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Gloria huddled further into the corner of the couch, pulling the afghan tighter around her shoulders. The only light came from the window that faced the busy street four floors below, and the ticking of the clock in the kitchen taunted her with a refrain of he's late, he's late, he's late. Of course, he'd called saying he would be late, but now he was late. Gloria was worried.
Her fingers plucked aimlessly at stray threads hanging from the throw. It had been a gift from everyone at the clinic when Gloria had announced her engagement. Different squares had been knitted together to form a riot of color and texture that almost hurt the eyes. Five years later, the afghan was somewhat worse for wear, but it was warm.
The sound of the first bolt being thrown on the door made Gloria straighten up. It was followed quickly by the second lock, then quiet cursing as the final lock stuck again. They'd really have to get that fixed one of these days. The door folded back to reveal his silhouette and Gloria stood, smiling, as Ryan hit the light switch in the little hall.
"Hi honey, I'm home." Gloria blinked the sudden brightness out of her eyes in time to see the rueful grin on Ryan's face. "Thought I told you not to wait up for me?"
"Couldn't sleep," she said, moving into his embrace. "Hey, you're cold."
"What do you expect, it's winter out there." Ryan reached over and grabbed the afghan off the couch, wrapping it around her shoulders. "There," he said, leaning down to give her a quick kiss on the tip of her nose.
Gloria followed Ryan down the short hallway to the bedroom, watching him shed his job as he walked. The leather jacket ended up over the back of the rocking chair her mother had given them as a not-so-subtle hint that she wanted grandchildren. His shoulder holster went over the hook on the back of the closet door; his gun went into the lock box on the shelf. Kicking off his shoes, he reached out to pull her down to the bed with him.
"So, what really kept you up? Rough day at the clinic?"
Snuggling in close, Gloria wrapped the afghan around the both of them. "No, just a lot of cases of cold and flu, it's that time of the year. I just – when I got your message, I could hear something in your voice. You got a break on the case?"
Ryan's arm tightened around her shoulders briefly. "Yeah, we got a break. A big break, that's why I was so late."
"And?" Gloria knew there was more, so she waited.
"We finally tracked him down to a flophouse in Harlem. When we brought him in, he lawyered up fast. I figured we weren't gonna get shit outta him, then all of a sudden he rolled over. Gave 'em all up."
Gloria felt Ryan's fingers running through her hair. She was sure he didn't even realize he was doing it. She pressed back into the caress, knowing he needed the reassurance of touch. "All? I thought you said there was just one shooter."
It took a moment for Ryan to answer. "Yeah, just the one shooter. He's the guy we brought in. But it turns out his brother ordered the hit. Seems he's a skel upstate at Attica. He's been going hot and heavy with a guard and the guy that got hit is her husband. They were getting a divorce. She says she didn't know anything about the hit, but when you come right down to it, she's the one who was fucking around with an inmate. That's gotta make her responsible for at least some of this, right?"
Gloria bolted upright. "What the hell?" The air was cool against her overheated skin as she gasped for breath. The darkness was total, but she knew her own room well enough to make it to kitchen. The digital clock on the stove told her it was three am as she held a glass of water in her shaking hands.
The therapist had said she would likely be dealing with her feelings of guilt for a while. He'd also mentioned they might manifest in strange ways. Well, this was one hell of a strange way. O'Reily a cop? And her husband? Investigating a murder that sounded a hell of a lot like Preston's murder? Thank you, subconscious, for that little mindfuck.
Walking back into the bedroom, Gloria looked at the rumpled bed. She wasn't due at Oz for another three hours, but there was no way she'd be getting any more sleep tonight. Maybe she could get some of her backlog of paperwork done.
~ ~ ~
The key stuck in the lock again and Gloria swore to herself that she was going to remember to call a locksmith this time. The smell of roast chicken wafted under the door to tempt her as she jiggled her key harder. With a final tug she pulled it loose and swung the door wide.
"Hi honey, I'm home," she sang out.
Ryan watched her from his usual spot, slouched in the kitchen doorway. "You know, it just doesn't sound the same when you say it."
"That's because you've been conditioned to accept certain cultural and societal stereotypes. The prevalent myth is force fed to us as children and we just suck it up, never bothering to wonder if we can be the agents of change." Gloria dropped her bag on the floor. "Sorry," she rubbed at her forehead, "we had the Women in Crisis group session at the clinic today."
"I know," Ryan said. "I made chicken and dumplings."
Gloria stepped into the outstretched arms, feeling Ryan's hand start to soothe the ache from her tense shoulders. "Thank you," she whispered.
"I know."
Gloria didn't bolt awake this time. After five nights, the bolt reflex was pretty much gone. When she found herself rubbing her forehead, she stilled.
These dreams were the most vivid she could ever remember having. Most times the moments before waking gave her soft focus images of fields, or flowers, or the laughter of friends. Even her nightmares had never been like this. Sure, she'd had a couple of nights right after Preston's death that had been filled with interrupted sleep, but she'd never recalled more than a vague sense of dread and loss afterward. But these dreams – it was like she was living them. The memories of her nights were just as fresh and strong as her memories of the days.
Checking the clock, she saw that it was close to five. That was another thing; the dreams were getting longer. Or maybe she was just choosing to stay asleep longer. Since the first night, there'd been no more talk of Ryan's case. Rather, she'd enjoyed a steady stream of work and home and – she might as well admit it, peace. Frankly, she was no longer sure which was worse.
~ ~ ~
"Sister Pete, what do you know about lucid dreaming?" Gloria cradled her coffee cup as she leaned on the table waiting for an answer.
Sister Peter Marie turned back to the table. "Are you having trouble sleeping, Gloria? Because that would be understandable."
"No, no. The problem isn't sleeping, the problem is –" The words stuttered to a halt. How, exactly, did you tell someone that you felt better rested than you had in months, but you'd really like the crazy dreams to stop?
Gloria felt a hand settle on her shoulder. "Is it Preston? Are you dreaming about him?"
The short bark of laughter sounded harsh bouncing off the cement block walls of the break room. "That's just it." Gloria threw one hand in the air. "I haven't dreamed of Preston in weeks. And now, now I think I'm creating a whole other world for myself in my dreams. A world where – " Gloria paused, not sure how much she wanted Sister Pete to know. "A world where I'm safe, and cherished and loved," she finished.
"That's completely normal, Gloria." Sister Pete was using her working voice. Gloria didn't know whether to be offended or reassured. "Many people need to create a safe place for themselves after a traumatic event. Some seek it through artificial means like drugs or alcohol. Others withdraw into a fantasy world, even during their waking hours. The fact that you're finding some peace within your dreams is not necessarily a bad thing. The important thing is that you can distinguish between your dreams and reality." Sister Pete sat down, looking at Gloria intently.
Staring at the cup in front of her, Gloria shook her head. "But don't you see, Sister, that's the problem. I'm not sure anymore. When I wake up, they seem so real. And they don't go away."
"Are you experiencing hallucinations?" The concern was evident in Sister Pete's tone.
Pushing her hair out of her face, Gloria leaned back in her chair. "No, no hallucinations," she sighed. "It's more like, like I know these things happened to me. Just like I know I'm having this conversation with you. It's like I have this double life. I mean, I know they're dreams, but they seem so real."
"Ah, that's why you asked about lucid dreaming."
"Yeah. If I can, you know, give myself a trigger or something, then I'll know I'm dreaming – in the dream." Gloria waved a hand in the air. "If that makes sense."
Sister Pete leaned forward, hands clasped together on the table. "All right, while lucid dreaming is not something I specialize in, I have come across it in my studies. If I remember correctly, a person can be trained to recognize when they are dreaming, but that takes time, time I'm not sure you want to take." Gloria felt the look Sister Pete slanted her. "What you'll probably want to do is practice some reality checks."
Gloria's laughter was less harsh the second time. "I think Oz is one big reality check, don’t you?"
"Well, I can't argue with that," Sister Pete agreed, with a chuckle of her own. "But I'm not talking about when you're awake. What you need to do is check your reality when you're sleeping. The most common way is to notice the little things; they usually aren't right in dreams." The nun was warming to her subject. "When you look at a clock, for instance, the time changes every time you look. Or turning on a light. You often can't do that in dreams. I think the simplest of all was looking in a mirror. Mirrors don't work the same way in dreams as they do in reality."
Gloria thought about Ryan switching the light on in that first dream. She thought about the sound of the clock ticking in the kitchen. She thought about fixing her hair and makeup in the bathroom mirror before heading off to her shift at the clinic. "Thanks, Sister," she said softly. "You've been a big help."
"If you ever want to talk –"
"I know where to find you." And maybe her smile wasn't as forced as she thought, because Sister Pete didn't stop her as she walked out the door. Gloria tried not to notice that she checked her watch six times on the short trip back to the infirmary.
~ ~ ~
Ryan's lips ghosted over the shell of her ear, making Gloria shiver. The fingers of one of his hands tangled in her hair, pushing it out of the way so he could nibble on that tender skin along her hairline. His other hand was busy stroking the underside of her breast, fingertips drifting close to the nipple, so close, then sliding away again.
"God," she groaned. "Are you trying to kill me?"
"No," he mumbled, his words almost lost in the taste of her skin. "I'm just trying to enjoy this. It seems like it's been forever since we had time to really do this."
Gloria gasped as he finally, finally closed his hand over her aching breast. The roughness of his palm pressed against her peaked nipple causing a shock of heat to spread down her chest. She arched up into the touch with another groan, this one of need.
"You like that?" Ryan's tongue flickered over her collar bone, his teeth grazing the skin. "You want more?"
"Yes," Gloria moaned. For all that she complained, she liked the teasing. The soft touches, the gentle bites, the sound of Ryan's voice coaxing her to tell him what she wanted, what she needed. Here, she wasn't Dr. Gloria. She didn't have to be responsible for her staff, the clinic, the patients. She was just Gloria and all of this was just for her.
She whimpered as she felt Ryan draw away from her. "Tell me what you want, baby. What do you want me to do? You want me to kiss you?" She felt lips touch her own briefly. "You want me to touch you?" The hand on her breast slid aside until a thumb brushed over the sensitive tip, back and forth slowly and carefully. "You want me to nibble here?" Ryan's mouth replaced his thumb and Gloria sighed out a sound that might have been yes.
Wrapping her fingers in the short hair, she pulled his hand down to her other breast and found her voice. "I want you to keep doing that until I tell you to stop. Then, I want you to taste me. I want your mouth on me, making me come." She felt Ryan's hips thrust against her thigh at those words. "Then, I want you to take me, drive into me until I can feel you so deep inside me –"
"Mmmm." Ryan's wordless response vibrated through Gloria's body. She could feel it tingling between her legs. She could feel it in her fingertips. Spreading her thighs, she pushed his head down her stomach. "You want to come now?" he asked her ribs. "You want to feel my tongue on you, in you?" His tongue licked into her navel and she shivered again.
"Now, Ryan. Need you now." His eyes sparkled up at her as his fingers parted her slick lips. His tongue flickered out, just missing the intended target, and she groaned out a laugh. "Now, you asshole."
"Oh, you meant now," he grinned at her. Before she could think of another name to call him, she felt his mouth embrace her. His tongue traveled from top to bottom, tasting the juices she could feel coating her. It darted inside, licking along the edge of her opening, while his teeth nibbled at the lips. His nose was buried in her curls, and she could hear him inhaling her scent. She could feel him breathing her in.
When his lips finally latched on to her clitoris, she felt his fingers slip inside, stretching her, teasing her. "Oh yes, please," she breathed. She knew she'd been making sounds before, but now they needed words. "Make me come, want to feel it."
With a groan, Ryan's fingers crooked inside her. She could feel them pressing up, while his mouth pressed down, like he wanted make them meet somehow. Like he could hold her, inside and out, tongue and fingers and teeth and - .
Gloria's orgasm rushed through her. Her shoulders curled up from the bed as her hands clutched at Ryan's head. The waves of pleasure crashed over her, driving air out of her lungs in wordless gasps. And before they receded, Ryan was there, sliding into her, hot and hard. She pulled his face down so she could taste herself on his lips while his hips snapped forward.
The bed squealed and Gloria found the energy to wrap her legs around Ryan. Her hips lifted her into his thrusts, jarring her. Her hands grabbed at his shoulders, his arms, the back of his head as he pulled his mouth from her. "Is this what you wanted?" he panted. "Is this what you needed?"
"Yes," Gloria said. "Yes," she cried as her body tightened again.
"Yes," Ryan echoed her as he thrust inside her one last time.
"Yes," she whispered as she held him and stroked her hands down his strong back.
Lifting his head, Ryan looked Gloria in the eye. "I love you, ya know. You're not getting rid of me. I love you and you're gonna have to live with that for the rest of your life." He smiled and laid his head back down in her neck.
Gloria heard herself speaking those same words to Tim McManus and she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Reaching out, she switched off the lamp by the bed. So much for lucid dreaming.
~ ~ ~
Gloria stayed in her office as long as she could. It wasn't that she was hiding from Ryan – O'Reily – Ryan. "Oh hell!" Gloria rested her head in her hands.
The last dream had been the most erotic thing she could ever remember experiencing. When she and Ry – O'Reily had been together, they'd never been like that. Maybe if they'd had the time, and the privacy, it might have been different. But, as it was, they'd had a furtive, somewhat tawdry, affair, marked by quick fucks whenever they could find a chance. The dream Ryan hadn't fucked her, he'd loved her. But was this really helping anything?
That dream had been just that, a dream. Gloria had known she was dreaming. She'd been aware, for the first time, in the dream. And she hadn't woken until her alarm clock had shrilled at her. She'd fallen asleep with Ryan in her arms, and in her body. And, she was starting to believe, in her heart and soul. And there was no way Gloria should believe that to be a good thing.
~ ~ ~
This time, Gloria knew she was dreaming. From the moment she heard the key jiggle in the sticky lock, she knew it was a dream. When Ryan came in and smiled, she knew it was a dream.
"Hi honey, I'm home," Ryan said in the dream.
"I know," Gloria wanted to say. "Welcome home," she wanted to say. "No, you're in my dream," is what she said instead.
"What? You had a nap?" Ryan asked as he threw his coat on the rocking chair.
"No, you're in my dream right now," Gloria said quietly as she watched his reflection in the mirror.
Ryan laughed as he playfully started to frisk her. "Babe, I'm not gonna have to book ya for possession of narcotics, am I?"
Gloria shook her head and grabbed his hands to stop them. "I'm dreaming right now. I'm lying in my bed, dreaming this whole world, this whole life with you. And I'm afraid that it's going to stop now that I know I'm dreaming. I didn't want to lose you without saying goodbye."
"What the hell?" Ryan moved them both to the couch. "You're not making any sense here," he said as they sat.
"I know it sounds crazy, but you're not real. You're a manifestation of my guilt and longing, or that's probably what my therapist would say, anyway." Ryan opened his mouth to speak, but Gloria didn't let him. "The real Ryan O'Reily is a prisoner in a maximum security penitentiary where I work as a doctor. I had an affair with him, and he had my husband killed."
The silence lasted longer than Gloria thought it would. The Ryan O'Reily she knew from Oz would have denied that charge before the words had finished leaving her mouth. This Ryan didn't say anything for long minutes.
"Damn it, I knew I shouldn't have told you so much about that case." Ryan grabbed the afghan from its usual place on the arm of the couch and folded it around Gloria's shoulders.
"Ryan, you didn't bring this on. You had that case because I was exploring my own responsibility in Preston's death."
"Who's Preston?"
Gloria shook her head. "My husband."
"I'm your husband," Ryan said. "Have been for the last five years."
"No, you're not." Gloria struggled to get up, but between Ryan and the afghan, she was pinned in place. "You're a dream, don't you get it?"
"Okay, wait." Ryan got up to pace, and Gloria could see the exact moment he slipped into detective mode. She'd seen it many times over the last five years, but never directed at her. Except, how could that be, if this was all a dream?
"You're saying you remember a whole other life?" At Gloria's nod, Ryan continued. "Being a doctor at a prison? Being married to someone else?"
"Yes, exactly."
"So, what are you doing in this world when you're living that other life?" Ryan came back to the couch as he asked the question.
Gloria thought hard before she answered. "When it started, I would just wake up in the middle of things. But lately," she paused, "lately I've been waking up after I go to sleep here."
Ryan leaned forward to grasp her hands. "That's what I was hoping you'd say. So, you sleep there and dream you're here, and you sleep here and dream you're there?"
"I guess."
"So why is that world the real one and this one a dream?"
"What?" Gloria's head jerked back. "What do you mean? Of course this is the dream world, I only started having these dreams a month ago."
Ryan pulled his hands away. "Are you saying you don’t remember anything about our lives before a month ago? You don't remember our wedding? Or our first date when I took you to Coney Island and tried to scare you into letting me hold you by taking you on the roller coaster? And then I threw up when we got off the ride?"
This time it was Gloria grabbing Ryan's hands. "God, no. I remember all that." And the scary thing was, she did. She remembered how they'd both laughed when he finished cleaning up in the restroom. How they'd decided never to speak of the incident again. "But it can't be real."
"Why can't it be?" The earnestness in Ryan's eyes was heartbreaking. "Maybe you're like that Chinese philosopher, the one who wondered if he was a man dreaming he was a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming he was a man."
Gloria felt her eyes fill with tears. "That's why. My Ryan O'Reily would never say something like that."
"I thought I was your Ryan O'Reily."
Gloria buried her face in Ryan's neck, whispering, "I wish you were."
~ ~ ~
It was late when Gloria finally crawled into bed. She'd been busy that day, with work and with thinking. She'd thought a lot about butterflies as she stitched up wounds and handed out antibiotics. She'd thought about crawling along, trying to protect yourself from all the predators who want to eat you. She'd thought about wrapping yourself in a cocoon. And she'd thought about the freedom of flying when you burst out of that cocoon.
Switching off the light, Gloria went to sleep with a smile on her face.