TITLE: Dawn's Early Light
AUTHOR: Meghan O'Connor
EMAIL: gyrfalcon@yahoo.com
FEEDBACK: Please! The more I get, the more you get!
DISCLAIMER: The LGM and anyone else you recognize are 1013's.
However, Rachel Ann MacGregor is all mine.
SPOILERS: The X-Files, all up to the last season finale, and the LGM
SYNOPSIS: Rachel and Frohike did the wacky. When two people are
confused, all sorts of misunderstandings happen. Follows "The Shower
NOTES: I don't know what the song sounds like, I found it on a
lyrics archive and the name listed was the only credit. I'm not
making any money off anything, so bugger off. The words were perfect.

Frohike watched her sleep. She'd ended up snuggled against his side
with her head on his shoulder. Amazingly, it wasn't all that
uncomfortable since they were so close in height. He smiled at the
wonder of it all. Not only was their best friend a very pretty
woman, she actually wanted him. He wasn't sure what he did to
deserve this, but he wasn't going to let it go. However, he also
didn't want her to be humiliated by Langly if she was caught coming
out of his room. And Byers probably wouldn't be able to face her
without blushing. He hated to wake her, but it would give her a
chance to sneak back to her room and not be bothered just yet. Let
her tell them on her own terms.

The hand that came to rest on her hip was warm. A slight shaking
made Rachel aware that she wasn't on a furry robe, it was Mel she was
snuggled against. The events of a few hours ago came back into
focus. Ah, so that was why her hips ached a little. It had been a
long time, but definitely worth the wait. She smiled against his
chest and dropped little kisses on his collarbone. His voice was
soft, but the words chilled her heart. "Rae. You gotta go, Rae."

She sat up slowly and swung her feet off the bed, facing away from
him. Did it mean so little to him, then? What was this strange
heavy iciness that seemed to settle on her heart and cloud her
vision? "Take my robe. I don't think Byers and Langly are up yet,
so you can get to the guest room before they see you. I'm sure you
don't want the grief they'd give you." She picked his robe off the
floor, still silent, and threw it on. So many bitter hurtful things
sprang to mind, but she kept quiet. She was afraid if she started
talking, she would scream. She padded over to the door and forced
herself not to hesitate as she slipped into the hall.

Did she regret being with him? Why hadn't she looked at him as she
left? Frohike knew he wasn't handsome by any measure, but he didn't
normally have them run off in dawn's early light. Maybe she had a
bad hangover and her head hurt too much to talk. Of course, even his
temples were starting to throb. He'd have to buy her a conciliatory
bottle of Tylenol later. Rolling over, he caught a whiff of her
scent on the sheets. Rose shampoo, a little alcohol, and the musk of
a well-satisfied woman all mixed with a scent that uniquely Rachel.
The fragrance accompanied him back into his dreams.

The walk to the guest room felt like a prisoner's promenade to the
chair. Once there, Rachel looked around the room. She felt a
strange sense of detachment, as if the surroundings weren't quite
real. She took off the robe and dressed again in the clothes from
last night. Sitting on the bed, she tied her tennis shoes. She
raised Frohike's soft maroon robe to her face with both hands and
breathed deeply. A few quick passes over her hair and fumbling with
a hair band made it into a presentable thick ponytail. Another deep
breath, and she could force herself to go.

After trying to go down the stairs quietly, she stood in front of
Frohike's computer. She stared at the blank screen. How could she
let him know how much being thrown out hurt without actually seeing
the rejection in his face? She reached out and pushed the power
button. Taking the mouse in hand, she searched the net for the
perfect way to say what she felt. Five minutes found her at a lyrics
archive of oldies, and a title grabbed her attention. She copied it
to an email, and set it to pop up as soon as he powered up the PC
today. A few clicks later, she powered down and was out the door.

Byers was the first one up, followed by Frohike in a few hours.
Fortunately, Langly was still out like a light after the drunken
power episode of D&D. He stared at the shorter man over his cup of
coffee in the kitchen, sipping quietly. There was something
different, more relaxed… He sighed, causing Mel to look over

"What? Hangover?"

Byers sent up a silent prayer that he wasn't going to be decked for
interfering. "I presume the fact that Rachel is not here this
morning has something to do with Langly's dare going farther than it
should have?"

Frohike's eyes widened. You couldn't get anything past Byers when he
was looking. Damn. "Um… Yeah." Now if he could just figure out
why Byers looked so sad.

"Oh, Frohike. She was drunk. I can't believe you'd do that to such
a good friend."

He slammed down the coffeepot and the empty cup he'd intended to
use. Never say he was dishonorable towards a true lady. "Screw you,
Byers! How dare you think that. We weren't that drunk anymore, and
for your information, she found me in the shower. I didn't start
anything!" Byers' eyes were wide. Mel was truly pissed, perhaps it
wasn't something he'd done casually. But if that were true, then why
had she left?

"So why isn't she here now?"

Frohike ran out of steam and sat down heavily. "Well, I said she
should sneak back to the guest room so Langly wouldn't catch her and
give her hell. You know, let her decide if she wanted you guys to
know just yet. Maybe she had a bit of a hangover and decided to go
home and freshen up."

Byers looked angry again. "So, a beautiful woman seduced you and
gave you a happy, and you throw her out before the sun comes up?"
Frohike opened his mouth to protest, but Byers cut him off
snippily. "I highly suggest you start crafting an apology, if she'll
accept one. I wouldn't normally break a confidence, but that woman
has wanted you for a long time and never thought you would think of
her that way. She finally gets her dream, and you in effect told her
to get out before anyone saw her with you. Hopefully, she'll see
that you meant well, but I'm sure she feels like hell right now." He
stood up. "I'm going to go turn on the systems. I'll be downstairs."

Frohike was seriously considering lacing his coffee to numb how
crappy he felt when he heard Byers' voice from downstairs. "Frohike,
I think you better see this." He trundled down, mug in hand, and
came to a stop before the screens. "Looks like she left you a
message." Byers turned to his own station and started doing copy on
the latest article. Mel looked at the monitor, recognizing a song
from his youth. Amazingly, she'd chosen the first song he'd heard on
the radio when he came back from his tour in Nam.

"Oh crap."

DON'T TOUCH ME (#38 on the charts, 1969)
Bettye Swann
Your hand is like a torch each time you touch me
That look in your eye pulls me apart
Don't open the door to heaven if I can't come in
Don't touch me if you don't love me, sweetheart
Your kiss is like a drink when I'm thirsty
And I'm thirsty for you with all my heart
Don't love me then act as though we've never kissed
Don't touch me if you don't love me, sweetheart
Don't give me something that you might take away
To have you then lose you wouldn't be smart on my part
Don't open the door to heaven if I can't come in
Don't touch me if you don't love me, sweetheart