Summary: Follmer dreams of something he's too afraid to have. Follmer/Reyes.

"Dreaming in Color; Living in Black and White"
Author: Langleigh
E-mail: Langleigh75@cs.com
Category: R
Keywords: R/F UST, Follmer POV
Rating: R
Spoilers: NIHT1&2, Daemonicus, 4D, anything else I feel like
Summary: Follmer dreams of something he's too afraid to have
Archiving: Ephemeral, Gossamer, XFMU, OpenrEyes, ReyesRomances, Azar-
-for wherever she wants it--and ALL OTHERS MUST ASK!!!
Disclaimers: Brad Follmer and Monica Reyes, the X-Files and all
things pertaining to them are not mine. They belong to Carter & Co,
1013, and FOX.
Feedback: Yes, please... send to Langleigh75@cs.com
Author's Notes: Thank you to Azar for the beta reading, comments
and just for being a friend.


~X~x~X~

"Agent Reyes! In my office now!" He barked the order in a stern,
almost harsh voice. Once the door closed behind them, however, his
expression changed into one of hungry desire and he grabbed her,
pulling her into his arms. His lips found hers in a searing kiss.
She kissed him in turn, backing up until she was pinned between the
door and his body. Their hands moved feverishly, removing clothing
as their tongues danced from mouth to mouth...

It was a forbidden game, but they both played it so well...

~X~x~X~

Brad Follmer awoke soaked in sweat. On the nightstand beside his
bed, the alarm clock blared its warning sound. His heart was
pounding in his chest, pulse racing out of control.

He'd had the dream again.

It wasn't just any normal dream; it was about her. Monica Reyes.

He hadn't realized when he saw her again after all those years what
it would mean to work so close to her. He thought things would be
okay, that he could handle being near her. He even--and here he had
to laugh at himself a little--thought they might be able to recapture
what they'd lost when she'd been transferred years ago.

None of that had happened.

Instead, seeing Monica Reyes day after day was slowly driving him
insane.

She'd pass him in a hall way, and the smell of her perfume would fill
his nose. It reminded him of the scent of her sweat-soaked skin and
how it used to linger in bed--and in his office--long after they'd
made love. He never told her this--he never told *anyone* in fact--
but after their last night together, he didn't wash his bed sheets
until after the final lingering hint of her scent had faded away.
Now the halls of the Hoover building reeked of that scent, and it
unnerved him.

Not as much, however, as the first time they'd gotten stuck in an
elevator alone together. It was only for a few minutes, but the
whole time they were alone, he'd wanted so much to give in to his
desire and ravish her body.

Of course, he hadn't acted on those primal impulses. He couldn't.
It was too dangerous.

Yes, it was true, there was a time when Bradford Follmer didn't care
about the dangers involved in fraternizing with an FBI subordinate.
If he'd cared, he wouldn't have started up with Monica in the first
place. But their affair had gotten so far out of hand...

His passion for her had been too great. It consumed him, even back
then, the same as it did now. He thought about her night and day,
needing her more and more. When the torment became too much, he knew
he had to cut her loose.

Monica was transferred to the New Orleans field office and Follmer
went back to D.C. to focus on his career.

It had to be that way, he told himself. They might have gotten
caught, and both of them would be jeopardized. His career was
important to him, and he couldn't lose it over an obsession like
Monica Reyes.

Who could he have known they would again be working in such close
quarters? Or that all the floors between him and that bloody
basement weren't enough to keep the obsession from returning.

He tried to distance himself from it--and from her--by seeming cold.
Should anyone see them together, he wanted them to think he disliked
her and her precious X-Files. Even if it meant antagonizing her if
the chance arose. And that, also, had to be. He couldn't let anyone
see beyond the fa?ade. Everything had to seem by the book, all cut-
and-dry. All black and white. All the time.

Except for in his dreams. In his dreams, she was always there.
Always in his arms, in vibrant, living color.

(end)

~x~X~x~X~x~
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