TITLE: Sunrise
AUTHOR: Toniann
E-Mail: ts19@cornell.edu
Rating: PG
Category: MSR
Spoilers: None
Archive: Rinse, reuse, repeat. If you are so kind as to 
wish to archive this story, please email me and let me know 
where.
Disclaimer: They're not mine. But don't let that stop you 
from reading.
Feedback: is always welcomed, at ts19@cornell.edu

Author's Note: For our wonderful and amazing readers at 
BeyondtheSea; you guys definitely deserve to have your own 
day!

_______________________


"Mulder," she murmurs, half-awake, half-asleep, half-
dreaming.

Her feet rasping against the cotton sheets, much rougher 
than her own, her skin still winter-dry and chapped. There 
aren't enough pillows.

He'd cajoled her into coming here, arguing that though her 
apartment was closer his was nearer, and somehow, at two in 
the morning, she'd allowed it - gone along with him 
although he wasn't making any sense at all. Then again, 
she's been doing that for years, hasn't she?

Or maybe it was just that she'd wanted to see what the 
sunrise looked like at Hegal Place. She's spent too many 
sleepless nights here, leaving in the harsh sunlight, and 
she's quite sure those mornings don't count: those too-
bright, glaring eight AMs, leaving the scene to go get 
coffee since Mulder broke his coffeepot two years ago and 
never replaced it. Eyes burning from hours of mouse-
clicking away on one site after another, from reading one 
file full of badly-written, scribbled notes after another, 
hiding behind sunglasses or blinking in the glare as she 
scurries out for sustenance. Missing sunrise, going right 
into day, and gaining nothing in the process. It shouldn't 
work that way, she knows. Not always.

And so, though she hadn't been as tipsy as she'd let Mulder 
pretend she was ("You're silly, Scully," he'd said, and 
then laughed at his own near-rhyme.), she'd nodded gravely 
and agreed to go home with him. His arm had slipped around 
her waist and he'd gotten jittery to go, and for the next 
half-hour, as they'd said their good-byes, she'd felt 
clandestine, furtive. Covert. Frohike had been batting his 
eyes at her as always, camera clicking (she imagined he 
must have a pile of snapshots hidden somewhere by now, and 
hoped she'd never find out where), and then he'd smiled 
kindly, and squeezed her hand, and slipped away without a 
word.

In the elevator she'd tilted her chin up at him and blinked 
slowly, wondering if he'd take the bait. He'd pulled her 
into his arms loosely and stared while she laughed up at 
him. "Silly," he'd whispered in a scolding tone.

"Why does it have to be?" she'd replied soberly.

And then it was his turn to blink, and hers to pull away.

"What?" he'd asked. When she hadn't responded, he'd tugged 
at her hand like a lost and slightly panicked little boy. 
"What?"

He'd pulled her along to his apartment, grasping her hand 
tightly and never taking his eyes off her. When they were 
inside he'd whispered it once more.

Looking out the windows, that's when she'd remembered the 
lonely mornings in her apartment, even just the ones when 
she was getting ready for work and would see him in an 
hour. Turning on the television or the radio just for the 
noise, getting to the office early because she couldn't 
stand how empty her home felt.

Just before their lips met, she'd whispered back, "Just 
this."

--

She feels him move away from her, swinging his legs over 
the side of the bed and stumbling across the room.

"Mulder," she murmurs, half-awake, half-asleep, half-
dreaming.

"C'mere," he says, his back to her as he pulls up the 
shades. "You're going to miss it."

She smiles and stretches toward him. "No, I'm not."

-end-



Post-Note: This story was not inspired by Norah Jones' 
beautiful "Sunrise" (off her new album, Feels Like Home), 
but once I started it I couldn't get the song out of my 
head. I highly recommend both her CDs.