Welcome To The Harem

Unimpressed If It Kills Me by Julie L. Jekel
Summary: Monica reflects on the men in her life.

Disclaimers: All characters and songs featured in this
story are hereby acknowledged the property of their
rightful owners--1013 Productions, Chely Wright and
Shania Twain--and any intent to profit from their use
is hereby disavowed. ;-)

Rating: PG

Spoilers: Up through "4D"

Archiving: Gossamer, Ephemeral, XFMU and Reyes
Romances may all have it. I'll put it on "Risky
Business" myself. Anywhere else, just please ask.
:-)

Feedback: Please! drjekel@hotmail.com or
azarsuerte@hotmail.com

Keywords: Implied MSR, implied DUA, implied R/F UST,
DRF, R/Sk UST. Reyes first-person POV.

Note: Lyrics to both "That Don't Impress Me Much" and
"Shut Up and Drive" (to the best of my recall since I
don't have the liner notes with me) are included after
the end of the story for anyone who hasn't heard the
songs.
:-)

Acknowledgments: To Langleigh for drawing my attention
to the fact that I'd never really written a
Reyes-centric story ("Ad Aeternum: Quia Pulvis Es" was
Reyes-POV but still all about Doggett and Scully ),
for the beta, and for letting me steal her assessment
of the relationship between the South and Country
music. ;-)

Summary: Monica reflects on the men in her life.


"Unimpressed if it Kills Me"
by Julie L. Jekel


There are two things a good driving song has to have:
attitude--particularly in the lyrics--and a strong,
driving rhythm that makes you want to press the
accelerator all the way to the floor.

I still remember John's reaction the first time I told
him that: "Are you sure that's such a good idea for
you, Mon?" he laughed.

Okay, so I like to drive and I like to drive fast,
which shouldn't surprise anyone who knows me. But what
does tend to surprise people is some of the songs on
the "driving tape" I'm never without in my own car.
Some of them, like Meredith Brooks' "Bitch," "Holding
Out for a Hero," Kenny Loggins' "Danger Zone" or
Sting's "Desert Rose" (a particular favorite) are
relatively self-explanatory. Others--Chely Wright's
"Shut Up and Drive," for example--can require some
telling. That one breaks both my rules even if it is
*about* driving, but I can't count the number of times
I've needed to hear it after an encounter with Brad:

"Don't look in the mirror
He might have that look in his eyes
The one that's so strong
It strangles your will to survive
He's mastered the art
Of looking sincere
His eyes have a way
Of making you stay
Don't look in the mirror."

*sigh*

I know. It probably seems like Country music and I
ought to mix about as well as oil and water, but as
I've said about other things, I try to stay open.
Besides, you can't live in the South as long as I have
and not be influenced by it, unless you're living
under a rock. And ever since John introduced me to
Garth Brooks two years ago, I've discovered more and
more that Country songs have a knack for saying just
what I'm feeling.

That's something else that makes for a good driving
song: a good driving song gets me thinking about my
life.

The song playing right now is a good example: Shania
Twain's "That Don't Impress Me Much." Not only is Ms.
Twain *the* voice of the sexy, sassy single woman, but
if someone were ever to sit down and deliberately pen
a song about the men in my life, they couldn't do much
better than she did by accident.

Take Fox Mulder. I barely got a chance to learn to
recognize the sound of his voice before he was gone
again. But while he was here...I have never felt so
stimulated, so challenged intellectually, as I did
matching wits with that man. Like the song says, he
really did have "being right down to an art," but I'll
never forget the look in his eyes when I called him on
it. I'll swear he was flirting.

I only wish I'd gotten the chance to know him much,
much sooner.

Okay, so I'm not the cool, unimpressed heroine of the
song, but I'm damned well trying to be. Because it's
not just Mulder's absence that puts him out of my
reach, it's Dana Scully. I haven't had many female
friends in the Bureau and from what little I know,
she's had fewer. I'm not about to jeopardize that, no
matter how much this man intrigues me. Not so long as
her eyes darken over at the mere mention of his name.

Maybe in some other universe I have a
chance--hopefully not the one where I had to be
buried without my tongue--but in this one Fox Mulder
is strictly off-limits.

Which brings me to the next verse. If there was ever a
man who "carried a mirror in his pocket/and a comb up
his sleeve just in case," it's Bradford Follmer. Of
course I knew this even back when I got involved with
him the first time--though he has his moments, Brad's
first love always has been and always will be Brad.
Problem is, with those dashing good looks and that
boyish charm, he's still a damned hard man to say no
to.

Particularly when he smiles.

So, once again I fail miserably at being unimpressed.

Then there's John, the third verse. John Doggett
definitely has a car--a big manly-man truck that he
treats like his baby--but it's not the car that owns
his heart. Again, it's Dana Scully. If Mulder is
Dana's weakness, Dana is definitely John's. It's
around her, not his Silverado, that I'm expected to
"take off my shoes" and tread lightly. And the least
step over the line he's drawn makes him strike like a
rattlesnake.

John's always been a protective man, but I never saw
him like this before. I never saw him in love; by the
time we met, his marriage was crumbling under the
weight of their son's murder. But seeing it now, I
can't help but envy any woman who is the object of
that kind of devotion--there aren't many men out there
who can give it.

The irony is Dana doesn't have a clue, and he has no
intention of ever giving her one because he doesn't
want to burden her with the knowledge of a passion she
can't return.

Unimpressed, me? I wish.

I'm pulling up in front of my apartment now, and it
occurs to me I might as well face it. There's not
really one of these men who's "got the touch" I need.
From now on, I promise myself and Shania, I'll be
unimpressed if it kills me. With all of them.

Maybe I ought to look into buying a cat.

"My neighbor's cat down the hall is expecting
kittens."

The helpful, almost droll voice makes me jump about
six and nine-tenths inches. I turn away from my car to
face a very chagrined-looking Assistant Director
Walter Skinner.

"Sorry about that," he apologizes.

I laugh. "It's okay. I didn't even realize I said that
aloud." (I can only hope it was just the part about
the cat!)

He allows himself a small smile and I find myself
surprisingly thrilled by it. I realize I don't think
I've ever seen this man smile before, not really.

"So, what brings you here?"

"I just wanted to check on you, see how you were
doing." He starts to reach for my face, then pulls
back, embarrassed, as he realizes what he is doing.

My own hand flies to my chin, where a yellowing bruise
still lingers from the last case that John and I
worked. I'd forgotten about it in my focus on the
song.

"I'm doing okay, really," I promise, flattered by his
concern. John never mentioned anything to me about AD
Skinner checking in on his injured subordinates.

Skinner looks uncertain and I remember one of the few
things Mulder confided in me during our brief
acquaintance, that Dana was always "fine," even when
she wasn't.

I smile, even more touched now because he really wants
to know, not just to be reassured.

"Seriously, Walter," I choose to chance his first name
for emphasis. "The doctor said the bruise should be
gone in a few days, and after that the worst thing I'd
have to worry about would be a possible phobia of
rakes."

That was intended to make him laugh, but it only half
succeeded.

I take his hand and pull it towards me, pressing his
strong fingers against the edge of the bruise. "See
for yourself. Barely even hurts anymore. In fact, I'd
completely forgotten about it."

Finally, a full smile. A bigger one this time, which,
along with the near-caress of his fingers along my
jawline, boosts my sprits even more than before. Okay,
to be completely honest, it shoots me skyward like a
catapult.

"Since you're here, would you like to come up for a
little while?" I ask. "I could make us a pot of
tea...or coffee," I add hurriedly, realizing he might
not be the tea-drinking sort.

Walter nods, still smiling. "I think I'd like that,
Agent Reyes."

"Monica, please," I correct. "At least while we're
off-duty."

"Monica," he amends dutifully. I soar--wow, I love the
sound of my name on his lips!

As we climb the stairs to my apartment, I take a new
look at Walter Skinner. And at myself, at all the
things I never knew I liked about him.

He's smart, but he doesn't seem to need to prove it.
He's good looking, but with that bald pate certainly
not "traditionally" handsome like Brad, and totally
unaware of how attractive he is. I'll be damned if I
know whether or not he's got some muscle car tucked
away in his garage somewhere, but frankly I don't
care.

He may not be perfect--nobody's perfect--but I was
wrong: one man in my life has got one hell of a touch.

I'm sorry, Shania, but it does impress me.

Very much.



FIN

"That Don't Impress Me Much"
by Shania Twain

I've known a few guys who thought they were pretty
smart
But you've got being right down to an art
You think you're a genius, you drive me up the wall
You're a regular original, a know-it-all

Oooh, you think you're special
Oooh, you think you're somethin' else

(spoken) Okay, so you're a rocket scientist.

That don't impress me much
So you've got the brains but have you got the touch?
Now don't get me wrong, yeah, I think you're all right
But that won't keep me warm in the middle of the night
That don't impress me much

I never knew a guy who carried a mirror in his pocket
And a comb up his sleeve just in case
And all that extra-hold gel in your hair oughta lock
it
'Cause heaven forbid it should fall out of place

Oooh, you think you're special
Oooh, you think you're somethin' else

(spoken) Okay, so you're Brad Pitt.

That don't impress me much
So you've got the looks but have you got the touch?
Now don't get me wrong, yeah, I think you're all right
But that won't keep me warm in the middle of the night
That don't impress me much

You're one of those guys who likes to shine his
machine
You make me take off my shoes before you let me get in
I can't believe you kiss your car goodnight
Come on, baby, tell me...you must be jokin' right?

Oooh, you think you're somethin' special
Oooh, you think you're somethin' else...

(spoken) Okay, so you've got a car.

That don't impress me much
So you've got the moves but have you got the touch?
Now don't get me wrong, yeah, I think you're all right
But that won't keep me warm in the middle of the night

(spoken) So, what, do you think you're Elvis or
something? Whatever!

That don't impress me much
So you think you're cool but have you got the touch?
Yeah, yeah, don't get me wrong, yeah, I think you're
all right
But that won't keep me warm on the long, cold, lonely
nights
That don't impress me much

Uh huh, yeah yeah
Uh huh, yeah yeah
That don't impress me...


"Shut Up and Drive"
by Chely Wright

Shut up and drive
You don't know what you're talking about
He's not the one
You ought to know that by now
You've got one of those hearts
That keeps changing your mind
Your heart has a way
Of making you stay
So shut up and drive

Don't look in the mirror
He might have that look in his eyes
The one that's so strong
It strangles your will to survive
He's mastered the art
Of looking sincere
His eyes have a way
Of making you stay
Don't look in the mirror

I'm the voice you never listen to
And I had to break your heart to make you see
That he's the one who will be missing you
And you'll only miss the man
That you wanted him to be

Turn the radio on
To drown out the sound of goodbye
Blink back the tears
Show me you've still got your pride
Just get yourself lost
In a sad country song
Those guys that they play
Know just what to say
Turn the radio on

I'm the voice you never listen to
And I had to break your heart to make you see
That he's the one who will be missing you
And you'll only miss the man
That you wanted him to be

Shut up and drive
Don't look in the mirror
Turn the radio on
Get out of here

Shut up and drive


Azar * azarsuerte@hotmail.com *