WHAT'S THE STORY, MORNING GLORY?

[Note: this is part of Hal's beautiful Skinner/Pendrell series]

I'm awake.

It's morning. I'm in bed and the light shines through my closed eyelids, reminding me that I'm diurnal and I really ought to get up.

I'm not a morning person. People think I am, but my body would be very happy to sleep in every day. Sleep sucks away so much time, though, so I try to get up early and make the most of the extra hours.

Not yet though.

I roll over, burying my face in the pillow, chasing after the tail end of a dream, oh what a dream...

Oh my God.

That wasn't a dream. I really did that, *we* did that. My face is burning now, damn my pale skin, and I can feel what we did all over my body.

I slide my hands down over my chest, remembering his hands, his chest.

Reaching out, I probe the other side of the bed.

He's not there.

My eyes fly open, I'm buzzed on panic. I'm alone in the room. I don't see his clothes, just my own draped over the chair by the closet. I see myself in the mirror, crumpled, frantic...marked a little.

He's gone. The knots in the pit of my stomach tell me it's true.

Stay calm, deep breath now. In through the nose, out through...

Coffee! It smells like hope. Maybe he's a *real* morning person.

Out of bed now, I pull on a pair of sweats and comb my hair. A dash to the bathroom seems unavoidable, so I pad softly down the hall to take care of business.

My teeth feel icky. I reach out for my brush, and there's another next to it in the rack, bright red. Red is a hopeful colour.

I should shower, but I really can't wait any longer. I head to the kitchen, but he's not there. The coffee is, though, so I pour a mugful.

The living room it is, then. I slip up to the entrance, wondering why I'm sneaking around in my own home, and look into the room.

He's there. He's very there.

Sitting on the couch, Lucy sprawled next to him, he is glorious, breathtaking. The soft light plays on the curve of his skull, accentuates the planes of his cheekbones and the firm line of his jaw. His smooth jaw--I should have shaved. The light glints off his glasses, but I can see his eyes are shut beneath them.

He's dressed, but his white shirt falls open over his broad chest, rewarding me with a glimpse of curling hair, perfect pectorals, and a few love bites livid on the warm brown skin. I didn't know I'd done that.

My eyes trail downward, drinking in his long legs, wishing they weren't covered, feeling the memory of them in the palms of my hands.

His feet--he's wearing the slippers I gave him. I thought he didn't like them. My own feet are cold, my toes are freezing.

Rolled up shirtsleeves draw my eyes to his arms, strong, and hands. His hands are wrapped around his coffee mug. His hands are on my back, his hands are in my hair, his hands are mine, no matter what else happens.

He's like a god, he's Zeus, without the beard and the thunderbolt. Looking at him now, I can't believe I had the nerve to ask him in, to talk with him, to kiss him. But I did.

Looking at him now, I feel rumpled and small and desperately inadequate. Do I have time to go shower and shave and dress and work out for about 500 hours before I make my entrance?

No, he turns and sees me. And he smiles, oh God, he smiles.

"Good morning, Daniel."

He's Jupiter, the force of gravity pulling me in. I sit down beside him.

"Good morning."

He leans over and we kiss, coffee and toothpaste, good morning, and a little tongue. I'm feeling better.

"How are you this morning, Daniel?"

There are layers to this question and I've got my brain working on a properly layered response. My body cuts in and answers before I can stop it.

"My feet are cold."

"I can help you with that." Putting down his mug, he rummages under the couch and comes up with my slippers. He grabs my ankles and swings my legs up into his lap. My coffee sloshes as I swivel, but doesn't spill.

He slides the slippers onto my feet, then holds them, rubbing one thumb over my anklebone. His hands are mine. My skin tingles where he touches it.

I'm smiling and smiling, a merry little ray of sunshine, and I hope he knows it's all for him.

Lucy stretches and jumps off the couch, heading out of the room, leaving us alone. Well, alone with the fish and the gerbils.

"Walter, do you have to go in to the office today?" This will give him an out, if he really wants to go.

"Not if you have any better ideas." His thumb still teases my ankle. He's not going.

"I have a lot of ideas, but I need to drink my coffee first."

"Take your time." He smiles again. "We have all day."

A slow, happy warmth spreads through me, and I know today, at least, will be all right.

Raising my mug, I take my first sip of coffee. He makes it very strong. I could get used to it.

F I N I S