I remember the first time I saw him. Smug smile on his face. Mocking tone in his voice. Glasses. He was playing with me. I didn't mind.
I remember the first time I came close to losing him. My father had just died and everything was just so raw, so close to the surface. When he was shot... when I watched the blood seemingly pour out of him... he was so pale. I was so scared.
I threatened Boggs. Told him that if he died I would be the first in line to throw the switch. It never came to that. He didn't die.
At the time I didn't think too much about it. The danger had passed. He was alive. That was all that was important. I was wrong. It had already become much more than that.
I remember the first time I realized how much I meant to him. When Skinner told me who she was I couldn't believe it. His sister. He risked his sister. He sacrificed his sister. For me. How could he?
I was certain that his quest, his search for her, was much more important than anything else, including me. It didn't matter that she wasn't really his sister. The fact that he was willing to take the chance was the key.
I remember the first time I thought he was dead. Those damn files and the series of events they set in motion left me standing in the middle of the desert wondering if this was it, if this was how it ended.
The next few days passed in a fog. It didn't seem real. Maybe it was denial. Maybe it was wishful thinking. Or maybe on some level I knew that he wasn't dead. I can't be sure. I am sure of one thing though: I was lost without him and seeing him again was perhaps one of the happiest moments of my life.
I remember the first time I realized he loved me. Initially I was angry and confused. What the hell was his problem? I know I should have told him about what I had seen in the bathroom but that didn't give him the right to chew me out.
Later though, in a warehouse that may or may not have been the site of an alien autopsy, it would begin to make sense. His anger and frustration had little to do with work and everything to do with fear and guilt. His expression when I told him that they had given me cancer to make him believe nearly broke my heart.
I didn't mean to hurt him. I was just so tired and frustrated. How could he still believe? I didn't even stop to think about what I was saying. And then he got that look on his face. A look that told me everything. He was so scared, so afraid of losing me. He loved me.
I remember the first time I saw him as a father. I'd seen him with children before but it was the way he treated Emily that made me first take notice. He was so gently and sweet with her. On occasion I'll think about his Mr. Potato Head impersonation and I can't help but smile. He would have been a great father. Playful. Devoted. Loving.
But now...
I remember the first time I realize how important he was in my life. It was during the aftermath of the bombing in Dallas and we were standing in his hallway outside of his apartment. I debated whether or not to tell him in person. I told myself it would be easier to just leave. It's the Band-Aid Philosophy: Just rip it off and get it over with. It hurts less that way.
But I couldn't do it. I couldn't abandon him like that. So I went to see him. I wasn't surprised when he tried to stop me. What did surprise me was the way he did it. Neither of us are exactly known for speaking openly about how we feel but that was exactly what he did.
Still it wasn't so much what he said as it was the way he looked at me when he said it. The need. The intensity. The passion. How could I possibly walk away from this man?
I remember the first time I realized that I was in love with him. Seeing him in that room, screaming my name. Watching him lie motionless, eyes vacant and lifeless. Losing him. Finding him near death. It physically hurt to see him like that, wondering if I'd ever get him back.
I may have come close to losing him before but this time was different. I was so scared because for once I seriously believed that this could be it. That I could lose him forever. And the mere thought of a world without him filled me with unimaginable dread.
So I did all I could to ignore everything except saving him. It wasn't until we were standing in his doorway that it all hit me. The stress. The fear. The confusion. That's when he said it. That's when I knew. Everything I had seen. All that I had experienced. The only thing that mattered was him, my constant, my touchstone.
I remember the first time I knew that he would always be a part of my life. The present is the sum total of all the choices we make in the past. And my choices had taken me to him.
At one time I believed that Daniel and I would spend the rest of our lives together. Such was not the case. Looking back it was easy to see that what I thought I had with Daniel was nothing compared to what I knew I had with him. The contrast was so striking, the feelings so different. With him it felt so right. This was it. He was it. There wasn't any doubt. I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
I remember the first time I rendered him speechless. When I asked him he just sat there in shock. I know it wasn't an easy request but there simply was no one else I could ask. I suppose I could have gone with an anonymous donor but that seemed too impersonal. Besides I didn't want my child to have to grow up not knowing who their father was. Maybe he would be a major part of their life or maybe he'd only have a peripheral involvement. That depended on him. But at least they'd know.
Still none of this made asking him any easier. While our relationship had been making some progress it was still a tenuous balance between friendship and something more. Going in I wasn't at all sure what his answer would be. The way our relationship works, the fact that so much of it is based on subtext, on words unspoken. Under normal circumstances the question I was asking was loaded with consequence. Under our circumstances the possible implications were staggering.
So I wasn't at all surprised when he basically stopped breathing after I finally managed to stammer out my question. For what seemed like hours he just sat there blinking with his mouth partially open. Finally one of us made the suggestion that maybe he should have some time to think about it. Looking back now I wonder how much his illness figured into his hesitation. Not that any of that matters now.
I remember the first time I saw him. Lying there. Face bruised and battered. Skin pale and lifeless. Dead.
The End
I remember the first time I came close to losing him. My father had just died and everything was just so raw, so close to the surface. When he was shot... when I watched the blood seemingly pour out of him... he was so pale. I was so scared.
I threatened Boggs. Told him that if he died I would be the first in line to throw the switch. It never came to that. He didn't die.
At the time I didn't think too much about it. The danger had passed. He was alive. That was all that was important. I was wrong. It had already become much more than that.
I remember the first time I realized how much I meant to him. When Skinner told me who she was I couldn't believe it. His sister. He risked his sister. He sacrificed his sister. For me. How could he?
I was certain that his quest, his search for her, was much more important than anything else, including me. It didn't matter that she wasn't really his sister. The fact that he was willing to take the chance was the key.
I remember the first time I thought he was dead. Those damn files and the series of events they set in motion left me standing in the middle of the desert wondering if this was it, if this was how it ended.
The next few days passed in a fog. It didn't seem real. Maybe it was denial. Maybe it was wishful thinking. Or maybe on some level I knew that he wasn't dead. I can't be sure. I am sure of one thing though: I was lost without him and seeing him again was perhaps one of the happiest moments of my life.
I remember the first time I realized he loved me. Initially I was angry and confused. What the hell was his problem? I know I should have told him about what I had seen in the bathroom but that didn't give him the right to chew me out.
Later though, in a warehouse that may or may not have been the site of an alien autopsy, it would begin to make sense. His anger and frustration had little to do with work and everything to do with fear and guilt. His expression when I told him that they had given me cancer to make him believe nearly broke my heart.
I didn't mean to hurt him. I was just so tired and frustrated. How could he still believe? I didn't even stop to think about what I was saying. And then he got that look on his face. A look that told me everything. He was so scared, so afraid of losing me. He loved me.
I remember the first time I saw him as a father. I'd seen him with children before but it was the way he treated Emily that made me first take notice. He was so gently and sweet with her. On occasion I'll think about his Mr. Potato Head impersonation and I can't help but smile. He would have been a great father. Playful. Devoted. Loving.
But now...
I remember the first time I realize how important he was in my life. It was during the aftermath of the bombing in Dallas and we were standing in his hallway outside of his apartment. I debated whether or not to tell him in person. I told myself it would be easier to just leave. It's the Band-Aid Philosophy: Just rip it off and get it over with. It hurts less that way.
But I couldn't do it. I couldn't abandon him like that. So I went to see him. I wasn't surprised when he tried to stop me. What did surprise me was the way he did it. Neither of us are exactly known for speaking openly about how we feel but that was exactly what he did.
Still it wasn't so much what he said as it was the way he looked at me when he said it. The need. The intensity. The passion. How could I possibly walk away from this man?
I remember the first time I realized that I was in love with him. Seeing him in that room, screaming my name. Watching him lie motionless, eyes vacant and lifeless. Losing him. Finding him near death. It physically hurt to see him like that, wondering if I'd ever get him back.
I may have come close to losing him before but this time was different. I was so scared because for once I seriously believed that this could be it. That I could lose him forever. And the mere thought of a world without him filled me with unimaginable dread.
So I did all I could to ignore everything except saving him. It wasn't until we were standing in his doorway that it all hit me. The stress. The fear. The confusion. That's when he said it. That's when I knew. Everything I had seen. All that I had experienced. The only thing that mattered was him, my constant, my touchstone.
I remember the first time I knew that he would always be a part of my life. The present is the sum total of all the choices we make in the past. And my choices had taken me to him.
At one time I believed that Daniel and I would spend the rest of our lives together. Such was not the case. Looking back it was easy to see that what I thought I had with Daniel was nothing compared to what I knew I had with him. The contrast was so striking, the feelings so different. With him it felt so right. This was it. He was it. There wasn't any doubt. I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
I remember the first time I rendered him speechless. When I asked him he just sat there in shock. I know it wasn't an easy request but there simply was no one else I could ask. I suppose I could have gone with an anonymous donor but that seemed too impersonal. Besides I didn't want my child to have to grow up not knowing who their father was. Maybe he would be a major part of their life or maybe he'd only have a peripheral involvement. That depended on him. But at least they'd know.
Still none of this made asking him any easier. While our relationship had been making some progress it was still a tenuous balance between friendship and something more. Going in I wasn't at all sure what his answer would be. The way our relationship works, the fact that so much of it is based on subtext, on words unspoken. Under normal circumstances the question I was asking was loaded with consequence. Under our circumstances the possible implications were staggering.
So I wasn't at all surprised when he basically stopped breathing after I finally managed to stammer out my question. For what seemed like hours he just sat there blinking with his mouth partially open. Finally one of us made the suggestion that maybe he should have some time to think about it. Looking back now I wonder how much his illness figured into his hesitation. Not that any of that matters now.
I remember the first time I saw him. Lying there. Face bruised and battered. Skin pale and lifeless. Dead.
The End