The First Of Many Remembering the first of many. (DSR) by Medie Looking back, she really couldn’t say what had been the actual moment that had caused it. The ‘stressor’ as it were. She who seemed able to recall almost any detail if she thought hard enough, couldn’t tell when that blue flame had morphed from one of anger to one of passionate desire. When she thought back, something she did frequently, all she could recall was those eyes searing into her soul and claiming it as his. It sounded ridiculous, like something out of a badly written romance novel, but it was true. Marked and conquered. There was an element to that, so deliciously unmodern, which thrilled her; sent shivers racing along her spine that all the so-called sensitive men in the world just never could generate. Sometimes, a woman just needed that strength. ----- It had been in the midst of another fight about Mulder, the X-Files, William, all the secrets and all the deceptions. In the midst of that, she’d tried to storm past him, refusing to listen any more to truths that were cutting too close; refusing to see the hurt and confusion in his eyes; refusing to acknowledge the part she’d played in putting it there... But his hand closed around her upper arm, preventing her progress. It was a movement so fast she wasn’t aware he’d done it until her forward motion halted suddenly; leaving her just shy of the door. She hadn’t realized what was happening until he spun her to face him. She’d started to protest but the look in his eyes made it die on her lips before even being born. He backed her against the nearest wall, still holding her arm firmly - an ever present reminder she wasn’t going anywhere just yet - then, with the gentlest of touches, slid his free hand up the column of her neck. It was a simple gesture, barely there; his hand skimming over the skin and moving beneath her hair. The whispery sensation sending electric pulses through her, heightening every sense. Logically, she’d known she should have kept protesting, kept arguing, kept doing *anything* that would have haulted what was coming... But she didn’t want to. ---- It had been the most erotic thing she’d felt in a while and she couldn’t say why she’d thought it so erotic. A feather soft kiss to her forehead, then each eyelid, the tip of her nose, her cheeks then...then finally, her mouth. Oh, God, her mouth... One kiss. It had only been one kiss. One kiss that she’d felt in every fibre of her being; the touch of his lips on hers sending waves of warmth and desire radiating through her slight form; making her head spin; dissolving any resistance like mist in the wind. One kiss that had, with sudden swiftness, clarified so many things. Explained Mulder’s persistent distrust of Doggett, his need to keep him away from her, and his changed behavior toward her. He’d seen what she hadn’t: John’s feelings for her and her own growing feelings for him. In the end, she knew, he’d accepted it. Understood that on some level it had played into his departure. His gradual lessening of contact. Oh, he’d made efforts to keep her but he’d known something she hadn’t. Denied something she hadn’t even been aware of. They’d been over before they’d even started. And, as John’s mouth oh-so-worshipfully plundered hers, she bid Mulder a silent good-bye. ----- The kiss seemed to last forever yet ended all too soon. When John lifted his head, just barely, she’d stretched up in an attempt to return his lips to hers. The action had made him smile, a slow, pleased smile that warmed her nearly as much as the kiss had. “Who said you could stop?” She’d asked, her voice husky and lower than usual. A thrill of satisfaction had raced through her at the sight of her voice’s reaction in him. His breathing seemed to shallow and his eyes darkened to impossibly pure blue that drew her gaze like a magnet. “My lungs.” As irrepressible as ever, he’d grinned at his own joke and she’d felt the need to pinch his sides firmly. When he squirmed, a delighted look entered her eyes. John Doggett was ticklish. She’d filed that fact away for further use and tilted her head back, hands sliding up to grasp his strong forearms. “Well, are they satisfied?” “Yes, ma’am,” God she loved that drawl. “But my lips’re mighty unhappy.” “So are mine.” Her smile widened as she leaned against him, stretching up again. “Better fix that.” And so he had, meeting her lips in a kiss even more intense than its predecessor, and she’d known then, that the kisses they’d shared were but the first of many. That those kisses were the evidence of something far more magical that hid beneath the surface of a calm exterior. Something she would cherish deeply and guard close to her heart. A love so intense, so abiding and so powerful that it seemed nothing would shake it. She knew now that nothing could. ----- Looking back, she saw so many things she’d missed before. Realized things that had escaped her then. Hindsight truly was 20-20 but love wasn’t blind. It was an eye opener. Turning to face her husband, Dana Scully-Doggett smiled and kissed him. “I love you.” And she did: she always had, even when she didn’t know it she always had. Finis