From: "C. Simmons" <catwings@erols.com>
Date: Fri, 18 Dec 1998 07:18:45 -0500
Subject: Angel of the Morning 1/1 - Simmons


Standard Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the television program
"The X Files" are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox
Broadcasting, and Ten-Thirteen Productions, and have been used without
permission. Lyrics from "Angel of the Morning" also used without permission,
songwriter unknown? this particular version attributed to Juice Newton. No
copyright infringement is intended.

TITLE: Angel of the Morning

AUTHOR: Christina M. Simmons

EMAIL: catwings@wolfrunners.com

SPOILER WARNING: N/A

RATING: PG

CONTENT WARNING: MSR

CLASSIFICATION: MSR-Angst

SUMMARY: Scully contemplates her evolving and complex relationship with her
partner, complicated by her own uncertain emotions and desires.



AUTHOR'S NOTE:  If anyone knows the proper credits for "Angel of the
Morning," please do send them my way so I can give proper credit.  Thanks,
Suzanna, for the beta-read!



If there's one thing you don't need at three thirty in the morning with the
cold, invisible rain of December's dark sheeting your car's windscreen, it's
seventies free-love ballads on your car stereo, guitar chords crackling with
static and out of time to the rhythmic flap of the wiper blades? but there
it was, anyway, and Dana Scully somehow could not marshal her inner
resources to change the channel.

There'll be no strings to bind your hands
not if my love can't bind your heart.
And there's no need to take a stand
for it was I who chose to start.

And if there was one thing she didn't need (at three thirty in the morning
with the cold, invisible rain of December-dark sheeting her windscreen) it
was to be reminded of how totally, entirely, and idiotically stupid she'd
been. But there it was, anyway, as though some omnipotent disc jockey had
been waiting for her to slam the car door, hesitate for a long moment, then
put the key to the ignition and turn the engine over  trapped in motion.

*If the shoe fits, Dana?*


I see no need to take me home,
I'm old enough to face the dawn.

And if there was one thing she didn't need, environmental considerations
aforestated, it was the crooning female vocalist - Juice Newton? Olivia
Newton-John? One of those, anyway  reminding her that she was a Big Girl
Now, and old enough to take the consequences of her actions, Catholic guilt
nonwithstanding.

*And who asked him to take me home, anyway? And who offered? This is the
nineties, after all?*

Just call me angel of the morning, angel -
just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby.
Just call me angel of the morning, angel -
then slowly turn away

from me.

Scully snorted, but it was a halfhearted sound. She'd come of age in a time
when half the sexually active population didn't feel the need to ask the
name of their partner-du-jour? when either partner was as likely to up and
leave before the morning's sky had brightened, as if it were some darker
Emily Post protocol. True, it was generally the man's prerogative? but
still. Was the singer sounding wistful intentionally? as though she'd wanted
him to stay? Or was she, perhaps, reveling in some sort of ecstasy of
misery? the tragically romantic? Waking up in each other's arms was fine for
Hollywood and Harlequins and deflowered innocents?

*Oh, who the hell are you trying to fool, anyway? If you could have, you
would have? don't think you wouldn't. But you ran, Dana Scully  bolted, and
now, you need to deal with that.*

Her apartment building loomed, and the parking lot glistened black under the
orange lighting? black and dimensionless. Scully eased herself into the only
vacant space, cut the engine, then flipped to battery power. Somehow,
getting out of the car was almost as appealing as getting into it had been,
and that wasn't saying much.

Maybe the sun's light will be dim
and it won't matter anyhow.
If morning's echo says we've sinned,
well, it was what I wanted now.

It didn't help that every emotion in her body that wasn't entirely numbed
was pulling in tug-jerk opposing directions. It didn't help that she knew it
had been her choice, to stay or to go? just like it had been when they'd
begun. She had been the initiator, not him. She had looked up into those
eyes, so soft on hers, and allowed herself to step over the line she'd drawn
for herself? for him.

*Well, it was what you wanted, now? right, Dana?*

But if she'd wanted it so badly? wanted him so badly? what was the ache she
felt? Regret? Anxiety?

Loneliness?

Guilt?

And if we're the victims of the night,
I won't be blinded by light.

Doggerel poetry? but why was she still sitting, dead weight, listening as
though rapt?

*It wasn't light I was blinded by, Mulder.*

The singer swung into another chorus, a lyric lament, but it seemed distant,
somehow. The rain drummed, the car's interior cooled by degrees? and still
she could feel his body-warmth beside her, could still detect the faint
muskiness of his scent, could still see his face, forehead slightly wrinkled
in the depth of sleep, as she'd stood beside the bed and dressed silently.

She'd wanted exactly what she'd gotten.

The trouble was, she'd gotten absolutely nothing.

And she'd wanted Mulder ever since that day in the height of summer, when
she'd stood in her partner's hallway, emotions even more ragged than they
were now, and succumbed to the sensation of his lips missing her own by
millimeters? she knew that now, with excruciating, exhausting clarity.

Just call me angel of the morning, angel -
just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby.
Just call me angel of the morning, angel -
then slowly turn away.
I won't beg you to stay

with me?


Her mind leaped backward. It had been hard enough, to resolve herself not to
speak of it to him after that. It had been hard enough, realizing that he
would not speak of it to her. It was as if, somehow, the encounter had all
been a narrowly-averted mistake? or she'd have thought that, if it hadn't
been for the look in her partner's eyes, sometimes, when he thought she wasn
't watching. If it hadn't been for the way her heart almost always skipped a
beat, when it didn't skip two, each time he touched the small of her back?
the same way he always had, being the only person who ever touched her
there, but with a sensation that was now subtly altered.

And she'd have believed that perhaps she'd been mistaken in that
interpretation of his silence? that there really was something there,
something beneath the surface of partnership and friendship? if it hadn't
been for Diana Fowley, now esconced in the basement offices, and always
hovering on the edge of her vision, somehow.

If Mulder hadn't been so belligerent, pushing her now more than ever to
abandon her science for his beliefs.

If it hadn't been for the way he'd all but turned on her, his own partner,
daring her to prove her trust in him - her support for his beliefs  when he
had been frustrated that even now, she could not follow him blindly.

*Nevermind that I followed him? walked beside him? that I'd do it for as
long as he'd have me. It wasn't good enough, was it, Mulder?*

But still, when their eyes met? when his hand brushed her arm? when those
silences filled up the space between them with an understanding of unspoken
words? it was good enough for her. Being exiled from his life's work was
hard on Mulder, she knew? and now, she was all he had left.

*Or is it vice-versa, Dana?*

The song tailed off, and now she had the strength to snap off the radio, but
not enough to open the car door. Angel of the morning? sure. Fine. Glory in
the solitude of the sexually independent woman? but it didn't make the empty
apartment any easier to return to.

She knew she'd been clinging to him, in a way, since the day that they'd set
foot back in DC from the dream-fuge state of the polar ice fields. It was
something to cling to, though? and justifiable. As federal agents, she'd
never questioned that she would lay down her life for her partner, just as
he would for her. But the memory of what they'd escaped was colder than even
the physical sensation that lingered in her body months after the fact? the
memory of the darkness, and the cold nothingness enveloping her from the
inside, the deepest core of her being. The stark, naked terror of it, that
even now left her dreading the coming snows, and afraid of the dark like a
very small child. It had been more than taking a bullet on the job, for she
didn't fear her own death.

But what Mulder had saved her from had been nothing like death. And even
now, when she awoke from a dream of black ices and a cold that froze the
mind and spirit, it was his face that drew her back into the world of light
and warmth  like a rebirth, his was the first face she'd seen, and it had
imprinted itself upon her, somehow.

Maybe that was what she'd been fighting up until now? the realization that
in that moment, Mulder had stepped beyond partnership and friendship and had
become a tangible part of her. Maybe they'd both been fighting it?
reinforcing their flagging wills with silence. She'd taken some pride in
being stronger than him? able to return to the world they knew, the world of
the badge and gun, able to work at his side and never let it show for an
instant that there was something nagging, insistent, gnawing at her resolve.

Maybe it had been too much this afternoon.

Maybe it was the cold snap that wasn't cold enough yet to turn to snow,
waking up half-dream physical memories in the core of her bones, in the
subdermal layers of her skin. Maybe it was the drenching she'd endured,
having to walk seventeen blocks in the intensifying drizzle because the
suspect they'd been trailing had caught wind of their surveillance, and had
taken morbid pleasure in showing her just that. Maybe it was "that bug that'
s going around"  there always seemed to be a bug going around  sapping her
energy and making her feel like a crumpled and blown sheet of newsprint.

Maybe it was the way Mulder had looked at her when they'd finally given up
the ghost? his brown eyes searching hers, as though seeing her for the first
time, his palm molding itself to her cheek, then to her forehead . Maybe it
was the way something in her had responded to his touch, whether she wanted
it to or not...

"You okay, Scully?" he'd asked, and she was sure she hadn't been mistaken of
the tremor of concern in his voice. "You're cold? come on. This is it for
today. I'm taking you home."

And she hadn't protested when he'd put his hand to the small of her back,
and guided her to the car, step by aching step. She hadn't offered any
resistance when he'd taken off his own topcoat and tucked it about her, his
forehead crinkling with the concern he never allowed himself to show unless
they were entirely and utterly alone. She'd accepted the coffee he'd pulled
over to get, and allowed him to watch her drink it gratefully, the shudders
easing as her insides warmed again. She'd thanked him for his concern, and
flushed unintentionally as he'd brushed the hair out of her face, resting
his hand along the line of her chin, his eyes telling her that she was, for
the moment, his one concern, his only thought. It was then that she realized
that "home" was his apartment, not hers? she wondered if he'd realized that,
and something in the silence said that he did.

For a moment, she'd thought he would lean in and kiss her? the tingling
space between them seemed to promise that.

"Come inside. You lie down for a while? I'll get the paperwork started. The
joys of the home office..." He said then, and grinned, and opened the door
for her. And the tingling space turned leaden.

*Well, what did you expect? Seduction? Was that what you wanted?*

But even now, something in her shifted uncomfortably? profound
embarrassment, uncalled-for irritation. Frustration at herself, baseless and
growing. Mulder was being a good partner? a good friend. He hated paperwork?
loathed it, as it was the bane of his existence? and for him to coddle her
while he worked was tantamount to any other man coming home with a bottle of
wine and Chinese take-out, and flowers. At least in his eyes, Scully thought
sourly.

She should have appreciated the gesture. She should have accepted it
gratefully, and allowed the cold and the nausea to fade, and count her
blessings that she had a friend and partner like Mulder. Instead, much to
her own irritation, the sense of building tension was becoming all but
unbearable? the conflicting emotions, desires. She'd lain on his sofa,
listening to his fingers rattle over the keys for a while, having
surrendered his topcoat, her own, her suit jacket, and shoes? trying not to
think about how good it felt, shrugging them off into his hands, a motion
more companionable than sensual. She'd watched him work, one hand moving
every now and again to the bag of sunflower seeds, hearing the soft crunch
blend with the patter of plastic.

And, after some two hours in that position before realizing that she was
contemplating seducing her best friend simply so that she would feel less
coiled-up on the insides, Scully got up, redressed herself, and touched her
partner's cheek. The needs and desires were loud inside of her, but watching
her partner work, it was increasingly clear that work was all he had any
intention of doing? all he had ever had any intention of doing, today, the
day before that, and in all likelihood every day before that, right up to
that day in his hallway?

And she'd been a fool, thinking anything different.

"You going to be okay? You want me to take you home?" He'd seemed surprised
that she was leaving, but made no move to prevent it. And, despite the chill
that had reasserted itself inside her the moment she'd shrugged on her coat,
she'd smiled, assured him she would be fine, and walked out the door,
fingering her keys. She'd take a cab to her car at the office, and then
home, and curl herself into her own bed, where her solitude would, at least,
hold no possibility of something that would likely never happen.

Still, the apartment, when she reached it, was cold? and after a moment, she
'd turned on her heel and left it. Why, she asked herself, did she need him
to make the first move? In what unwritten rule book did it grant him that
privilege? She had every bit as much to lose from stepping over that line as
he did? a career, if they weren't careful. A partner, if she'd misread him.
A friend, if the very worst happened.

And that contemplation, more chilling than the rain that continued to fall,
stopped her at the intersection. After a moment's hesitation, it turned her
right instead of left  towards Arlington, towards streets she could
navigate blind, deaf, and sleeping  and found her at the small Irish pub
she'd stopped into on more than one occasion.

And when she'd met him there, and allowed him to buy her a drink that she
really hadn't wanted, he'd looked just similar enough to someone else -
brown hair that fell ever so slightly into his eyes, that crinkling smile,
that advantage of height - that she'd given herself over to the night that
was growing inside of her.

One night, that was all. That was enough. She didn't particularly want it
this way? it wasn't her nature, not her style in the least? but if this was
what it would take to put her mind and heart and emotions back where they
needed to be, so be it. She wouldn't be drunk? she wouldn't allow herself
that luxury. She would answer the needs of her body, drive the cold inside
her away, and that would be that. She wasn't replacing her partner, nor
driving him away, not seeking a substitute for any long duration? she was
simply returning their relationship, such as it was, to the status quo.

*You keep telling yourself that, Dana.*

So she'd allowed him to dance with her, to talk softly with her, to laugh at
her jokes. She'd glanced at him coyly, drawing the conversation out, letting
him believe that it was all his idea, his planning. He was soft-spoken,
almost shy, and attentive to a fault. In the end, she'd been the one to
suggest finding someplace else to? talk. His smile almost wiped out the
nagging chill inside that somehow refused to go away.

"This isn't something I usually do?" he'd admitted, holding the door of his
apartment for her. "Really. I'm not really into one night stands, and if you
don't want to?"

But that made it that much worse, and took what pleasure she might have
drawn from everything that followed and reduced the caresses, the kisses to
something more transparent than the rain-slicked glass. From the very start,
he'd been considerate, gentle, even tender? and through it all, she'd ached
in that awareness, and in the end, stopped him before the foreplay could
move to the critical level, trying not to look into his confusion as she'd
struggled to untangle herself from him, to move away.

And then he'd touched her cheek, just like Mulder would have, and it all
came tumbling out, explanations she hadn't expected or wanted to make, but
she hadn't cared how much or how little sense the words made. And he'd
listened, and sat back, and watched her with eyes that were deeper than
brown pond water in summer? and he hadn't flinched, or pulled away.

And when she was done, and the silence had grown awkward, he'd sighed, and
offered up a rueful smile.

"It's not that I didn't expect something like that?" he'd said. "There was
something there, in your eyes, you know, all night. But I figured, why not?
What's there to lose?" His smile was lopsided, his hand on her cheek soft.
"Listen. Just stay here tonight? no strings attached. No, don't even start
thinking I'm a sensitive nineties guy? God help me. I'm just a selfish
bastard who hopes that maybe you'll think it over, and take a bird in the
hand when you see it in the daylight." But his smile took the sting out of
the wryness, and in the end, she'd acquiesced.

And when he'd slipped over the edge of consciousness, one arm draped about
her, his body warm and soft and comforting beside her, she'd waited only
long enough for his breathing to become deep and steady before taking
herself away.

She'd been halfway down the stairs of his apartment before she'd realized
she hadn't even asked his name.

*And now, you can just stew in the guilt, Dana Katherine Scully, because it
hasn't made things any better? or why be thinking of Mulder, even now?* And
the coldness inside her hadn't diminished in the least? and now, in the
chill and dark, it threatened to swim over her again, and there was no
Mulder to turn to.

Three separate times on the drive home she'd taken a wrong turn without
thinking, and had found herself pointed towards Arlington. And once, she'd
reached for her cel phone, an instinctive gesture when her feelings were
roiled? but found that she didn't need to stop herself from calling Mulder,
because the phone was not there. It must have slipped out of her pocket at
some point that evening? but she didn't care to contemplate how she'd go
about getting it back, nor how she'd explain it to her partner, should he
ask why she wasn't picking up.

And now, she finally drew herself together, opened the car door, and made
her way home. Angel of the morning, my ass, she thought. There are no angels
here? no guardians, no comfort. One night of trying to erase feelings she
couldn't even identify, and she was returning to exactly the situation she'd
fled from. Her key turned in the lock, and she could not repress the
shuddering sigh.

Mulder turned to her the moment she stepped in, on his feet in the heartbeat
and punching the mute button on her television remote. She stared at him,
aghast, as he closed the distance between them? and stood, paralyzed, by
shock and shame. He couldn't know? there was no way? but here he was?
removing her coat as tenderly as ever he had, his eyes on hers, running over
her face.

*It's not a one night stand if you didn't sleep with him. One way or
another. Right? It's not? Oh, Dana, you're an idiot three times over.*

"Mulder? what?"

"I got worried about you." He said, and his voice was that half-tone he
reserved for her alone, muted and velveted with underlying words he would
not yet release. "You left, and? Scully, you just didn't look like yourself.
So I finished up the paperwork and came over to check on you? but you weren'
t here?"

"Why didn't you call?" Her voice sounded strained, almost? but that initial
panic was fading as his eyes held her steady.

Mulder smiled, chuckled? and reached for his jacket pocket.

"You left this at my place." he said, and handed her the cel phone. "Whoa?
hang on, Scully. Come sit down. You look like you're ready to fall over?
where?" His arm had gone around her instinctively? and how easy it had been
to allow herself to mold into his side, moving that way across the floor,
sinking down beside him on the sofa.

"Mulder? please? don't ask me that. I was just? out."

"Okay? not a problem." And he'd allowed her to draw her knees up, tucking
herself into the shelter of his side, and had only once started to remove
his arm from about her shoulders before changing his mind. "Scully? is
everything all right?"

She angled her face up to his, looking to search his face, his eyes? and
found him gazing down at her. For a lingering moment, they stayed that way?
and a warmth crept over her, a warmth more than the physical sense of
comfort and safety. Mulder, sensing some change, touched her face, seemed
about to say more? then stopped, reconsidered.

"You're exhausted?" he said. "Listen, I should go. Let you rest."

"Mulder?" He did not answer, only tilted his head slightly, eyes softening.
"Mulder? I'd? I'd really appreciate it if you stayed. Here. Stayed here,
tonight." She was tripping over her words, and she knew it? and he knew it,
too, though his expression remained untouched.

"Okay." His tone was new, now? softer, somehow  almost a whisper  touched
with something between pleasure and uncertainty, somehow akin to both. "If
that's what you want, I'll stay."

"It's what I want." She said. "Stay. Please." And she lowered her head to
his shoulder, rummaging closer. She felt, rather than saw, her partner's
gaze follow her as best it could.

"You sure you're alright, Scully?"

But his arm remained about her, and the tone was blanket soft? and the
coldness inside her was dispersing. She could feel her partner's heartbeat
through his cotton shirt, and placed one hand over it, allowing the rhythm
to pulse into her? carrying with it warmth, and certainty. She nodded.

"I'm fine, Mulder. I'll tell you all about it in the morning, okay?"

Mulder did not reply? only nodded. She felt him shift beneath her, turning
away to dim the lamplight, then again, kicking off his shoes before bending
to remove her own, then finally adjusting his body to the sofa contours and
to her. She felt him draw a woven throw from the sofa arm over her
shoulders, tucking it about her? then breath deeply, settling in at last.
The last thing she felt before crossing over the threshold of sleep was her
partner's hand, warm and soft, touch her cheek in a brief caress, then
settle to her shoulder to wait for dawn.

~The End~