any* reason to be jealous, Joe," she placed her
hand on his forearm.  "I'm with you.  I have no feelings for
Brad."

"I'm not jealous, I---" Joe protested, but Monica closed the
subject with a kiss.

She pulled away from him and said, "Now, let's get to the gym.  I
can't wait to get started on chi breathing."  The smidgen of
disdain that swept across Joe's face did not escape her notice. 
"and I want to get back into that hot-tub," she added, putting
her hand on his thigh.

At the gym, Dennis Gray greeted Monica with enthusiasm.  She was
touched to find that he'd brought books and pamphlets on Taoism,
Chi Kung, and Shaolin philosophy.  She opened a pamphlet and
read:

"There are many wonderful benefits derived from practicing chi
kung, and they may be generalized into the following five
categories:

Curing illness and promoting health. 
Enhancing vitality and developing internal force. 
Promoting youthfulness and longevity. 
Expanding the mind and the intellect. 
Spiritual cultivation. 

Many chi kung types focus on only one or two of the above
categories, but a few cover all the five. For example, most types
of medical chi kung aim mainly at curing illness, virtually all
sexual types of chi kung emphasize solely on youthfulness,
whereas Shaolin Cosmos Chi Kung touches on all the above five
categories of benefits."

Sexual chi kung?  She was intrigued.  "What is chi kung, really? 
It's not just breathing?"

"You start with breathing, but it has many aspects.  It is
energy, in your being.  Breathing is the central aspect, and the
one we focus on in classes here.  It is essential to all other
aspects of chi." Despite his ethnic ambiguity, Monica felt as if
she were in the presence of a Chinese sage.
A smile spread over Monica's face, a smile of admiration.  He
noticed and watched in amusement as she read on:

"All great kung fu makes use of energy training (which is chi
kung) to develop internal force, without which it remains at its
external, mechanical level, considered by Chinese martial artists
as rough and low-class. Hence, a kung fu master may look, and
actually is, gentle, yet with his internal force he can cause
much damage to his opponent if he wishes. Moreover, his internal
force does not diminish with age, and he can apply it for
peaceful use in his daily living. Unlike in many other systems of
martial arts where the training itself often results in physical
as well as emotional injuries, kung fu training with chi kung
enhances harmonious chi flow, thus promotes health, vitality and
longevity."  (from: http://www.shaolin-wahnam.org/chikung.html)

She set the pamphlet on a chair and said, "Dennis? How do I
start?"
He answered, "We start with the proper way to address your chi
kung or kung fu master.  Call me "Sifu", which is the Cantonese
word for "Master."  You may also call me "master." I am not a
great master, but if a great master answers you when you call him
"Sifu", you are honored because it shows he accepts you as a
student."

Monica blushed and bowed her head instinctively.  "Sifu," she
corrected herself.  Sifu Gray led her through a series of
exercises designed to focus her energy, or "chi," as she
breathed.  After ten minutes she felt not just her lungs, but her
entire body cleared, and her mind was more relaxed than it had
been in years.  The registered students started to arrive, but
Sifu Gray made no moves to wrap things up with Monica.  "They
will wait," Sifu said calmly when he saw her becoming distracted. 
"The student waits for the master."

He took her through a few more steps then announced she was
finished.  She was startled but instinctively bowed and thanked
him. He looked at the students practicing their kicks, then used
his eyes to lead hers to the students.  "What do you see there?"

"People doing exercises, fighting motions..." her voice trailed
off into a question.

"No, you see an outward manifestation of chi.  For most American
students, chi is a necessary precursor to the outward
manifestation which is kung fu.  But the Shaolin philosophy will 
develop a person in all her physical, emotional, mental and
spiritual aspects.  Are you interested in more than the
physical?"  Monica nodded seriously.  "There is a temple in
Queens, founded by a great master from China.  You should go
there.  The classes here are not for you."

Monica's eyebrows raised in surprise, then realized his humility
was a part of the philosophy he lived.  "Okay," she said
cautiously.  He turned over a pamphlet and she saw the address. 
She smiled and bowed briefly.  "Thank you Sifu."