Welcome To The Harem
Christmas Comfort by Rev. Anna
Summary: Pre-X-file. Monica/Marita. Secret Santa challenge fic.
By Rev. Anna
Keywords: pre-X-file. Monica/Marita
Disclaimer: I'll Be Home on Christmas was written by
Michael Jarrett. Monica and Marita belong to 1013
productions, but this story is belongs to Josie.
Author's note: Merry Christmas Josie.
Christmas was one of the few times when Monica's New
Orleans unit was able to forget the horrors they had
to deal with daily and just be happy and human with
each other for a few hours. They laughed and shared
risqué Christmas e-mail humor and sang all the old
Christmas favorites. Not looking forward to going
home to an empty house, Monica had stayed way longer
than she ever had before.
Around 10:00, Special Agent Joseph Memphis leapt onto
a desk and did his annual Elvis impression of I'll Be
Home on Christmas.
On the hills of Georgia
Across the plains of Tennessee
I've seen and I've done most everything
That a man can do or see
But if I could only borrow one dream from your sleep
I'd be on that train tomorrow
I'll be home on Christmas day
And so many times before
She left that candle burning
Oh, too many tears fell
My soul fills with yearning
If I had sense at all
I'd just be on my way
Be on that train tomorrow
Be home on Christmas day
Everytime I think about her
All the love I left behind
Memories still linger in my troubled mind
I could set aside my pride
And I'd be on my way
I'd catch that train tomorrow
And be home on Christmas day
If I had any sense at all
I'd just be on my way
I'd catch that train tomorrow
I'd be home on Christmas day
I said I'd catch that train tomorrow
I'd be home on Christmas day
Monica had enjoyed the party up until then. But
song's lyrics were too close for comfort. With a
smile and a wave she finally excused herself and went
She walked home slowly among the happy throng of last
minute holiday shoppers and seasons greeters, forming
a surreal slow motion swirl all around her, unable to
join in their holiday merriment because she was
supposed to be in New York with Marita.
They had planned the trip for months, but an emergency
three weeks ago in Indonesia had cancelled that.
Marita had been sent to do some fact finding for the
Secretary General and wouldn't be back before the end
of the month.
"Don't think of it as a cancelled Christmas. Think of
it as a wonderful way to start the new year."
"I don't have much choice," Monica said, putting up a
The delight she heard in Marita's voice as she gushed
over Monica's Christmas present took a little of the
sting out of not being with her.
"You wonderfully sentimental fool. You know which
Paul Winter CD I played first. Me and Waves and
Romance laid in bed and reveled in whale song."
"Merry Christmas mi amorcita," Monica had whispered.
As Monica turned the corner and trudged up the walk to
her house, something caught her eye causing her to
stop short. Her porch lights were on and there on the
door was a beautiful Christmas wreath that hadn't been
there this morning. As she came closer she saw there
was a small toy sitting in the wreath and recognized
it immediately. It was one of Marita's beanie babies,
Snowball the snowman. It had a small envelope tied
around its neck with a red ribbon.
Monica opened it and read the note.
"My friends and I have come down from New York to wish
you a Merry Christmas. 'We wish you a Merry
Christmas. We wish you a Merry Christmas. We wish you
a Merry Christmas since Marita's not here.' -
Snowball and friends."
Monica took the little toy inside with her and was
surprised by the sight of a small votive candle lit on
the foyer table. Next to it was a beautiful basket
and another beanie baby propped up against it. Monica
stepped over and saw it was Halo, the angel bear. It
also had a little message for her.
"Christmas is a time of joy and journeys. Mary and
Joseph had theirs. The Magi had theirs. This one is
yours. Take this basket with you and come with me
into the living room."
Monica laughed and stepped into the living room.
There on the coffee table was yet another votive and
another beanie baby. She knelt down and saw it was
Valentino, the valentine bear. He was propped up
against a silver picture frame. She smiled as she saw
it was an 8 x 10 enlargement of her favorite
photograph. In it she was hugging Marita in front of
the outside stalls of the Strand bookstore at the
South Street Seaport. On the frame was a post-it that
read 'A happy anniversary.'
And it had been. The one year anniversary of their
meeting to be exact. An obliging tourist had taken it
for them. One year to the day Monica had gone to New
York for some R&R after a particularly horrific case.
She had found herself down at the South Street seaport
browsing through old books at the Strand bookstore.
In the back was a section containing records and she
had reached for a recording of a Paul Winter concert
inspired by whale songs. Her hand had brushed against
the hand of a woman who was reaching for the same
recording. The hand was cool and slender, as was its
"You like Paul Winter?" the blonde had asked.
"Whale song," Monica had answered.
"Hmmm," the blonde had said, looking thoughtfully at
the recording that they were both holding, neither
giving any sign that either would let go. "There's
only one of these here. What's say we each pay for
half of it then spend the rest of the day trying to
convince each other who should have it."
"Sounds like a reasonable plan to me," Monica had
"I'm Marita by the way. Marita Covarrubias."
"Monica. Monica Reyes."
That afternoon was just what the doctor had ordered.
Both women shared stories of how their jobs had
recently chewed them up and spit them out and how Paul
Winter's music for Marita and whale song for Monica
put them back in touch with what was good and pure and
excellent in the world.
Monica smiled at that memory. She looked back at
Valentino and sighed as she touched his red heart
before reading his note: "Put me and this picture in
your basket and go into the kitchen."
In the kitchen, another small votive sat on the
kitchen table. Nearby was a wine glass and a bottle
of Beaujolais. Propped up against the bottle was
Romance the bear! Monica sat down and shook her head.
The presence of Romance and a bottle of Beaujolais
always meant a night of romance. He had sat guard at
the foot of their bed while she and Marita made love
the night before Marita had left for her fact finding
mission. The post-it on the wine bottle said,
"Here's looking at you kid." Monica opened the
bottle, poured herself a glass and toasted Romance
with a wink.
"Here's looking at you kid," she said, hearing
Marita's voice as she did.
Casablanca was Marita's favorite movie. It made her
cry and laugh and cheer the good guys and feel good
"It reminds me why I wanted to work for the UN in the
first place. I need reminding a lot these days,"
Marita had said sadly. "I've made some choices . . .
begun to work with someone that makes me feel . . .
It wasn't something she had to say. Monica knew the
cool exterior that Marita showed to the world was just
a front. Monica had seen the real Marita in the
way she surrounded herself with all these soft, little
beanie babies. There wasn't a surface anywhere in
Marita's apartment that hadn't at least two or three
beanie babies perched or peeking or striking playful
poses. Marita's need for play struck a responsive
chord in Monica.
Memories of playing with Marita warmed Monica's heart
as she finished her glass of wine. She picked up
Romance and nuzzled him against her nose, making soft
growly bear noises. Then she read his note: "Time to
Monica added Romance, the wine and the glass to the
basket and hurried gleefully up the stairs wondering
who would be waiting for her next. In front of the
bathroom door sat another votive and beside it was
Bubbles the fish on top of a small container of bath
beads. Bubble's note read: "You know what to do."
Monica laughed and went inside. She set the picture
of Marita and herself on the toilet seat where she
could see it, set the basket in the sink and carefully
perched Bubbles, Romance, Valentino, Halo and Snowball
along its edge so they could watch her. She poured
herself another glass of wine as she ran herself a hot
steamy bath. She set the glass on the edge of the
tub, dropped two of the bath beads into the water,
undressed and got in.
Monica relaxed into the water as the scent of sage and
memories of their first bath together wafted on the
heated air around her.
Marita had been soaking in the tub and Monica had come
in by mistake. Before she could apologize and back
out, Marita stood up and held out her arms to her.
Monica had moved shyly forward and let Marita pull off
her T-shirt, pull down her panties and help her into
the tub. She remembered the feel of Marita's breasts
against her back, Marita's legs around her legs,
Marita's hands moving from her shins to the inside of
her thighs to the soft hair of her bush. She
remembered Marita's slender fingers sliding
effortlessly up her stomach to caress her breasts then
back down again and into her vagina while her thumb
circled Monica's clit.
Monica's own fingers now mimicked that caress and she
gnawed her lip as her moans and sighs filled the
The warm scented water surged around her as she arched
up then back down to the rhythm of her orgasm. Sated,
her eyes fell first on her basket full of witnesses
and then to the picture on the toilet and she had to
laugh, really laugh. She felt Marita all around her
and the loneliness she had carried with her all day
was gone. She picked up the wine glass and saluted
the loving couple smiling back at her from the
"Here's looking at you kid. Thank you for my Merry
She dried herself off and took everything with her
into the bedroom. She placed the basket of beanie
babies on a chair and the wine bottle, her glass and
the picture on the night table. She turned to pull
back the comforter and sheets and let off a startled
gasp. There nestled between the pillows was Waves,
the orca whale beanie baby on top of a DVD case. The
little note around its neck said "Play me."
She turned on the TV, put in the disc and pressed
play. Her mouth dropped open as she watched a montage
of images sweep before her eyes: Marita waving, Marita
laughing, Marita blowing kisses, Marita playing with
beanie babies, Marita sleeping, Marita showering,
Marita eating; all to the music of that original Paul
Winter whale song recording. A happy tear pooled in
Monica's eye, slid down her cheek and into her smile
as she read the message at the end of the montage.
"Here's looking at you kid. Merry Christmas. Made
with love especially for you by Josie's Journeys of
Monica looked at the clock by her bed and saw that it
was indeed Christmas. She turned the TV off and sat
on the edge of the bed, reflecting on the joyful
journey she had just taken in the last hour or so.
She went over to the basket and brought all the beanie
babies over to the bed and placed them in with her.
Then hugging the framed photo to her chest, she pulled
the covers up to her chin and fell happily asleep.
The quiet of the early morning was broken by the
ringing of the phone. Monica woke up and gazed at the
time. 4AM. She wasn't annoyed. She knew it could
only be one person. Her heart danced as it heard the
rhythm of Marita's voice.
"Merry Christmas darling. Enjoy your journey?"
"Marita, you are the absolute best! How did you do
this? When did you have the time?"
"I have a great friend named Josie who loves that
we're a couple. I told her my Christmas tale of woe
and she whipped this up just for us. I hope Snowball
and company have been taking good care of you."
"Wonderful care. Have I told you that I love you?"
"Only every time you look at me, talk to me and touch
me. I'll be home soon and we'll have a wonderful new
year together in New York. In the meanwhile, Merry
"Merry Christmas, mi amorcita," Monica whispered.