An Office Romance, by Scifinerdgrl   Part 8


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Joe, does it matter?" she demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You okay?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

...until she realized she recognized her.


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

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

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

"You know her?" Brad seemed shocked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monica nodded.  "Brad was there."

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

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

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

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

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

"I mean, lying to Williams."

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

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

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

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

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

"He's religious?" Monica asked cautiously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he said, "Yes."

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


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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay," she said resignedly.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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