TITLE:         First-Timer Part 1
Author:        Char Chaffin (alaska_1013@hotmail.com)
Category:      MSR, Mulder POV
Rating:        R, adult situations
Disclaimer:    Mine to borrow, but not keep...(drat!) 
Spoilers:      Pilot, Other Miscellaneous too small to mention

THANKS TO:     Heather H., for her very helpful beta, and my sissy
Tbishop, for her unswerving support and encouragement -

Summary:       'Never stop celebrating the first times in life...'

Part 1

My father once told me everyone had but one shot at doing something
for the first time, and that first attempt should be the very best. 
No matter what the event, or how many times that event occurred in a
person's life - Dad insisted the only one remembered with any sort of
significance would be that very first one.  To him, being called a
'First-Timer' was not a patronizingly bad thing; Dad considered it a
compliment, of sorts... a necessary and important rite of passage.  

About a week after that statement was made, I defeated Dad at chess
for the very first time - and had to agree with the logic of those
words.  A momentous first for me...  I could still recall the way
winning that game had made me feel; as if the world was mine for the
taking.  My father had stared at the board in blank shock, when I'd
made that final move and had quietly announced, "Checkmate."  He had
shaken his head in bewilderment, and muttered under his breath.

"I'll be damned..." His surprised gaze had locked on the sight of my
weenie nine-year old self, holding his black Queen, and he'd smiled;
a rare thing to see.  He'd reached over the board table and ruffled
my hair.  And he'd given me my first compliment as well; made me feel
less of a boy and more of an equal, for a precious few minutes of my
young life.  "Nice job, Son... for a first-timer."  I echoed back to
him my own delighted grin, at the words and the gesture.  Yes, I
agree it wasn't much... but it was two firsts in one afternoon, and
for me life was good.

Over the years, I have kept a running tally of momentous first
occurrences in my life.  Good or bad, these events are what shaped me
and made me who I am today.  And today it's the firsts I want to
remember.  I'm coming up on forty this year - another first.  Hell, I
never imagined I'd even make forty, given the nature of my
profession. But then, I never saw myself in the sort of career I now
have; it's not where I'd thought to begin.  

When I was in college, all I dreamed about was surviving Oxford and
losing my virginity, which still clung to me like a curse.  As
exhausted as I was all the time, dragging myself to and from my
classes and my room - I still thought about it, worried about it -
all the time.  I wasn't adult enough or sophisticated enough to plan
or plot the downfall of my innocence; my eventual bed partner did
that for me.  And when I finally experienced that first time, it
wasn't with any sort of pride, so much as relief that one of the most
awkward of 'first-timer' events had been executed.  I didn't have to
worry or agonize over it anymore.  And I discovered some firsts
aren't really worth remembering, anyway.  In the case of my lost
innocence, I believe it was a necessary rite of passage, but nothing
about which to feel pride.  

Now that I'm a responsible, mature adult (more or less), I have many
more firsts to remember, and feel that pride my father once told me
I'd find.  Some of them aren't as spectacular as others... but that's
all right.  Only the important firsts need to be spectacular - and
all of mine worth remembering are just that.

The first case I solved, using my newly honed profiling skills, was
a most satisfying experience.  It wasn't as if profiling was so
radically new that the mere procedure itself could be discounted -
that wasn't it at all.  It was more that I was so young; one of the
youngest profilers, in fact - and the older, more experienced agents
working the case missed some of the most vital techniques and clues. 
Because they missed these clues and I didn't... the pride I felt was
even sweeter.  As the years progressed and my reputation - both sides
of it - grew and expanded, I would think back to that first case of
mine and feel anew the pride of the first-timer.  

My first new car and my first apartment, both happening within a few
months of each other, afforded me all kinds of satisfaction.  The car
was nothing all that amazing; a Mazda 939 with a crappy stereo.  I
don't even remember the color, or how long I drove it.  I do remember
calling my father and telling him I had finally purchased a car with
my own money and my own insurance.  I remember the excitement in my
voice, even though I strove to sound very casual and matter-of-fact
about the whole thing. My dad's comment of, "Good for you, Fox", was
equally bland and casual, but that was all right - that was just his
way.  The apartment was equally unimpressive; a small one-bedroom
hole in Arlington.  The neighborhood was noisy and the hallways
smelled of garlic... but it was MY apartment and consequently I could
justify my possessiveness about the smell.  I lived there for a
couple of years, before I moved into a bigger and better place, in
Alexandria.

First refrigerator, first sofa... first bed - and first aquarium
loaded with tropical fish.  Pride in these firsts?  Nah. 
Necessities, except for the fish.  Acquiring the fish was a very cool
first; after I had assembled everything and let the little suckers
loose in their new environment, I sat and watched them for hours. 
Some were more graceful than others; some were more aggressive.  Some
floated and some shimmered; some moved very slowly... some were in a
hurry as their colorful bodies swam along.  Like people, I suppose...
surprisingly like people and the way they interact with each other
and with life.

**************************************

I seem to be spending a goodly part of today, thinking about the way
my life has been shaped by the firsts of my past.  I suppose it's
normal, considering the sort of day I've had.  At least once in the
last twelve hours I've had my life pass in front of my eyes, courtesy
of my partner; and as those life events played in my numbed brain,
many firsts popped to the forefront; the ones which affected me the
strongest.  And of all of these, it's the ones I shared with Dana
Scully that really shaped me, made me - enriched me.  

I decided a long time ago that if I lost everything else in my
world, I'd be all right - as long as I had Scully by my side. And I
had made this decision before I actually did lose it all.  Because
Scully was there, within my existence, each time something really bad
happened to me.  She took care of me when my father died; her
gentleness and caring concern got me through and kept me relatively
sane.  Likewise, my mother's death was as bearable as possible
considering the agony of it - again, because Scully took care of me. 
And I can only wonder how effectively her loving care may have saved
so much of me, the night Samantha was taken - if Scully had been a
part of my life at that time.

The very best first times of my life have been because of Dana
Scully.  She was not my first partner but she's by far been the best.
I can honestly say she was my first best friend, once I realized
exactly what a best friend was all about.  I could fill a book with
the wonder of all the firsts I have shared with her... starting with
the first time I saw that smile of hers.  I don't mean that polite
little teeth flash she sent my way, the day we met - I'm talking
about the genuine smile I got, right after I saw her lovely body for
the first time, and reassured her that she had been bitten by nothing
more innocuous than a mosquito or two. She sat in a chair in my motel
room with me on my knees in front of her, holding her hands and
trying to rub some warmth into them - and as suddenly as the hug
she'd almost strangled me with, she bestowed upon me my first glimpse
of ScullySmile.  As far as I was concerned the sun came out that
night, right in that damp old room.

After she calmed down; after we both verified that she was all
right, Scully curled up on my bed and I told her a story about my
sister.  The first time I had ever shared that part of me, with
anyone... and when she realized just what I was giving her, Scully
smiled at me again.  That's when I knew she would become so much more
than just my partner, although I wouldn't understand until years
later just what she would ultimately mean to me, or how long it would
take. 
 
When I think of all the times Scully saved me, from whatever menace-
of-the-moment... I realize the first save actually happened in my
motel room that stormy night.  Just by listening, and striving to
understand what I was telling her, Scully saved me - the very first
one.  Finally I had somebody to talk to, about Samantha - about
everything I'd been through, all the skepticism and the outright
disbelief; the alienation of my parents not only from each other but
from me - all of it.  Not only did she listen, but Scully challenged
me, as well - to dig for the truth and to accept nothing less than
what I demanded to know.  In the best way, her support was a first to
end all firsts.

The first time I lost her... God.  Some firsts should never happen,
in one's life... but if that loss taught me nothing else, it brought
home how important Scully had become to me; how necessary to my
existence.  By then I had admitted to myself that I loved her; would
die for her, if need be.  It may not have been romantic love, at
least not yet - but it was the strongest love I'd felt, so far in my
life.  She was gone and I was devastated by her exit from my life; I
nearly lost my sanity.  When she was returned to me, I held her hand
and made a vow I'd never let her go; would fight anyone who tried to
take her, to try and separate us.  I would lose her again, of
course... in our line of work I suppose it was inevitable.  But I
always found her again.

Then I was the one lost, and I know Scully went out of her mind with
worry.  Fearing the worst, that I was dead... yet somehow knowing I
was still alive, somewhere.  My first time missing, and for once it
wasn't because of some weird death-wish of mine; and for once I had a
reason to want to stay alive and healthy.  I had a place to return to
and someone who wanted me and needed me... who would not rest until
I'd been found.  

We talked about it once, she and I... our feelings about what it was
like to be apart, after enough time together as partners to
understand that we were also friends.  I'd been in the hospital with
pneumonia; and had only been released a few days.  I was still not
one hundred percent myself, and at Scully's bullying and Skinner's
insistence had taken an extra day or so off.  Scully had checked in
on me at least four times by phone; when it rang for the fifth time I
picked up my cell and sighed into it, "Just come over, Scully... I'm
prone on the sofa as per your instructions from the last phone call -
I have clean undies and socks on and I'll even order decent take-out
instead of scrounging my fridge for last month's leftovers..."  Her
response was an indignant snort in my ear.

"How did you know it was me... for that matter, how would you know
what's in your fridge?  You never go in your kitchen!  I remember you
calling me in a panic, late one night - asking me if I knew where you
kept your coffee mugs!  And I'm not checking up on you, I'm
just...checking up on your... condition."  Her voice petered out and
her last few words were mumbled into my ear.  I sighed again and
tried to get more comfortable; my back was killing me but I was
determined to tough it out and not worry Scully even more.

"My 'condition' is getting better, Scully - but I wouldn't mind the
company, really.  I'm bored and there's nothing on the tube worth
snoring through, and I hate eating alone and besides, I know you're
just going to call me again in an hour.  So save yourself the hassle
and just come over, okay?  It would make me feel better..." I was
manipulating her emotions mercilessly, and we both knew it.  Scully
snorted again and her acquiescence was long-suffering.

"Well, if you really need me..."  I cut her short.

"I really need you."  And I did.  About an hour later, Scully was
ensconced in the corner of my sofa with her feet wound into a chunk
of my scratchy wool blanket, gulping down lo mein like there was no
tomorrow.  I nibbled on a fortune cookie; my appetite wasn't back yet
and I couldn't eat very much.  I watched her eat; Scully could really
pack it away when she wanted to.  She caught me staring at her and
grinned at me around a mouthful of noodles.

"You're just jealous because you can't glom food yet.  Give it time,
Mulder... your appetite will come back.  You've been very sick, you
know."  Finished with her last bite, Scully dropped the empty
container on my cocktail table and stretched her arms above her head,
popping the bottom button of her soft sweater and affording me a
brief bellybutton flash.  I tried not to stare.  Scully's skin...
Scully's baby-soft-looking, oh-so-kissable skin... I gulped in a
shocked breath... kissable.  Scully, kissable.  The first time I had
ever thought about my partner in a sexual way - Holy shit.  Sexual
and Scully, in the same breath; the same thought-pattern.  My entire
body would have tightened with it, if said body had been well enough
to attend the little soiree my thoughts had conjured up.  She was
talking; I forced myself to focus on her words instead of her
gorgeous skin.

"... temperature, Mulder... you still look flushed."  She'd reached
over and pressed a hand to my head; I cuffed it away, then held onto
her fingers when she would have yanked them away.  I pressed them to
my cheek in a pretense of showing her how normal my temperature
really was - hoping she wouldn't notice how flustered I'd become. 
Her soft hand cupped my cheek gently before she finally moved away a
bit, and her eyes were serious as they regarded me.  "Well, you don't
feel over-flushed, Partner - but you're still weakened.  And crabby,
I see.  Must be lack of food... you may have to force something down,
though you may not feel like it.  Broth, maybe.  I can make you some -
okay?  Will you eat broth if I make it, Mulder?  Mulder..."  

I started guiltily; I'd been staring at her soft pink mouth,
forming the syllables that had been making the words that she'd
spoken over the sudden roaring in my head.  In a panic to cover the
fact that I'd not heard a single word she'd spoken, I nodded; knowing
she had no earthly idea just how 'weakened' I really felt, right
about now.  It confused the hell out of me, because every instinct
told me to curl my arms around this beautiful woman sitting next to
me, and braid her into my soul so deeply she'd never be able to
unravel herself - 

First-timer lust, for my partner.  God help me.

Whatever leftover sane impulses I had remaining were struggling to
keep a bland expression on my face, and to keep my hands at my side. 
Luckily for me, sanity won out over that sudden lust, and I kept my
head.  But I couldn't help but wonder if she'd ever felt this, just a
little... what I was suddenly feeling.  I was diplomatic; I worded it
in such a way that Scully would not be able to misinterpret.  

"Scully... thanks for keeping your promise to me...  thanks for not
leaving me when I was in the hospital; I know I'm a shitty patient. 
Thanks for being there every time I opened my eyes.  Can I ask you
something?"  She nodded, her eyes never leaving my face as I stared
hard into hers. I cleared my throat; feeling more nervous than I'd
ever felt in my life.  "Why do you..." That was as far as I got,
because Scully pressed a hand over my mouth and I stuttered to a
stop, the words evaporating in my throat, at the look on her face. 
She smiled at me and scooted a little closer, and laid her head on my
shoulder.  She slipped the blanket up under our chins and her reply
was very soft against my neck.

"Mulder, do you remember the promise we made to each other when I
came back after being gone?  We said we'd stay together no matter
what.  I held on to that promise every night that I was stuck in that
miserable hospital; wanting nothing more than to get the hell out of
there but knowing I had a long way to go - knowing I could make it
out if you stayed with me and fed me doses of your strength."  Scully
stared into my eyes as she spoke, and her voice dropped in pitch and
got even softer.  "No matter what time of day or night, when I would
awaken, there you'd be.  In my sleep I could feel you holding my
hand, so securely -"  She held up our linked hands so I could see
that she'd taken possession of my fingers - "And I grew to depend
upon that feeling of security.  I've been sick more times than you -
in the hospital more times than I care to count.  You have never let
me down.  Even though there were times I lay alone in yet another
hospital bed, scared from the uncertainty and crying for you, I still
knew that the reason you weren't right by my side was because you
were out there in the world somewhere, fighting for me.  So in
effect, you were still with me."  

Scully turned her head and looked up at me with damp eyes; her face
was so close to mine and I ached to kiss her.  I had never ached for
anything that way.  I contented myself with gazing into her teary
face, thinking I could die a happy man right that minute - if I could
take that sweet face with me in my memories as I left this world. 
Could it get any better...?

Oh, yes... it could. Because Scully stretched up, just a little -
and I bent down, just a tad - and our lips touched, a mere breath -
and right then in our lives, it was just enough.  I was still very
sick (with first-timer pneumonia), and Scully was still playing
doctor - but an agreement had been reached, between us.  And I never
questioned it again.  I knew my place in her world, as she knew hers,
within mine.  It was a good place to start - a very good place.

************************************

As I said, it's been a hell of a day.  I have had plenty of hours to
sit and think about everything, and about nothing in particular. 
Another hospital and another waiting room - seems as though I've been
here so many times before.  I hate hospitals.  I hate what they
represent, though of course I know they are meant to save lives.  I
should be sitting here remembering how many times I have been in this
place or one like it, understanding that the glass was half-full
instead of half-empty and thankful for that fact.  I should be
rejoicing in the life that emanates from such a life-giving arena -
and I am trying, really I am.  But it's hard to sit here on an
uncomfortable fake-leather sofa in a room that smells of stale animal
crackers and bad coffee, listening to intercom calls of panic for
this doctor or that nurse... and not think about all the bad memories
connected with any and all waiting rooms. 

The first time I cried for anyone was in a hospital waiting room. 
The first time I came face to face with death, years before I ever
joined the Bureau - was in a hospital.  I huddled small and weak, in
a room such as this one, and cried in my mother's arms because I knew
my beloved grandfather was dying.  My narrow view of what hospitals
represented did not widen with the years, not until the day I sat in
a lumpy hospital chair and with a huge smile on my face announced to
my boss that Scully was going to be fine.  And as I said it, I
believed it - and so did AD Skinner, who sat next to me and smiled
just as widely.  

So I sit, and smell again the waiting room odor of anxiety and
worry.  Once in awhile I stand, and I pace.  But mostly I sit and
stare out the window at nothing in particular, and as I wait along
with the others, I choose to remember a few more firsts.  And instead 
of dwelling upon the bad firsts, I choose to rejoice in the good 
ones.

And so many of the good firsts, as I mentioned before, center around 
my partner.	

*************************************
							
The first time I told Dana Scully I loved her, and meant it truly -
I choose to think of that.  Oh, I had told her once before, had said
those words to her.  And maybe I had thought they were true, but
their truth had been weakened by the conditions under which they'd
been uttered - and Scully didn't believe me.  I can't say as I blamed
her, when I thought back on that day.  

I waited a long time to tell her again... almost too long.  

to be continued