Title: Night For Romance (Part 1) 
Author: Nichole Leigh 
Rating: PGish...a little sexual implications but nothing bad. (Hey, I'm only 
16, smut's not my thing!) 
Category: DRR..Yeah, been writing a lot of that lately. 
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. Don't sue, all you'll get is my mini alien 
collection and I kinda like em! 
Summary: Doggett keeps Reyes company 
A/N: Woohoo, second posting of the day. Sorry to torture you all. :-) I 
usually don't post WIP, most of the time I don't finish them. But I actually 
kinda like this one, so a little feedback may encourage me to write more 
(wink wink) Flames are ok to, I use em to burn what I don't like. 
Geekette12@aol.com 
 
 
 
It was a night for romance. 
 
Not the soft, subtle type offered by shining stars and a full moon and a 
beach. This night was made dancing under the open sky. This was the type 
of night that made a man offer a woman his jacket against the cool breeze and 
overwhelming scent of rain. A crash of thunder makes no difference to those 
curled up with those they love in sheets rumpled from passion and lips that 
meet through smiles and this was their night. 
 
But not mine. 
 
As for me, I am alone in my apartment, with a good book and an open window. 
The breeze raises gooseflesh, but is intoxicating in its cool caress. The 
fact that nights such as these have been spent in reckless spontaneity brings 
back the ache of nostalgia and loneliness. I don't want to be alone. I want 
the company of a lover, to laugh with, to be in love with. 
 
God. I don't think I've wanted that since college. Tonight is a night made 
for reminiscing. For a remembrance of first loves and maybe even first 
heartaches. It leaves me feeling cheated. Why remember the past? It's not 
doing anything for me here, now. 
 
Reading is futile. I've read the same paragraph five times, and still 
couldn't tell you the characters name. The phone rings. I look at it for a 
minute before answering. 
 
"Hello?" 
"Hey, Mon it's me." 
"John." My voice, subtly softer, carries the smile across the line, I know. 
"What's going on?" 
 
I can almost see the half shrug. "Couldn't seem to concentrate on anything. 
Thought I'd give you a call, see what you're up to." 
 
I look down at the book. It hardly constitutes as reading, but that's what I 
tell him I'm doing anyway. It makes me seem less lonely. It's not something 
I feel often, nor do I want to. 
 
"Would you like to come over?" I ask. "We could have a few drinks, get out 
the board games." 
 
I hear his smirk, but its quick. "I'm not sure that's a great idea." 
 
My concern is immediate and true. "Is something wrong?" 
"No, everything's all right. I'll be there soon." 
 
I half expect him to call back, explaining, or at least coming up with some 
excuse. He knocks on the door. "Come in," I call from the fridge. 
 
"I could've been anybody," he says, taking a beer from me. 
"No. You have a very distinctive knock." 
 
He shoots me a look. "A distinctive knock?" 
I can't help but smile. I still surprise him sometimes. It's good to know. 
I file the information away, and ignore it. 
 
"Why didn't you think coming over would be a good idea?" I ask, and he shifts 
uncomfortably. I think I know his answer, and I take a sip of my drink, 
attempting to conceal a smile. 
 
"It was too much like a night awhile back," he says at last and I nod slowly 
and walk to the couch. He follows, sits down next to me and I can't help but 
wonder if it's a conscious decision that keeps him from even brushing his arm 
against mine. I move my leg over so our knees touch, just to unnerve him. 
 
Neither of us talks, and I wonder if he's lost in memories or considering 
making new ones. There was a night a lot like this only a few years ago. It 
was mid-winter, right after Barbara and John's divorce. The snow was still 
unblemished, and the full moon provided some light, despite the streetlights. 
 
John and I were working late at his apartment and the open window kept the 
room chilly, though neither of us thought to close it. We were leaning over 
a file, same as a thousand times before, but that night there was a surge in 
the air. I looked over at him, for a split second, noticing a million things 
I had never bothered to notice before. Maybe he felt my gaze, I'll never be 
sure. Our eyes locked. I smiled, went to turn away, back to the file, 
telling myself it was safer that way, though neither of us felt like being 
safe. He caught my face with his hand, brought my lips to his. 
 
I remember every sensation. His hands were callused, his mouth soft. The 
combination makes me shiver even now. The feel of his hands on my bare skin 
left my nerves singing and shaking and when I woke up, his arm around me, my 
face buried in his collarbone, I felt safer than I ever had before. 
 
Some would have called it a one-night stand. But being someone who has had 
one or two reckless love affairs, it was nothing of the sort. It was soft 
and sensual and loving. I've never felt more alive, more female in my entire 
life. 
 
Maybe that's why I invited him here tonight. To cure some of the melancholy 
creeping through my veins. It's not fair to me, nor to him, especially now. 
I sometimes think I'm falling in love with him.