"Where the hell is it?"  Speaking aloud to himself, he hoped no one walked by
to wonder why he was losing his cool over a shirt.  He wondered why himself,
quite honestly. 



Stockwell had just briefed the team about their next mission and they had
agreed that fatigues were the appropriate attire for this one.  Glancing at the
neatly folded, dark green uniform stacked atop the accompanying heavy boots, he
grimaced in disgust.  "I hate fatigues." As if that weren't enough, he couldn't
find the OD shirt that he preferred to wear under the hated garments.  It was
soft and worn just enough not to chafe under the stiff, heavy outer clothing.



Giving up on the duffle, he flopped on the bed and tried to recall the last
time he'd worn it.  'Not here.  I haven't worn it here, but I know Hannibal
packed it in this bag after my leg surgery.  He brought it to me and when I put
the bag in the van it should have been in it. No, I was wearing it.. That last
night with Meagan, I was wearing it.'  The night that he had told her that it
wasn't going to happen, that they weren't going to happen.  Meagan had pulled
it off, over his head and injured arm, allowing it drift heedlessly with the
rest of their clothing to the floor.  Just before he had fallen onto the bed,
pulling her with him, and made love to her for the last time.  



Face fell back on the bed; eyes scrunched shut against the images that began to
filter through his mind.  He groaned aloud, "Face it, Peck.  You've lost your
mind."  Letting his arms fall to rest on his abdomen, he relaxed and just the
let the memories come.  'Why fight it?  It's useless."



His mind began to replay the night, starting at the point where he had lost the
dratted shirt and continuing through nearly every minute.  He recalled how she
tasted, how she smelled and felt in his arms.  With his eyes closed and his
body relaxed, it was almost like experiencing it again.  He could taste her
mouth, sweet and warm against his.  Hot open-mouthed kisses shared over and
over again.  She smelled delicious, the milk and honey scented lotion she wore
had lingered in the air of her room where she applied it every day to her arms,
legs, and stomach.  Everywhere he caressed, the scent greeted him and he loved
it.  Her skin soft and supple beneath his roving hands; no exploration had been
denied him and he had reveled in the freedom of relearning her every curve and
angle.



They had fallen onto the bed, side-by-side, eye-to-eye.  He felt, even now, the
way her hands had clutched at his arms as he guided her body into position over
his hips.  He could see her gray eyes lock with his and widen at just the
moment he had entered her body, joining them as intimately as possible. 



Shivering with the memory, he heard her voice hitch as she breathed out his
name when he had shifted into a sitting position.  She had fallen against his
chest, granting him fuller access to her back and buttocks.  Meagan's hands had
run up his chest, over the muscles and twined in his hair, tightening when he
had leaned forward to muzzle and nip at her breasts and nipples.



Somewhere in the Langley estate, a door slamming roused Face momentarily from
his musings.  Twisting suddenly onto his stomach to hide his aroused condition
should some one appear, he recklessly continued with his private slideshow of
memories.  He couldn't help it.  Sometimes, it just hurt less to let the
thoughts come and go, instead of fighting them all the time.  He pillowed his
head on his arms and saw again Meagan poised above him, joined with him.



He could see clearly how wantonly sexy she had appeared, leaning away, her head
fallen back and her eyes closed in that interminable moment of enjoyment just
before she had tumbled over the edge.   Her body pulsating around him,
seemingly gripping him tighter and pulling him deeper had brought him over
along with her and soon they were lying, panting, replete in each other's arms.



Feeling a near overwhelming despair, Face again heard her voice, breath warm
against his skin, saying, "I will always love you."  She'd known even then,
that come morning, he would go.  That he would pack his things and drive away
from her and Natalie.  Yet still, she'd trusted him with the most precious
words anyone had ever said to him.  No conditions, no 'what ifs' or 'how
comes'.  Just un-demanding love.  And he had indeed, packed his things and
walked away.  No looking back that day.  Just the occasional phone call and
plans that had never come to fruition. 



Standing now, his body brought back under control by the dark turn his thoughts
had taken, he stared at the man in the mirror before him.  He wondered if she
had found the shirt, discarded on the floor and what she had done with it.
"Burned it, no doubt.  I don't think I blame her at all."



@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@



Midnight.  Bedtime, again.  Meagan pushed her books aside and put away her
research materials.  She yawned widely and trudged slowly up the steps.  'Maybe
tonight, I'm tired enough.'



At the top of the staircase, she opened the first door and saw Natalie, safe
and snug in her bed.  She covered her just a little better and left for her own
room.



At the door she began to shed her clothes, leaving them lying on the floor in a
heap.  She pulled comfortable shorts from a drawer and pondered what to wear
over them.  She opened a second drawer and after a moment's hesitation, she
pulled, from the very back, a man's dark green T-shirt.  "Why not?"  She
defended her choice to the lady in her mirror.  "I haven't thought of him all
day.. At least not much.."



THE END