TITLE: Unused Morning
AUTHORS: Punk and Sab, writing as V. Salmone
CLASSIFICATION: V
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully and the X-Files are the property of
Ten-Thirteen Productions and Fox. No money has changed hands, nor
do I expect it to. That doesn't mean I didn't enjoy writing it.
RATING: G
DISTRIBUTION: Archive anywhere and let us know where if you've
got the time. 
CONTACT: punkm@teleport.com, iamfrequent@gmail.com
WEB: http://home.teleport.com/~punkm/punkandsab.html

SUMMARY: In the morning.



Unused Morning
 by V. Salmone
....................................................

The phone rang and Scully tumbled on her side, rolling over an arm and
an elbow and muffling face-first into the pillow. The phone rang again.

She reached over to answer it, but no one was on the other line, not
even after she'd tried both "Scully" and "Mulder?" as greetings.

The room peeled back before her as she opened her eyes: bolted lamp,
bolted clock, bolted television, bolted phone.

It took her a very long time to realize that the familiar tan-and-blue
suitcase on the armchair was not her own, and it took her even longer
to realize that the phone ringing had been a wake-up call.

She was still in Mulder's room.

And Mulder wasn't there.

Pulling herself to her feet she remembered only vaguely the night
before, something brief about a British guy and a food processing
system, and then Mulder. Lots of Mulder. Long spaces in her life,
stretching back, delineated only by lack and presence of Mulder. Here,
this morning, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands and letting
her feet sink into the carpet, she couldn't remember a time in her life
she hadn't known him.

Setting the flip-lock to keep the door propped open, she ricocheted off
the jamb and stepped barefoot into the fluorescent hallway.

Like warped mirror image, Mulder appeared from the doorway across
the hall.

"Morning, Scully," he said, passing her and backing sideways into his
room.

"Uh huh," she said as she crossed and pushed open the door into the
room he'd slept in the night before.

......................................................................

V. Salmone
March 2001