Title: The Oxford Files: Going Home Authors: Susan Proto and Vickie Moseley Who can be found at: STPteach@aol.com and vmoseley@fgi.net Spoilers: A couple for sixth season, nothing in here about seventh season stuff. Category: X, MSR, MT, SHIPPER WARNING IN EFFECT Rating: mostly PG-13, one section borders on R for adult themes Disclaimer: See, Chris, it's like this. Susan and I just never got enough time to beat the crap out of our Ken dolls so that our Dr. Barbie dolls could kiss it and make it all better. So we borrow your creations, which have taken on a life of their own, in case you haven't noticed, and use them to further our own evil purposes. But it's all playtime. And besides, Mattel never got bent out of shape about it, why should you? Mulder, Scully and Phoebe Greene belong to the master and his disciples. Mrs. Mac, Mr. Laing, Freddie, Tom, Drew, Caroline, Ann, Gavin and just about anybody else who got a real name, they belong to us, Susan and I. If you ask real nice, we might let you take them for an afternoon playdate. Archives: Yes, please. Just keep our names attached Vickie's Notes: We did it again! And no, that wasn't a signed confession. But it is a warning. Don't ever change computers in the middle of editing a long collaboration. The writing was great fun, as always! The editing, we won't talk about. And all time delays are my fault, and I'm not being Mulder when I say that. Susan has been patient beyond her years! I only hope she let's me do this to her, er, with her again in the future. A word about the story: this is not a series, and is not part of Susan's Life Cycles. It's a stand alone. It's set in England, and we don't live there! We do read a lot, however. Even so, since neither of us has set foot on the hallowed soil of Oxford or any of it's colleges, this was mostly a labor of research and love. If you got your degree in Psychology from any of the colleges there and can't remember a St. Elban's . . . you're right! We made it up! And if we are vague in our references to Scotland Yard and it's where you hang out on any given Monday . . . mea culpa! And if your Uncle Seigfred sounds exactly like our Mr. Laing, well, that's just an X File in itself. Enjoy and let us know. We don't bite and we do write back. Sometimes, effusively ;) Susan's Notes: So that's the problem! I never even had a Ken doll. Only a Barbie and a Midge (the redhead, of course!) I had to wait to get to a friend's house to share! And well, let's just say I'm glad for that experience, because it makes it that much easier to share in the experience of writing with this talented writer (who had me ROTFLMAO just reading her author's notes! What can I say? I'm a good audience!) We also want to thank Sally and Michelle for beta-ing and offering their kind words of support, as well as their much welcomed divergent opinions on where things seemed to be headed. It gave us pause to think, and I am grateful to them for their belief in their willingness ''to agree to disagree.'' This was a labor of love; anytime a person gets to work with someone she admires and likes is an occasion to celebrate. Of course, no one ever told us this labor was going to take longer than the ones we went through with all of our children together, but whose counting anyway? But we love the new laptop anyway, right Vickie? And ditto on the invitation to share your thoughts with us on our little ditty. We'd love to hear from you! Because of the size of this endeavor, we'll post the disclaimer (that's what you're reading now ;) and the first 8 parts today, the rest tomorrow. Promise! Vickie Come visit our websites brought to you by the fabulous Shirley Smiley! http://susanproto.freeservers.com http://vickiemoseley.freeservers.com From: Vickie Moseley Oxford Files: Going Home 01 By Susan Proto STPteach@aol.com and Vickie Moseley vmoseley@fgi.net Fox Mulder logged off his e-mail and stared at the newly printed sheet in his printer's tray. He should have expected this, he chided himself. Maybe, in the deep, dark recesses of his mind, he was actually hoping this would happen. He picked up the paper gingerly and read it once again. And sighed. Still holding the page, he moved his lanky frame from the desk chair to his couch. With the grace of a bull moose on a frozen pond, he flopped onto the smooth, cool leather and stared at the blank screen of the television, determined not to look at the paper in his hand. He's really stepped in it this time. It had seemed like such a simple plan. Diversion. The most tried and true method of breaking any habit. The reason pharmaceutical companies figured out to put nicotine in chewing gum, thus breaking the chemical dependency of the smoker while diverting the craving for oral stimulation. Hell, why couldn't he have written a paper on that? Because that had never interested him, he admitted woefully. He tossed the paper toward the coffee table, watching it as it drifted lazily in the direction of it's intended target, only to be caught by a draft from the window and veer off to land near the collection of videos on the floor. A small cloud of dust, almost imperceptible, ballooned off the videos. Such a simple plan. But then, when had anything he'd ever attempted been simple? Not his lot in life, that was certain. But now he'd gone beyond slightly complicated into downright confusing. He felt the old inner conflict, the old pull. Academia hadn't been such an easy lover to forget. Sometimes, in the late of night, she would slip into his dreams and pull at his arms, begging for another dance. But he had other considerations now. The possibilities of the future were too vast and mysterious to let the past come back to claim him. Then again, the old 'hallowed halls' had been incredibly romantic, or so he'd been assured by more than one classmate. Maybe this little complication was just the diversion he needed. Maybe it would all work. Maybe this had been his plan all along. All he had to do was convince his partner to go along with the plan. Hoover Building, Washington, DC Monday October 22, 1999 8:25 am Dana Scully struggled with her briefcase, a small bakery bag and a good foot and a half tall stack of mail of various sizes. When she reached the door to the office, she almost screamed in frustration upon finding it closed, but decided to take another approach. She kicked at the door and in an instant, it opened. "Morning, sunshine," came the overly enthusiastic greeting. Scully narrowed her eyes and kept her gaze steady on her partner as she moved to her computer table/desk on the far side of the room. She deposited the mail, the bakery bag and her briefcase, then calmly shed her coat and draped it over her chair. "I am _not_ going to Texas again, Mulder. I told you. I don't care if George W. himself calls to tell us that he has Big Foot and ET locked in the hall closet of the Executive Mansion, you are not getting me down there!" To emphasize her point, she picked up her coat and purposely hung it on the coat tree by the door. "Here, I got you a muffin." She tossed the bakery bag at him and sat down in her chair. Mulder took her tirade in stoic silence and opened the bag with a blank expression. He withdrew the muffin and regarded it closely. "Scully, this one must be for you. It's oat bran," he said, placing it gingerly on her desk just inches from the mail. "On second thought, one might not be sufficient." "Meaning?" she growled with one eyebrow cocked. "Hey, you're the one making the accusations. All I said was 'Good morning'," Mulder said defensively and sat down at his own desk. "It's not what you said, Mulder. It was how you said it," Scully retorted. "It wasn't your usual 'I played four games of basketball and now I'm so sore I can't move but I'm not going to tell Scully because she'll rag at me' Monday morning greeting. It was your 'I spent the weekend scanning the pages of the National Inquirer and Scully will never be able to deny me this one case' look that I've come to know and dread. So out with it, Mulder. If it's not Texas, then it's probably some place worse. Somewhere I've told you we are never to journey to again. The list has grown to include the Cascade Mountain Range in Washington State, Miami during hurricane season, the forest outside Atlantic City, anywhere in Arizona or Alaska . . ." "Scully, you wound me!" Mulder whined, genuine despair crossing his features. "I didn't see you all weekend. I was just happy to see you. No ulterior motive, no hidden agenda. Just pure, unadulterated joy at seeing your face." Scully sat for a moment, dumbfounded. She chewed on her lip and looked incredibly confused. Finally, with a sheepish, downcast expression on her face, she picked up the muffin and brought it over to his desk, placing it carefully in the middle of his desk blotter. "I brought you a muffin," she said, hoping it sounded enough like an apology to end the discussion right there. "It's not blueberry," he said with a mock pout. She chewed on her lip to keep the smile at bay. "They were out of blueberry." "You ate the last one, didn't you?" he accused. She reached for the muffin, staring at him. "If you don't want the muffin, Mulder . . ." He grabbed her hand before she could remove the muffin, and the electric shock from their connecting skin caused them both to break contact. His eyes widened at the implication, she shook her hand slightly as she moved back to her seat. "We need a humidifier in this office," Scully said firmly, but Mulder could detect the tremor underneath. "Sure, Scully. I'm sure they have a dozen of them in the supply room," Mulder said, hiding his glee. Their shock may have flustered his partner, but it only served to encourage Mulder. He mentally calculated how to bring up the subject. "So, we finished the quarterly budget report on Friday," he said straightening his desk blotter and attacking the muffin with enthusiasm. "Uh huh," she replied, sorting the mail into two unequal piles. "When did you start getting the Chadwick's of Boston catalog?" she asked as she placed the slick magazine on the top of one pile. Mulder blushed. "I got my mom something out of there last Mother's day. A sweater," he said hastily and scooped up his pile of mail. "And I finished the expense report for September. It's all ready to send up to Skinner," he continued as if never interrupted. "When?" she looked up. "Friday night. Cable was out." She nodded in acceptance and went back to opening her mail. "So, basically, we're all caught up," he announced to no one in particular. "Guess so. Hence my conviction that you're fishing for a good time to tell me that we're heading to Ellen's Air Base in Idaho again," she said dryly as she ripped the brown paper covering off a medical journal and started flipping through the pages. "Scully, you're becoming increasingly paranoid," Mulder said with a shake of his head. "Actually, I was thinking of taking a little time off. A couple of days or R and R." She stopped her perusal of her journal to stare at him. "Philadelphia is the top of that list I just mentioned, Mulder," she said in a low growl. "Scully, will you cut 'the list' crap?" he said, his voice rose in frustration. "I'm not fishing around for another case. I'm serious. We are all caught up and I thought it might be nice to take a little time off. Recharge, so to speak." She blinked. "Oh." Then she dropped her eyes to the pages of the journal again. "Going to visit your mom?" she asked hesitantly. "No, I have another destination. I, uh, I got an invitation." That caught her attention. "St. Elban's is hosting a psychology symposium and one of my old tutors has invited me to present a paper." He purposely didn't look in her direction. "Who is St. Elban?" she asked, suddenly intrigued. He chuckled silently. "My college, Scully. At Oxford. I attended St. Elban's College." She still looked confused. "Oxford isn't set up like U of Maryland, Scully. It's a collection of small colleges. Between 400 and 600 students per. You attend the college, but the University is responsible for testing and granting your degree." "Oh. Interesting." She returned to her journal. "I was thinking that you could join me." Scully looked up again, confusion once more darkening her features. "Scully, I really think you'll like this symposium. My paper is on the psychology of patients who claim alien abduction. I draw heavily on Cassandra's experiences and some others we've worked with over time. And before you jump down my back, I used fictitious names and it's a scholarly work in psychology, Scully. It's not a personal soapbox." He waited for a reaction, and when none was forthcoming, he started up again. "It won't be like the last time, Scully. I promise. No recantations on a stage, no embarrassment for you or me. Just an academic paper. I used to get Distinctions on a fairly regular basis, you know," he ended defensively. "How much will it cost?" she said shyly. He grinned. He had her, and it hadn't taken half his ammunition! "Nothing. I get all expenses paid for me and a guest." At her raised eyebrow he hastened to add, "I asked my mom, but she said she didn't feel up to a transatlantic flight. So you'd be doing me a favor by going." Scully sighed and stared down at her desktop, not even bothering with the subterfuge of the journal any longer. "I don't know, Mulder. You know I'm not that fond of long plane flights . . ." "We're on the Concorde, Scully. It's not that long." "My mom was expecting me for dinner on Sunday . . ." "We can bring her back something from London. Something really pretty. We fly into and out of Heathrow and they have some terrific duty-free shops." "I don't know, Mulder. I mean . . . all the way to England . . ." "Scully, we once traveled all the way back from Antarctica together," he admonished gently. "And this time, I promise it will be a whole lot more fun than that trip." end of part one Vickie Come visit our websites brought to you by the fabulous Shirley Smiley! http://susanproto.freeservers.com http://vickiemoseley.freeservers.com From: Vickie Moseley The Oxford File: Going Home (02) By Vickie Moseley (vmoseley@fgi.net) & Susan Proto (STPteach@aol.com) Dulles International Airport Gate 134 - Waiting Area Since it was an international flight, Scully and Mulder were advised to arrive at the airport gate at least an hour to hour and a half before their scheduled departure. It was obvious, however, that the wait was driving Mulder up the wall. The nervous energy that emanated from him was almost enough to make Scully take flight herself, from the airport. However, the more she watched her partner, the whirling dervish in action, the more she couldn't help thinking he reminded her of something from her childhood. That's when she had trouble stifling the giggles that became increasingly louder until she heard Mulder cry out in exasperation, "What?" "You remind me of Bernie," she replied in between chuckles. "Bernie?" "Bernie. He was my neighbor's St. Bernard puppy. All gangly and awkward and never quite knowing where to put himself so he didn't get in anyone's way," she explained with a bright twinkle in her eyes. "Since we'd moved around so much," Scully continued, "Mom and Ahab never wanted the responsibility of a pet, but we always managed to move next door to someone who had one. We became honorary owners, especially in the wintertime. We'd actually volunteer to walk the animals. The owners never turned us down." Scully smiled with a sigh at the remembrance. Mulder looked at his partner with tenderness. It wasn't very often she shared her childhood memories, so whenever she did he received each one as if he were given a very precious present. He wished she shared these thoughts more often, but he wasn't about to look this gift horse in the mouth. "A St. Bernard, Scully?" he replied with a teasing smile. "Not even a Retriever or a Shepherd, but a St. Bernard?" Scully nodded vehemently, and then said, "Mulder, sit down already. You're starting to make me wish I'd never agreed to this trip." Mulder sat down immediately upon hearing that. "Oh, don't feel that way, Scully. I'm sorry; I'll try to sit quietly. I'm just a little, a little__?" "__Nervous?" Scully filled in for him. "Well, yes, nervous, but it's more than that," he answered and then took a breath. He noted that Scully waited patiently for him to continue, and so, taking another breath, he stated, "I guess I'm also a little excited." He paused and waited for her reaction to what seemed to him as a totally foreign emotion. "Well, why shouldn't you be excited?" Scully responded as if she'd read his mind. "Mulder, you've been asked by a very prestigious facility, your alma mater I might add, to present a paper based on sound, scientific research precepts, about a subject which I dare say you are most assuredly one of the leading experts of today, and you're surprised that you're a little excited?" She finally took a breath. He took one along with her. "I guess I'm just not used to being invited to speak at something so, so mainstream, so, so__." "__So legitimate?" Scully concluded for him. All he could do was nod slightly in agreement. "Mulder, let's get one thing straight. I may not always agree with your theories or with your general view on the world in general. However, I have never, ever doubted your intelligence or your ability to be reasonable when the facts are presented to you. Mulder, as often as I shoot down your theories, you have always backed me up when the science prevailed." "I try to keep myself open to extreme possibilities, Scully," he replied in a self-deprecating tone. "Mulder, your invitation was warranted. It was legitimate, and don't you dare doubt that for a second," she admonished. "Ya think, Scully? I mean, to be honest, I've worked my ass off on this presentation. I mean, I can't remember working this hard on something before, and I just couldn't stand the thought of it being some horrible April Fool's Day joke that someone decided to play on me," he asked in search of reassurance. "Mulder, knowing you, you checked it out thoroughly before you proceeded, right?" He nodded in the affirmative. "Calm down. Sit. And," Scully hesitated momentarily, and then continued, "since you know how much I hate flying, no matter how long or how short the flight is, I thought perhaps I'd take a look at the presentation; that is if it's okay with you." "Oh, would you?" he jumped up in reaction and began pacing frenetically once again. "I mean, if it needs some doctoring up, umm, no pun intended, Scully, but I mean if it needs some touch ups or clarification or if you think it just sucks, then we can just go visit Big Ben and call it a day, ya know?" he said without taking a breath. "Yes, Mulder. Now do all of us a favor and sit down and read a magazine. Hell, I'll even buy you a Playboy if it gets you to sit still for five minutes," Scully teased. Mulder sat down with his head lowered in a vain attempt to cover up the creeping blush that threatened to overtake his face. He wondered if Scully knew just how close to home she'd stepped. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Concorde Flight # 754 On Route to Heathrow Airport Standard Altitude He squirmed. He got up. He sat down. He squirmed some more, until Scully finally screeched loudly enough so the entire business class section of the flight turned to take a look at the very, obviously, uncouth Americans who were causing a ruckus. "Mulder, would you please sit down and knock it off! You're driving me crazy," she said through gritted teeth. "I'm sorry," he mumbled just loudly enough for her to hear him. She took pity on him and assured him she was almost finished with the paper and to try and be patient. He nodded his head and picked up the airline magazine for what amounted to be the eight times, since he'd never quieted himself long enough to read it the first seven times. Finally, after another twenty minutes passed, Scully closed the binder containing Mulder's presentation. She folded her hands on top of it and closed her eyes as if she were deep in thought. Mulder sat beside her, totally still, as if he feared moving even a single muscle would negatively sway Scully's opinion of his work. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Mulder knew that no matter what he'd thought of his own presentation, if Scully thought it was sub par, he would trash it in an instant. He valued his partner's opinion that highly. So, it was with those feelings in mind that he said a silent prayer to whatever deity was available to listen to a mostly agnostic soon to be middle aged man who was still seeking approval from family, friends, and professional peers. As the time passed and Scully's silence continued, Mulder couldn't help but think she was trying to come up with a plan to let him down easy. Oh, why didn't he have her read it before they got on the plane? It certainly would have saved them both a lot of time and him some more embarrassment. At least if they were on the ground, he could have escaped to his car and driven off somewhere. Instead, he was stuck on the Concorde with no place to hide when Scully tells him the inevitable. He couldn't stand it any more. He had to know. "Jeez, Scully, if it sucks that bad, would you just tell me and get it over with already!" he practically hissed. Scully pursed her lips together as she attempted to keep the smile from forming on her lips. She wondered how long he was going to hold out. Actually, he lasted a good ten minutes longer than she'd thought even possible. "Mulder, do you mind?" she responded in what Mulder could only think of as a very deep, almost husky, but definitely very sexy, tone of voice. "Mind?" His voice, on the other hand, definitely squeaked of adolescence. "Yes, mind." She paused and decided to try and prolong his agony, only because she knew the high he would soon feel would be worth it. A few minutes passed and Mulder whispered, "Scully? Are you okay?" He reached out to touch her folded hands, but rather than actually touch her, his hand merely hovered above. "Yes," she replied assuredly, consciously avoiding their telltale signal response when things weren't necessarily 'fine'. "Please, Scully, you're killing me here," he pleaded. "Why don't you say something?" She decided she'd put him through enough agony. She finally opened her eyes and turned towards him with one her patented Scully smiles plastered on her face. "Mulder, I hadn't said anything yet because I was savoring it." She unclasped her own hands and reached up to grasp Mulder's that had remained within reach. "Partner, this presentation is absolutely brilliant." He didn't know what to say, so he simply reacted. On reflection he realized it wasn't perhaps the most appropriate reaction he could have had, given the fact this was Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully, M.D. and his professional partner, but when also given the circumstances, he knew it was the only way he could respond. He kissed her smack dab on the lips. And he did it with feeling. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Heathrow Airport London, England They'd gathered their bags and Scully asked a baggage clerk for directions to the Rental Car desk. "Umm, Scully," Mulder hesitated. "Mulder? Is there a problem?" "No, no problem. I'm pretty sure someone from the college is supposed to come and pick us up. All we have to do is call. There's not much call for having a car on the campus," he explained. "Oh. I guess I thought we'd take some time to do a little sight seeing outside of the University campus, that's all," she replied. "Oh, well, right, of course. That makes perfectly good sense, I guess." He stood there. There was obviously something bothering him, but he wasn't sure how to express it to his partner. "Mulder, out with it already. What's got your boxers up in knots?" Mulder sighed and felt himself blushing for the second time that day. He had to admit to yet another fault, inconsequential as it were, still Mulder considered it a bit of a failing. "I've never felt very comfortable driving here." When Scully's expression obviously sought more of an explanation, Mulder continued. "I had only just gotten my driver's license in the States before I came to Oxford. Well, when I tried to drive on the opposite side of the road, I kind of got into a little mishap, and it kind of turned me off to driving on the wrong side of the road," he explained. "A mishap?" "Yeah." He paused, took a breath, and then made his confession to his Scully Superior. "I nearly took out a Bobby." "What?" Scully cried out in horrific delight. "I'd gotten so damned confused with right and left and which lane to stay in, that when we got to the traffic circle, well, I nearly killed the poor cop. Thank God, I just knocked the wind out of him a little, and he had a sister-in-law who was a 'Yank' so he took pity on me. To be honest, I think I was more upset by the incident than he was." "How long had you been here before that little misfortune took place?" Scully asked curiously. "Umm, about three ___," he hedged. "Three days?" Scully interjected with a smile. Mulder smiled right back. "No, G-Woman, as if you didn't realize, but it was three hours. Three lousy hours and my welcome to England was nearly killing a poor traffic cop!" "Okay, Mulder," Scully responded laughing, ''your point is well taken. Perhaps we'd best register a car under my name. Oh, and if you don't mind, we'll let my little feet touch the accelerator at all times on this trip, okay?" end of part 2 Vickie Come visit our websites brought to you by the fabulous Shirley Smiley! http://susanproto.freeservers.com http://vickiemoseley.freeservers.com From: Vickie Moseley The Oxford Files: Going Home 03 Susan Proto (STPteach@aol.com) and Vickie Moseley (vmoseley@fgi.net) Best laid plans aside; they were on their way to find the rental cars when Mulder heard his name over the public address system. At the information counter, a pretty blonde woman gave him an ingratiating smile and handed him an envelope. It contained two train tickets and a message saying that someone would pick them up at the train station in Oxford to take them to their hotel. Mulder smiled, reading the letter. "Well, Scully. Ready to 'go up'?" "Is that some secret code, Mulder? Because this airport doesn't have a balcony." She gave him that look, the one that always made his blood run cold and south all at the same time. But this time, he chuckled at her. "C'mon, Scully. I'm playin' nice here. That's what you call it. You go 'up' to Oxford, even though technically we're traveling east. And if you screw up and get your ass kicked out, you 'go down'." "But you never 'went down'?" Scully asked, tilting her head in such a way that the sunlight from the airport windows sparkled off her hair. "None of my girlfriends were into it," he said, turning quickly to avoid the fist that almost connected with his left bicep. "Mulder," she said, her voice a low warning. He didn't reply, but knew it was her signal. He was on his best behavior or she would make him regret any and all indiscretions. Probably not immediately. But in time, and in great detail. There were times he wished she'd stuck to physics and never went to medical school. The train was unlike the Amtrak they were used to. For one thing, the armrest didn't stick to their clothing. For another, there were doors in each compartment, which opened out. They sat with two students, 'going up' from a week in London. It was between semesters and Mulder remembered well that meant cutting loose and getting away from the books for a while. Scully spent the time gazing at the English countryside. Many of the towns they passed could have been in any East Coast city, but then she'd see a glimpse of a row of houses that had been built well before Columbus decided to ask Isabella for a loan. She shook her head in amazement. "The history overwhelms you at times," Mulder said softly, not wanting to intrude on the interplay of the boy and girl sitting across from them. "I remember thinking how nothing at home seemed this old. How it all seemed so insubstantial in comparison." "Our mountains are old. Our shoreline is as old," Scully said wistfully. "But no European had seen it until such a short time ago, comparatively speaking," he countered. "Speak for yourself," Scully challenged with an engaging smile. "I have it on good authority that St. Brendan discovered the North American continent a good 700 years before Leif Erickson." "Good authority?" It was Mulder's turn to raise an eyebrow. "My sainted Irish grandmother," Scully said defiantly. Mulder broke out into a smile. "Brendan. Wasn't he a defensive back for Notre Dame?" It was fun to relax for a while. As the train chewed up the miles between London and Oxford, Mulder felt his earlier tension slip from is body. Absently, he felt his hand seeking his partner's hand and without turning her eyes from the window, she grasped his hand in hers. They didn't speak for the rest of the one hour ride, but they didn't need to. A car was waiting at the train station. Mulder helped Scully into the back seat and slid in beside her. The driver turned and gave them both a wide smile. "I've been told you drop you at the Royal Arms. You're expected at Mr. Laing's flat at half past for tea. I'll be round to fetch you at quarter past four." "Mr. Laing?" Scully asked, trying to hide the sudden butterflies that had taken up residence in her stomach. She was in Mulder's turf, now. And they weren't on a case. Their kiss on the plane, although admittedly chaste enough, still burned on her lips. She swallowed and found her mouth distinctly void of moisture. "One of my tutors. Actually, he was my 'advisor', if you want to call it that. He was helping me with the research for my doctoral thesis when the FBI called." "And the rest, as they say, is history," Scully supplied with a tilt to her head. "Yeah, I guess," Mulder said, but rather than joining in the joke, he let it drop and shifted his eyes out the side window. It was obvious at first glance that Mulder had nothing to do with choosing the accommodations. The Royal Arms was exceptionally well appointed, with a valet, concierge and bellboys all waiting to serve them in any manner they desired. "You did say this was 'all expenses paid', didn't you, Mulder?" Scully asked, as her bags were swept from her hand onto a lorry by the efficient and extremely nice looking young bellhop. "You wound me, Scully," Mulder replied with a hand to his chest. "Besides, I got over my English cockroach fetish years ago." He had his hand to her back all the way to the desk. "Mulder," he said. "Fox Mulder. I have reservations." The desk clerk, this time a pretty brunette, smiled brightly. "Of course, Mr. Mulder. Right here. One room suite, on the third floor, over looking the gardens . . ." She appeared to be about to launch into a full description when Mulder held up his hand. "Thank you, that's fine," he said quickly, hoping Scully wasn't listening too closely. He'd been putting off telling her about the 'one room'. It had been entirely impulse, since his room was paid for, but the best logic seemed to dim in the harsh light of day. He was about to turn around and confess his sin when his eyes caught sight of something that made him cringe and slouch to hide all at once. "Oh my Gawd! It's can't be! But it must! Fox, Fox Mulder! Fancy meeting up with you here of all places!" Scully looked up in time to see Mulder turn several shades of red and slowly shake his head. A ruddy face, belonging to a man about the same height as her partner suddenly came very close to Scully. She reared back with a start. "Oh, my, Fox, you are doing well for yourself, aren't you? She's quite fetching!" "Freddie. Imagine my delight," Mulder said, his voice completely devoid of any emotion. Scully had to struggle to keep from laughing out loud. Freddie took no offense and happily pounded Mulder on the back. "Just like old times, eh, 'old chum'? So what brings you back to the haunts? Tired of the rat race in the States? Still working for the Secret Police over across the pond?" "The FBI is not . . ." But before he could really work up a head of steam, Scully stepped forward and offered Freddie her hand. "Hello. I'm Dana Scully. And you are . . .?" "Fredrick Nelson Blumford, the third, right, Freddie?" Mulder said before Freddie had a chance. "And I'm here to present a paper at the Psychology Symposium." "Good show, old chum," Freddie said with obvious good cheer. "Say, I'm attending the symposium myself. Not presenting, of course. I did that a few years back. Dana," he said, switching gears at light speed. "What a positively lovely name. Scully, did you say? Are you visiting the old sod after the conference?" Scully proceeded to enlighten dear Freddie that she was only staying for the conference, ignoring Mulder's growing discomfort as he collected the room key from the desk clerk. She gave him her full attention when he turned back to her, red faced. "About Freddie, Scully, . . ." he said in an apologetically whisper next to her ear. "Mulder, it's fine," she assured him. She pasted on a smile and looked back at Freddie, still all ears and grin. "Well, it was certainly nice running into one of Mulder's old friends from his college days," Scully said with as much sincerity as she could muster. "Oh, well then, you have to join us tonight. A few of the Elban's crowd are getting together at the Electric Eel. You remember the place, Fox. Or were you too stoned out of your head to . . ." "I remember," Mulder said abruptly. "About 9ish," Freddie said, gleefully. "Dana, it was a pleasure." He took her hand and brought it to his lips in a faint kiss. Scully resisted the urge to wipe her hand on her suit jacket, and just smiled and nodded. "What a monumental ass," Scully sighed when Freddie was out of earshot. "Were all your friends like that?" She hadn't really meant to, but she was already seeing mental images of Phoebe and Freddie carrying Mulder home after a night of pub-crawling. "Freddie was studying to be a boor. Family business. His father was a boor, his grandfather was a boor. I think the whole lot was boorish right back to the Norman invasion," Mulder said with a twinkle in his eyes. "He hung around us because he thought intelligence was contagious. I forgot what a shit he was. Sorry 'bout that, Scully. I had no idea he'd be here. And we don't have to go to the pub tonight." "No, Mulder. Now I'm intrigued. Who else do you think is here, of the 'old Elban's crowd'?" She hated the fact that her voice had taken on that 'catty' quality, as her mother often called it. What really burned her was that Mulder picked up on it. "Gee, it's funny to watch your eyes turn green, Scully," he said with a teasing grin. "Phoebe didn't go to St. Elban's." Scully looked confused. "Then how . . ." "A guy in my staircase, um, that's like a cross between a dorm and an apartment complex, was dating a girl in her staircase. There was a party, we met, . . . you can use that line again any time now, Scully." "No, I prefer not to think of that particular portion of history, thank you," she said airily and hurried onto the elevator with the bellhop struggle to keep up. As it worked out, Scully was the first to enter the room. Her squeal of joy caused Mulder to reach for his absent weapon. He managed to push his way around the bellhop and lorry and found his usually reserved partner sitting on the edge of a four poster bed, bouncing up and down with an enormous smile on her face. "Mulder, it's like a castle!" she exclaimed as she hopped off the bed and went to explore the rest of the room. "There's a balcony!" she called. "And two sinks in the bathroom!" She finally came back into the room, flushed with excitement only to stop short and catch her lower lip between her teeth staring intently at the four poster bed. "It's the only room we have, Scully," Mulder said guiltily as he joined her in staring at the now offensive piece of furniture. "And I was under the impression it would have two beds. I'm sorry." Scully's heart cracked at his sincere apology. But she knew as well as he did that it was a topic they'd been putting off for too long. How many months would she have to ponder a kiss on an airplane the same way she'd pondered a kiss in a hallway. Maybe it was time to stop pondering and start acting on their feelings. She looked up and realized Mulder was still standing there, waiting for her answer. She smiled brightly at him and he sighed in relief. The bellhop was still standing there, calmly inspecting the ceiling for any cracks. Mulder dug into his pocket and pulled out a bill without looking at it, then shoved it into the bellhop's hand. "Thanks, I think we can handle it from here." "But sir, I was just going to show you the amenities," the bellhop protested as Mulder firmly pushed him out the door. He turned back to his partner to find the earlier excitement had disappeared a look of hesitation had taken up residence on her face. "Mulder, I want you to understand something," Scully said with that quiet firmness that he knew meant trouble. His heart sank. He'd preferred the 'other' Scully, the one bouncing on the bed like a kid. This Scully he'd seen too often. It was the 'oh brother' Scully that had shattered his heart in a million pieces in a hospital room over a year before. He straightened up, not realizing that he'd slumped down so much and met her gaze with a faint smile. "Scully, are you suggesting that I can't be a gentleman?" The slight frown was quickly replaced with a flush of embarrassment. "Mulder, no! Of course not. That's not what I meant, I mean I don't want to rush into . . ." She stopped and narrowed her eyes when she realized he was enjoying her little display far more than she was. "OK, Mulder. I get the game. Fine, we share the big bed. But if I wake up and you have all the covers, this time when I take aim, it will be _much_ lower." She grabbed her bag and headed for the bathroom. "I get first shower," she called and wished she could have stayed to see the look on his face. end of part three Vickie Come visit our websites brought to you by the fabulous Shirley Smiley! http://susanproto.freeservers.com http://vickiemoseley.freeservers.com From: Vickie Moseley The Oxford Files: Going Home 04 By Susan Proto (STPteach@aol.com) &Vickie Moseley (vmoseley@fgi.net) The room phone rang and Scully picked it up. "Hello?" she answered tentatively as she wondered who would be calling. "Yes, he's here. Hold on one moment, please." Scully placed her hand over the mouthpiece as she offered it to her partner. "It's a Mrs. MacFarley," she said softly. "Mrs. Mac?" Mulder replied incredulously and eagerly took the phone from Scully's hands. "Hello? Mrs. Mac, is that you?" Scully watched Mulder smile from ear to ear. She hadn't seen him look so delighted, well, since he'd kissed her on the concord. "Yes, of course, we'd be delighted to attend. Thank you, Mrs. Mac, and please thank the professor for thinking of me." Scully chuckled to herself as she watched him nod in silent response, and wondered for whose benefit did her partner think he was nodding in agreement. When he hung up the phone, he had an extremely self-satisfied grin on his face and boldly stated the obvious, "That was Mrs. Mac." When Scully's reaction didn't quite meet up with his expectations, he continued, "She's the professor's housekeeper. Though, in reality, I think she has a thing for the old man. She's not exactly a youngster herself, but not nearly as elderly as he is. " "You sound a little fond of her yourself," Scully said gently. "Yeah, I guess I am. Mrs. Mac, well, she was one of the first people to make me feel at home here. I don't know if you're aware of it or not, Scully, but as an American I had to prove myself worthy of being at Oxford," he admitted. "Yanks weren't to be trusted?" Scully concluded. "I wouldn't say it was quite as negative as that, but I certainly had to demonstrate my loyalty to St. Elban's and the rest of my mates for a bit longer than most before I was truly accepted," he explained. Scully had to smile at the way Mulder fell back into using the English slang so comfortably. She realized that Mulder somehow seemed more relaxed since they'd stepped onto British soil than she'd ever seen him back home. She was unsure as to how she felt about that. "So," he continued, "I guess the fact that Mrs. Mac was more than willing to play 'Mother Hen' was a real comfort to me, especially when I first arrived. "What is it with you and women wanting to mother you, Mulder?" Scully retorted with a chuckle. "I think if my mother could officially adopt you, she would, and now you tell me Mrs. MacFarley was a surrogate mother to you as well." "Yeah, I guess," Mulder replied with a small laugh, though Scully failed to see the irony in its tone. Mulder couldn't help but think to himself what a twist of fate it truly was that while other women were more than willing to lend him love and support, his own mother found it much more difficult to do so. He cleared his throat to help wipe away uncomfortable thoughts and continued, "Anyway, she's informed me that the professor would like us to join him for Tea." "What a lovely gesture, Mulder. When?" Scully replied. "Well, given that we'd just arrived, the professor is delaying Tea until six o'clock." Scully looked down at her watch and when she realized she hadn't set it ahead the necessary six hours, she quickly looked about the room until her eye caught a digital clock. Five twenty-two. Oh boy. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Scully was ravenous but didn't say anything to Mulder. She didn't want him to feel badly, since she knew he was so looking forward to seeing his former teacher, or rather tutor. Scully figured she'd just have to make do with the cups of tea, little finger sandwiches, and, if she were lucky, a biscuit or two. She figured she and Mulder would stop off for a real meal after their visit. So, when Mulder and Scully entered the Laing home, Scully silently warned her stomach to 'keep the gurgling to a dull roar.' Imagine her surprise when upon entering the dining room, she saw platter upon platter of food laid out on the table before her. "Oh, Fox, t'is wonderful to see you again, my boy. Now turn around and let me get a look at you," cried out Mrs. MacFarley, alternately hugging the unabashedly happy agent and turning him around to 'get a good look.' "Oh, you've gone and gotten yourself way too thin again me boy. What am I going to do with you? We'll have to see which of my dear departed mother's recipes will work in a pinch, now won't we?" She hugged him one more time, and then turned towards Scully. "And who is this lovely, wee lass?" she asked tenderly. "This is my partner, and my best friend, Mrs. Mac. This is Sc__, umm, Dana. Dana Scully," he corrected himself quickly. "Scully? Now that would be an old Irish name, wouldn't it dear?" Mrs. Mac asked rhetorically. Upon seeing Scully's slight nod in the affirmative, she said, "I thought so. Well, I'm of course a Scots woman myself, and our dear Mr. Laing is from the highland as well, but Ireland is a lovely place, too, my dear Dana. T'isn't Scotland of course, but you're a lovely wee thing, and I'm sure your Irish ancestors must be very proud of you. "Now, we're expecting a couple of more guests for dinner, but don't let that stop you from helping yourself to a bit of a taste," she encouraged. "I'm going to let our Mr. Laing know you're here. He's going to be so delighted." Mulder smiled at that and offered his thanks. When Mrs. Mac left the room, Scully looked at Mulder and pronounced, "I can't believe this," as she surveyed the trays of food. "Mulder, I thought we were coming for 'Tea', not a meal." "Why? Aren't you hungry, Scully?" "I'm famished! It's just that I'm surprised, however pleasantly. I thought having tea meant a cucumber sandwich and a cup of Earl Gray," she responded. "Oh!" Mulder chuckled, finally comprehending the misunderstanding. "The professor isn't English, Scully. He's Scottish, and when Scots say 'Tea' they mean dinner, as in a meal. I'm sorry. I knew that but didn't think to explain it. Umm, surprise!" he teased smiling. "Thanks, a lot, Mulder." She looked at him thoughtfully and once again marveled at how happy he appeared. He seemed to fit in this room with its old, Victorian style furniture and its beautiful Lenox pieces displayed so carefully, yet without pretentiousness. Several minutes passed and the doorbell rang. When Mulder noted that Mrs. Mac was nowhere to be seen, he took it upon himself to go answer the door, while Scully remained in the dining room. "MULDER! My goodness, I can't believe it's really you! Mulder, old man, how are you!" Scully heard from the other room. Next she heard Mulder cry out, "Holbrook, you sot, I'm doing great! Look at you! You haven't changed a bit!" The conversation continued as Mulder and a man and woman joined Scully in the dining room. Scully saw a man slightly shorter, though most definitely wider, than Mulder enter the room along with a woman who followed mutely behind them. The two men continued to chatter on, while Scully and the other woman stood and waited patiently, to a point. "Ahem," interrupted Scully. When she received no reaction from the two men, she looked quickly over at the other female guest who promptly gave her an understanding smile. The two of them then cleared their throats simultaneously in the hopes of gaining their escorts' attention. This time it worked. "Oh, my goodness," called out Holbrook, where are my manners? Of course we haven't a clue where yours are, mate, now do we? Must have left them over on the other side of the pond, wouldn't you say?" "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Holbrook, but we all know you and Emily Post were never exactly on a first name basis either," Mulder replied teasingly. "Anyway, Scully, I want to introduce you to one of my mates from good ol' St. Elban's, Andrew Holbrook." "Scully?" he echoed curiously. "Odd little name for a rather lovely woman, don't you think, Caroline?" Holbrook stated to the woman who'd accompanied him that evening. "Dana," interjected Scully. "My name is Dana Scully; unfortunately Mulder and I are so used to calling each other by our surnames in work related situations, we tend to continue the habit even with civilians." "Civilians?" asked the as yet to be introduced woman. "I'm sorry, allow me to introduce myself as my delightful, but etiquette-challenged husband has failed to do so. I'm Caroline Holbrook." Both Mulder and Scully murmured their hellos and then Scully responded to the real question Caroline had inferred. "We're both FBI agents, Caroline. We tend to use our surnames so there's little chance of confusing us with the bad guys when we're out in the field." "Confusing?" roared Holbrook. "How many bad guys do you know named 'Fox?'" "Drew, don't start," Mulder chimed in quickly. "Fox?" Caroline echoed. "Tell me your name isn't really Fox!" Scully unconsciously braced herself for what she was sure was going to be an ugly scene. She'd seen it happen all too often before, when someone discovered Mulder's first name and teased him unmercifully. He tensed up, and though he'd always held his anger in check, he remained annoyed and silent. She feared all of the joy he'd been feeling earlier was going to disappear for the rest of the evening. Yet, when Mulder did speak, his words were thoroughly unexpected. "Yes, Caroline," he confirmed with a huge grin, "I am truly a Fox. Just ask my mother," he added with only a hint of a leer. While Caroline started laughing, delighted with the promise of an enjoyable evening, Scully stood and watched the scene take place before her with her mouth slightly agape. She found it difficult to believe that this man, the same Fox Mulder who'd informed her oh so many years ago that his own parents didn't call him by his first name, was now making jokes about it. This was definitely a side of her partner she'd never seen before. She wasn't sure where the ambiguous feelings about it were coming from. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Shortly after the Holbrooks arrived, Thomas Evans and Ann Hilton arrived together. Both were also former classmates of Mulder's and Holbrook's, and though they'd been friends for years, the two had only become romantically involved with one another within the last six months. As the introductions among the peers were completed, Mrs. Mac entered the room and informed the group that Mr. Laing would be joining them later on for a bit o' tea. "The years seem to have taken what little appetite our dear Mr. Laing had," she explained, "so he'll rest up a bit while you young people get a chance to catch up with one another. He'll join you soon." Which is just what the 'young' people did. They helped themselves to the feast Mrs. MacFarley had prepared in anticipation of their visit and heaped food upon their plates. Mulder called out to the loving older woman and said, "Mrs. Mac, you've done it again. If you cooked for me all the time, I daresay I'd be in the heavyweight class right now!" That was met by a multitude of mumbled and garbled agreements as they'd all attempted to eat and speak at the same time. Mrs. Mac poked her head back into the room, waved them off with a bit of a blush to her cheeks, and went back to tend to dear Mr. Laing. "Mulder, there is something I'm wondering about," Scully said. "What's that?" "Well, I've heard you refer to our host as 'the professor', yet Mrs. Mac calls him 'Mr.' Laing and not 'Professor' Laing. What is his correct title?" she asked curiously. "Oh," Mulder began, nodding his understanding over his partner's confusion. "The title of professor is really very uncommon here at Oxford. In fact, Mr. Laing's correct title is 'Fellow' at St. Elban's College, but that's a formal title to describe his position at the college and not really a title we use to address him. "The 'professor' moniker is actually one I use for him, and my mates kind of picked up on it. I think it's one of the few American euphemisms they actually mimicked of mine," Mulder said to the acknowledged agreement of the others. "When we address the professor, we would say 'Mr.' Laing, Scully," Mulder clarified. Scully thanked everyone for the clarification and then went back to the more important task at hand, avoiding the Haggis at all costs, and relishing the Scottish pies, Stovies, and beautiful fresh Scottish Salmon. She noticed, much to her surprise, Mulder try what appeared to be some kind of a vegetable dish. "Do my eyes deceive me, Mulder, or are you eating something that resembles a vegetable?" she razzed. When he smirked at her remark, she lightened up and said, "Seriously, it looks interesting. What is it?" "It was one of the few ways Mrs. Mac got a vegetable in me," he said and then calling out to the kitchen area he called, "Wasn't it Mrs. Mac?" The older woman poked her head into the room to acknowledge Mulder's comment and said, "Now, there isn't a man, woman, or child alive that doesn't enjoy my Colcannon, and don't you forget it, Fox Mulder!" She slipped back into the kitchen as quickly as she'd appeared. Everyone, but especially Mulder, chuckled out loud. "It's a peasant dish, I suppose, Scully. It's made up of boiled cabbage, carrots, and potatoes," he explained. "Don't forget the turnips, Fox Mulder!" called out the eavesdropping elder Scots woman from the kitchen. "And there's turnips," Mulder conceded with a grin. "Mrs. Mac just cooks it up in a pan with some butter, salt and pepper, and I make it disappear. Of course the first time Mrs. MacFarley served it to me, I think I nearly fainted. I couldn't remember the last time a vegetable passed through these lips, much less something that had a turnip in it." "But you ate it," said Mrs. Mac from her perch in the doorway, "and if my memory recalls, you had not only seconds, but thirds as well." Back into the kitchen she went, while Mulder could do nothing more than smile and nod in agreement. Some time passed and the conversation ranged from catching up on other former classmates to the standings of the St. Elban's rowing teams, particularly the 'First Eight.' Scully quickly learned that Mulder was a member of the prestigious 'First Eight' rowing team and was apparently a huge asset in the team's award of a 'Blue.' Not wanting to appear totally ignorant, she assumed that was some kind of a trophy or award for winning competitions. Next they spoke of their never ending political debates in the "King's Arms" pub. Mulder was apparently a bit of a radical in those days, and wore his hair rather long for Oxford's standards. He was actually a popular client of the "King's Arms" and Drew in particular reminisced fondly of the long, drawn out discussions of the pros and cons of socialized medicine and government's role in it. It surprised Scully to learn it was Drew who was opposed to it, while Mulder was apparently very much in favor of socialized medicine and the need for government intervention. "I still do think that to a degree," was all Mulder would say. All Scully could think was the man continued to unfold like a flower. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The stomachs of the six young people were full, and the conversation became quieter and less animated. Mrs. MacFarley began to clear the dishes and everyone quickly jumped up to assist. "Oh, dear me! Don't be hopping up and down like little jack rabbits on my account," she admonished. "I can manage." "We always helped you clean up before Mrs. Mac, and we're not about to stop now," declared Mulder smiling. "C'mon mates, lets get this mess into the kitchen p/d/q!" "Mulder, forgive me, but I have never seen you move so fast to clean up after dinner before as I have this evening," gibed Scully. "Ah, Dana, you've also never seen our laddy, Fox, here inhale a piece of my famous Black Bun for dessert!" retorted Mrs. MacFarley. "You did? You made a Black Bun?" cried out Mulder. The man was practically squealing in glee. Scully couldn't help but giggle out loud at the sight of seeing her thirty-eight year old partner be reduced to that of an overgrown toddler at the mere mention of some kind of dessert. "Scully, wait until you taste this! It's incredible! It's a fruitcake, but not like any fruitcake you've ever had before. I mean, this tastes good!" he said exuberantly. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The dishes were cleared and everyone sat down in the comfortable den to have their tea and Black Bun while they waited Mr. Laing to join them. They sat quietly, sipping their tea and taking small bites of the very rich, slightly ginger-spiced, fruitcake. It was, Scully discovered, quite edible and in fact delicious. Not too long after, an elderly, white haired man appeared in the doorway. He walked with a cane in hand, yet he didn't appear to place too much weight on it. His posture was upright and he gave the appearance of being taller than he really was. When Scully stood up to participate in the greetings, she discovered he wasn't nearly as tall as Mulder and not that much taller than herself. The Holbrooks extended their hands in greeting and Drew introduced his wife, Caroline. Next, Thomas and Ann offered their hands for a shake and heard their former teacher declare it was about time the two of them had gotten together. This of course astonished the couple, not so much that Mr. Laing would make the comment, but that evidently it was something he'd given some consideration to in the past and that it would occupy his thoughts. At this point, Mr. Laing did a slight double take and asked Mrs. MacFarley, "Where is our young man, Mr. Blumford? Weren't you able to ring up Fredrick?" "Oh, my, Mr. Laing, I dinna call Mr. Blumford. I'd gotten so involved in the cooking preparations that I simply forgot to get hold of him! I don't know where my mind goes sometimes," the small Scots woman apologized. "Well, that certainly explains his absence. We both know had you remembered, Freddie would have been the first one here this evening, ever the ready to eat us out of house and home," Laing responded with a bit of a twinkle in his eye. "All is forgiven, Mrs. MacFarley. "Thank you, Mr. Laing. I'll go get the tea ready now," she said as she walked out of the door. Before she left, however, she gave Mulder and Scully a quick look, and if they weren't mistaken, it was a small wink of the eye. Scully smiled outright; Mrs. MacFarley had apparently forgotten to call Fredrick Nelson Blumford, III quite on purpose. Personally, she was quite grateful for the older woman's memory lapse. Finally, it was Mulder's turn and he too reached out to take the hand of the older man standing before him. It was to Mulder's astonishment then, that after grasping his hand, Mr. Laing then pulled the younger man toward him into a surprisingly strong bear hug. Mulder was stunned. He was suddenly overcome with emotion he didn't realize he'd been harboring, and for the first time in a long time was rendered speechless. "Well, now I know I've truly accomplished something. I've stunned Mr. Mulder into silence," said the elder Scotsman in a delightful Scottish brogue. "C'mon, Lad, find your voice so you can introduce me to your lovely lady here." Scully's Irish coloring betrayed her immediately, but she quickly extended her hand and introduced herself, as she didn't think Mulder could speak at that point. "I'm Dana Scully, Sir. I'm Mulder's partner with the Federal Bureau of Investigation." "Aye, such a wee lass you are, so you must be a might clever one to be able to watch over this one," he said. Scully couldn't help but laugh at the astonishingly accurate portrayal Mr. Laing made of her partnership with Fox Mulder, and before Mulder could say anything to dispute it, she confirmed his assessment by quickly saying, "It's apparent you are a very wise man, Mr. Laing." Everyone, including Mulder, had a good chuckle over that, and they all seated themselves, having saved the oversized, comfortable leather armchair for 'the professor.' ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The conversation was mainly a repetition of the earlier discussions as a means of bringing Mr. Laing up to date on the lives of his former students. Occasionally, someone would remember some humorous crisis that one or all of them had to go through and they would all have a good laugh over it. Caroline and Scully had to endure most of it without really knowing what they were talking about. Though Caroline was British, much of the Oxford culture was alien to her. She had lived in the states for a number of years and had also attended college in the states. Caroline wondered aloud if Oxford's traditions seemed a bit archaic and perhaps they needed to look a bit more forward and perhaps use American Universities as a model. Mr. Laing smiled. "That reminds me of a wee story," he began. "There was a Scottish farmer working hard in his field, digging up his tatties. An American farmer looked over the fence and said, 'In Texas we grow potatoes five times larger than that!' The Scotsman replied, 'Ah, but we just grow them for our own mouths, son!" Caroline was a bit taken aback at the inference, but realized she was, if nothing else, outnumbered and decided to take her lumps graciously. "Well, I'll just grow some smaller potatoes from now on," she said with a smile, and everyone laughed in relief with her. The evening was fast turning into night, and as Mr. Laing tired more easily, everyone felt it was soon time to take their leave. Mulder and Scully in particular were beginning to feel the effects of jet lag, so they were none too upset to say their good-byes. Ann and Thomas were the first to bade good night and then the Holbrooks quickly followed. Finally, Mulder and Scully found it was their turn. Mr. Laing grasped Mulder's hand tightly and said, "It's good to see you again, Fox. When you'd left all those years ago, before you finished your research, I dinna know if I would see you again. I'm a happy man tonight, Fox Mulder. I'm a happy man, indeed." He then pulled him into a hug again, which left the younger man once again speechless. "My, my, I dinna know that was possible!" joked the tutor. He then turned to Scully and drew her into his strong arms. "You take care of him, Lassie. He's a good man, who dinna always get the right opportunities at the right times. Watch out for him. Help him be happy." And with that he released her and wished them both a good night. end of part 04 Vickie Come visit our websites brought to you by the fabulous Shirley Smiley! http://susanproto.freeservers.com http://vickiemoseley.freeservers.com From: Vickie Moseley The Oxford Files: Going Home 05 by Vickie Moseley (vmoseley@fgi.net) and Susan Proto (STPteach@aol.com) Scully let her head fall to the back of the seat and closed her eyes. It would have been so easy to fall asleep right there in the cab on the way back to the hotel. But a certain conversation in the lobby nagged at her brain. Without opening her eyes, she nudged her partner. "So, are we headed to the 'Electric Eel'?" Mulder chucked and slid an arm behind her, pulling her head on to his shoulder. "The Eel's not very conducive to sleep, Scully. And if you did fall asleep, someone would mistake you for an overdose and you'd wake up in the ER." She cracked one eye to look up at him. "Really, Mulder, all I need is to splash some water on my face, and I'm good to go. I mean, if you really do want to go . . ." "Scully, it's a nice gesture, but I'm dead on my feet. I think we can pass. We'll see all the same people tomorrow at the symposium. I don't think I could face standing in a crowded bar listening to music that I turn off when I come to it on the radio." At her raised eyebrow he smiled at her. "Face it, Scully. I've become an old fogey, music-wise." She closed her eyes and shook her head. "That must make me _dead_, music-wise," she muttered. She felt his silent laughter and wondered again at it. In the last 18 hours, she'd heard, or felt, her partner laugh more than possibly in their entire time together. Laughter came so easily to him here. So unlike the office or even when they were on a case. She wondered for a moment how different a man he might have been had he stayed in England and continued his studies, then returned to the US and found a nice professorship somewhere. "Scully, wake up. We're almost there," he said soft and low in her ear. His breath stirred her hair and sent a chill down her back. Suddenly, the image of that four-poster bed flashed through her mind and she swallowed hard. 'Don't you think I can be a gentleman?' Mulder had accused her. What he didn't realize is that she had no doubt he could be a gentleman, he had been nothing but for 7 years time. The real problem was, she was sick and tired of being a 'lady'. At the same time, though, she was terrified to initiate the next logical step. And since her partner had made it abundantly clear that he expected her to lead the way, they were pretty much at an impasse. It was starting to drive her crazy. 'When the apple is ripe, it'll fall.' She had no idea why that particular bit of wisdom from her Grandmother Scully suddenly came to her, but it seemed to ring true. It would happen, all in good time. The most important thing for her to remember was to quit worrying about the 'when' and concentrate on the 'now'. She felt the car pull to a full stop and heard Mulder pay the cabbie. He leaned over her again, and this time, placed a kiss on the crown of her head. She opened her eyes to his. "I'm awake," she said in a whisper. "Good. I'm too tired to carry you upstairs," he returned lightly. He took her hand and helped her out of the cab. She took a step and his hand fell to it's customary position on the small of her back. She smiled to herself. All in good time. But not now. All she could think of was how wonderful that overstuffed mattress would feel on her aching body. They made their way to the elevator, and this time, it was Mulder who looked like he would fall asleep standing up. She grinned at him, held up only by the handrail and the polished mahogany paneling. His hair was slightly mussed, and falling in his eyes again, his tie was askew, one tail of his shirt was threatening to escape the tight confines of his belt. He looked like he'd already been to the pub and back. She just hoped he could make it all the way to the room. The chime sounded and the elevator doors slid open with a faint metallic squeal. Both of them sighed in unison and then grinned at each other. They'd been there before, too tired to move their feet, but needing the support of a bed more than the next breath. One look into each other's eyes was all it took and they launched themselves out of the cab of the elevator and into the hallway. Mulder dug in his pocket for the key to the room and when he opened the door, almost fell over the threshold. "I think they could put our pictures next to the words 'jet lag' in the dictionary," Scully moaned as she kicked off her shoes by the door and curled her toes on the plush carpet. "Wake me in the next millennium," Mulder groaned as he pulled off his tie and slipped off his jacket. He reached for his belt buckle and all activity stopped. Mulder looked over at his partner, and blinked. One bed was one thing, stripping in the same room was another. Scully tactfully flipped open her suitcase, grabbed her pjs and her travel bag and headed for the bathroom. "Don't mind if I snag the bathroom first, do you?" she tossed over her shoulder. "Don't mind at all," she heard followed by an audible sigh of relief. "Take your time." She scrubbed her face, brushed her teeth, eased into her pjs and almost fell asleep standing in front of the mirror. When she figured he'd had enough time, she switched off the light and was pleased to note that a small golden night light glowed just bright enough to light her way back into the main room. In the shadows, she could see him, lying curled on his side facing the middle of the bed. She noted wryly that he had naturally fallen asleep on the left side. She usually preferred the right anyway. She padded around the bed and lifted the comforter and sheets. The smell of fresh linen wafted up to her, mixed with a faint scent of her partner's aftershave. She smiled to herself and crawled into bed, sighing heavily as her bones settled. Bliss. After a moment, she turned on her side and was just a bit surprised to feel a warm body snuggle up to her back. An arm, not overly heavy, but comforting, slid around her middle and fell limp. As she felt sleep overtake her, she realized that they were breathing in tandem. That thought carried her in to a deep and dreamless sleep. The snick of the door closing snapped her out of slumber. On instinct, she shot up and grabbed for her weapon, which would have been lying on the nightstand. Her eyes shot open at the same instant her hand hit cold wood, but no metal. Mulder laughed and her head whipped around to view him, standing in the center of the room with hands raised in surrender. He was in his running shorts and cut off sweat shirt and was dripping with sweat. "The most heinous crime I'm guilty of is body odor, Scully, but I admit, it might be a capital offense." She flopped down on the bed and flung his own pillow at him. "Jeez, Mulder, you gave me a heart attack," she growled. "What time is it?" The pillow boomeranged back at her, landed square on her nose and she shoved it off her face. "It's 5 after 7. I get first shower." She scrubbed at her eyes and sought the nightstand for the alarm clock. "What time do we have to be there?" she asked, confused and more than a little disgruntled at her rude awakening. She'd been hoping to wake up in her partner's arms, but that was obvious not in the cards for that morning. His garbled message came through the door of the bathroom and over the sound of running water. She shook her head in disgust and crawled over the tangled bedclothes to hop over to the bathroom door. "I said, what time . . ." The door flew open and a cloud of steam enveloped them both. Mulder, with half a face full of shaving cream and nothing but a towel secured firmly around his waist, waved a safety razor toward the desk at the far side of the room. "The schedule is in the front pocket of my briefcase," he said and closed the door again. She rolled her eyes. The man was trying to be infuriating and it wasn't even 7:30 in the morning! She plodded over to the identified briefcase and clawed through the front pocket. When she came to the proper day and opening time, she saw red. "Mulder! We don't have to be there until 10 o'clock! What the hell are you thinking?" she demanded. She tossed the sheets of paper back on the desk and stomped over to the bed, where she threw herself down on the mattress with enough forced to knock the posters against the wall, then buried herself in the blankets, trying to reclaim sleep. All the while, she muttered to herself about lunatic partners and insomnia being the scourge of the modern world. He came out just as she started to drift off. She heard him shuffle through his suit bag, and retreat into the bathroom again. When he came out the second time, her curiosity got the better of her and she cracked open her eyes. Her eyes almost popped out of her head. "What the hell are you wearing?" she demanded, and was slightly irritated when her voice squeaked. He looked down at himself and gave her an impish grin. "Sub-fusc," he replied. "Don't curse at me, Mulder, I asked a reasonable question. What are you dressed for . . . graduation?" He sat down on the edge of the bed and smiled affectionately at her. "I'm not dressed for graduation, Scully. Well, I guess I am, but I didn't wear this to graduation. I wore this to my exams. It's academic attire. Required of all formal occasions." "You don't have to wear . . ." she waved her hand toward her head and cringed. "A mortarboard? God, no! Besides, I never could keep the damned things on my head straight. No, just the gown." He stood up and motioned to it. "It still fits! Wish I could say that about my rugby jersey," he grinned. "What did you call it just now?" she asked, suddenly intrigued. "Sub-fusc," he repeated slowly. "And don't ask me what it means, because no one ever bothered to tell me. It's medieval, Scully. I'm just happy it doesn't come with chain mail," he added, then at her questioning look, he shook his head again. "All American history, weren't you?" he clucked in mild disdain. She narrowed her eyes again and he grinned at her teasingly. "So, are you going like that? Not that I'm complaining, mind you." He raked his eyes over her blue satin pajama top. "Mulder," she whined. "We don't have to be there for hours! Why did you wake me up so early?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished them back. His face fell and he stared at the floor. "Sorry, Scully. I should have let you sleep. I know how tired you were last night," he apologized and got up to nervously fiddle with the papers on the desk. "I just woke up and read over my paper, then I got antsy and went for a run. I really didn't even know what time . . ." She walked over and silenced him by placing a finger to his lips. "Mulder, it's all right. It's perfectly natural that you would be a bit . . . antsy, this morning. I'm sorry." She gave him her own sly smile. "You know I'm a shrew 'til that first cup of coffee," she added. He locked eyes with her and what she saw there made her catch her breath. "Never a shrew, Scully. Never that," he whispered. Then, just as on the plane, he leaned over toward her, but this time in slow motion. Time stopped and it was only Mulder, moving toward her, reaching her lips, pressing his mouth against hers and sending a message straight through to her soul. And there was a loud pounding on the door. But for once in their lives, they didn't let anything stop them. Mulder raised his hand to encircle her back and drew her closer. Scully reached up and tangled her fingers in the hair at the back of his head. The kiss deepened and they were both lost in the sensation. This time, the pounding threatened to splinter the wooden frame and was accompanied by a loud "Room Service!" It was enough to break the most enduring kiss. "That's the coffee," they said in unison and Scully giggled as Mulder hurried to the door and accepted the cart with a gleaming silver coffee service and a basket of fresh rolls and muffins. Scully wiped her mouth and chewed lightly on her bottom lip. A few more kisses like that one and there wouldn't be any apples left on the tree, she mused. Her partner handed her a cup of coffee and smiled at her. Most assuredly, them apples were due to be picked but there were other things to attend to that day. The auditorium was still fairly deserted when they arrived an hour later. Mulder had hurried her through her shower, nagged at her through the closed door as she dried her hair and applied her make up. Never before had the man shown her his true colors and they were all glorious shades of testosterone. She did quicken her pace, if only to ensure that her partner didn't have a stroke before his presentation. Now that they had arrived, he was more wound up than ever. "If you don't settle down, Mr. Mulder, you'll wear a groove in the flooring of the stage. I dare say the administration would have something to say about that," came a voice from the far end of the auditorium. Mulder shielded his eyes with his hands, and his jaw dropped open in shock. "Sir, uh, I didn't think I'd see you here today," he said, hopping off the stage and hurrying up the aisle. Scully, who had been sitting in the front row, turned to squint into the darkened back of the large room to get a glimpse of the commotion. Before long, an elderly man, leaning heavily on a cane, made his way out of the shadows. "Mr. Laing," Scully gasped and hurried to help Mulder, who was already assisting his former tutor down the carpeted aisle. She met them in time to help him into a seat next to her. "I don't know why you look so surprised, Mr. Mulder. You don't think I'd miss an opportunity to give you one more grade, did you?" the older gentleman said with a twinkle in his eyes. "It was a lot easier when it was just you in the audience, sir," Mulder said self-consciously. Laing leaned forward and grasped Mulder by the arm. "You have it in you, Fox. It's been a long time, but I don't think anything could dampen that spirit you have, or that mind. I've been waiting for you to come back to us. I'm happy I was still alive to see the day." Silently, Scully watched the exchange. Her chest constricted and her stomach turned over. Although the old man's words were meant to be reassuring and comforting, to her ears, they held more than a little to be afraid of. Was Mulder coming home? Was this the one place on earth that could allow him to find peace and finally walk away from his quest? But where did that leave her? "I just hope you're still glad _after_ you hear the presentation, sir," Mulder said good naturedly. In the blink of an eye, the hour and a half presentation was over and Mulder was greeted with a standing ovation from his former peers. Scully could see the blush on his face start at his collar and proceed up his cheeks, as she clapped loud and long beside his former tutor. When the thunder receded, Mulder sheepishly stepped down from the stage, only to be swarmed by well-wishers, pushing Scully off to the side. A hand on her shoulder caused her to jump and she spun around to find Fredrick Blumford grinning like a jackal. "I really didn't know the old boy had it in him," Freddie said conspiratorially. "Guess he'll be kissing the FBI goodbye soon enough." Scully's face froze into a placid mask. "Oh, I don't know about that. Mulder has a good position with the Bureau. I don't think one presentation is likely to change his life that dramatically." Freddie laughed, but it sounded more like a leer. "Oh, my dear Ms. Scully, old Laing over there has been working on your friend for some time. And the administration as well. Someone of Mulder's stature, an FBI profiler, teaching abnormal and deviant psychology at Elban's, it would be quite a coup for the old school. And they are prepared, after this morning, to make that offer, . . . how do you yanks say it? Too good to refuse?" Just in time, someone else called Freddie's name and he winked at Scully before fading into the crowd. More than ever, she wanted to get through the admirers and see her partner. Touch his hand. Make any kind of connection she possibly could. But a hand on her sleeve stopped her again. "Why Dr. Scully! I suspected you'd be about." Scully didn't have to turn around to recognize that voice. It haunted her dreams for months after her initial meeting. "Inspector Greene," Scully said, forcing her facial armor into a more pleasing smile. "I knew we'd run into each other." Phoebe smiled predatorily. "He was smashing today, wasn't he? A far cry from the pariah of the FBI, don't you think?" "Our work is very important," Scully said evenly and felt her faade crack just a bit. "Oh, I'm sure you've convinced yourself it is, my dear," Phoebe said with a wink. "All that running around . . . chasing this, that and whatever." "You seemed to think it was important enough to fly all the way to America for a 'consult'," Scully sneered. "Indeed. I never said he wasn't brilliant. He just needs a . . . better handler, should we say? Oh, excuse me, I forgot. Are you two still teamed up together? But of course, there wouldn't be any other reason you'd be here with him, would there. Work related only, isn't that the way it is?" Without giving Scully the time to blacken her eye, Phoebe pushed through the crowd to Mulder. He greeted her warmly, then turned to another in the crowd. Scully faded further to the back and found a seat. That was where he found her, some twenty minutes later. The crowd had left, only Mr. Laing sat talking to Mulder. Suddenly, he looked around and found his partner sitting six rows up and on the far side of the auditorium. He took his leave of his former tutor and made his way over to her slowly, gauging her mood as he walked. "Remind me to wear boxing gloves if I ever attempt this again," he said, dropping down beside her with a tired sigh. She swallowed all the rejection she'd been feeling and forced a truly happy smile on her face. "I told you it was fabulous, Mulder. But, like always, you couldn't believe me," she teased. "They were being kind," he said, brushing off the reaction he'd received. "Kind? Mulder, 'kind' is when they politely clap for a couple of seconds and a few people walk up and say 'thank you'. That was _adoration_ a few minutes ago. You really knocked their socks off!" "Did you like it, Scully? I mean, did it come off all right?" She was floored by the earnestness in his eyes. It warmed her tremendously when she realized how desperately he was seeking her approval. "It was wonderful, Mulder. You did a fantastic job. Truly fantastic." He leaned over again, and kissed her, with all the passion he'd displayed in the hotel earlier that morning. When he pulled away to let her catch her breath, he drew her head down to his shoulder and kissed her hair. "Where were you? I kept looking for you and you never showed." Her heart ached a little at the accusation. She swallowed and took his hand in hers. "I couldn't get through the crowd." He chuckled. "Now, who was being polite? Remember Scully, I've seen you take down guys three times the size of anyone here today." She punched him lightly in the shoulder. "Mulder, I wasn't going to 'take down' a bunch of psychology professors just so I could shake your hand. I figured I could give you my 'best wishes' any time." He ran his fingers through her hair and looked deep into her eyes. "Still, next time, I want you standing beside me." A gleam formed in his eyes. "I had no one to watch my back and had to hug Phoebe," he chided with a grin. "I had already frisked her. She wasn't armed," Scully shot back in perfect 'Mulder' deadpan. "You don't know Phoebe," Mulder said with a rueful expression. "Her wit is the sharpest dagger known to man." "Mulder, Freddie said something. Something about Mr. Laing and the administration . . ." Mulder sighed and shook his head. "Freddie has a big mouth. And it's nothing, really. Laing wants me to finish my doctorate. I'm so close, well over half the research is finish. But I'd be required to spend another year in residence. He said I could get a teaching position, but that's a pipe dream, Scully. I don't belong here anymore." Before she could answer, he looked at his watch. "Oh, damn it. We're late for lunch. C'mon, one of the perks of these things is the spread they lay out. We gotta hurry or all the good salmon will be gone!" He grabbed her hand and pulled her up, then ushered her out of the hall. The luncheon almost put the previous night's dinner to shame. The dining hall, which was opulent beyond Scully's wildest imaginings, was filled to capacity, and the heavy banquet tables held an array of food down the length of each. "Mulder, I don't think I'm going to make the weight limit on the return flight," Scully joked as she seated herself next to him at the table. She was slightly pleased to see that they were not at the head table, but noticed that Mr. Laing and a number of older men were there. "So, who are they?" she asked, nodding in the direction of the head table. "Faculty and administration. A couple of members of the House of Lords. Oh, I think at least one member of the royals." At Scully's stunned expression, he laughed. "Don't worry, Scully. We're not talking about any one you would recognize." "Well, looking at this table, I know why Fergie is a spokeswoman for Weight Watchers," Scully muttered and was rewarded with another chuckle from her partner. She looked up at the table again and noticed Mr. Laing in deep conversation with none other than Freddie Blumford. "So where does Freddie work?" Scully asked innocently as the platters of food were passed around the table. "Freddie doesn't work, at least not that I know of. I suspect he's trying to get on the faculty here. His father wouldn't let him in the family business, which is shipping and export if memory serves me right. Freddie would have the family fortune gone in a New York minute. But I'm sure his father made some demand that he have some productive endeavor. Academics is a real haven for the Freddies of the world." Scully watched the conversation for a while, since Mulder became engaged in a rather hostile debate over the merits of Jung over Skinner (B.F., not A.D., she noted). At the head table, Mr. Laing seemed increasingly irritated and Freddie seemed increasingly annoyed. Finally, the gray haired gentleman seated next to Mr. Laing intervened and Freddie left the banquet hall in a huff. Scully shook her head and went back to enjoying her meal. The afternoon seemed to drag. Scully found very little of interest in the rest of the papers presented. Not that she was prejudiced, but her partner's research at least held her attention. The relative merits of one psychotherapist's work over another had never been a big draw for her. But Mulder seemed to be caught up in the presentations, raptly attentive. She fought hard not to yawn and nod off. After the last seminar, there was another tea. This was considerably more formal than the dinner at Mr. Laing's and was more in line with Scully's idea of what an English tea would be. Several members of the faculty, many of who were meeting Mulder for the first time, made their way up to him to congratulate him on his work and inquire as to where he intended to publish his paper. Scully stood off to the side again, watching her partner as he graciously accepted the praise being showered on him. It made her ache a little, but he seemed so happy. In his element. She wondered if she'd ever seen him that happy before. The faculty tea ended by 5:30 and the two agents made their way back to the hotel. Mulder collapsed on the bed and kicked off his shoes with a loud sigh. "I am _exhausted_!" he declared, but the glow had yet to leave his eyes. Scully sat on the desk chair and nodded in sympathy. "It was a long day and you started it pretty early. Why don't you take a nap?" He lifted his head and looked over to her. "On one condition. You join me," he said, patting the bedspread beside him. Scully wanted to look away, but Mulder held her gaze fast. She swallowed, wondering how the air had gotten so dry in the room. "A nap, Scully. I promise. Just a nap." Voices were warring inside her. One voice, sounding decidedly like the fourth grade teacher, Sr. Mary Matthews, was invoking all sorts of dire warnings. The other voice, sounding more like her sister Melissa, was chiding her for taking so long to get to the bed. But it was Scully's own voice that won out. "Scoot over, Mulder," she said confidently and with a big smile. She hopped on the bed, making sure to give it a bounce or two. Mulder's arms reached out and encircled her waist, snuggling her up close to him. "Ummm, this feels good," he said, but the last word was lost in a huge yawn. "Very good," Scully agreed, wiggling a little to find a comfortable position with her head in the crook of his shoulder. "You know, Mulder, you really did a great job today. I mean, I know you were nervous this morning, but you had no reason to be. I was very impressed." She stopped, expecting him to say something, but realized the only sound he was making was a quiet snore. She smiled affectionately and reached up to kiss him lightly on the lips. In his sleep, Mulder smiled. In moments, Scully joined him. In her dreams, she was in his arms. They were lying on a beach, the surf pounding just a mere couple of yards from their blanket. His body covered hers, pressing her into the soft sand underneath the blanket. He murmured her name as he rained kisses on her face. And she returned the kisses. Starting with his eyes, then his cheeks and his nose, she showered tiny kisses over his face. Finally, she found his mouth. It opened easily for her and her tongue darted inside, searching, seeking, finding what it was looking for. Soon, his own tongue took up the challenge and for a few seconds they dueled playfully with one another. He sighed when he broke the kiss. "I love you, Scully," he said almost woefully. "I just wish you'd believe it." She frowned and reached up to brush his hair from his forehead. "I know you love me, Mulder. I love you, too. You know that, don't you?" His eyes told her that he hadn't known that, that it was a new revelation. He kissed her again, hungrily this time. The passion was contagious. Scully felt too confined, couldn't reach where she wanted to reach. With one deft move, she pushed on his shoulder and flipped him on his back and under her. She straddled him, leaning over predatorily and licking her lips. He grinned at her, unafraid. She descended and caught his lower lip between her teeth. His moan brought her fully awake. It had been a dream, but somewhere, the dream worked its way into reality. They weren't on the beach, they were in the hotel, on their bed. Scully still had him pinned to the mattress, had been nipping at his lip just as in her dream. From the look of his mouth, they'd been going at it for some time. And now Mulder was awake as well. Before either had a chance to consider what had happened or was about to happen, the phone rang. They both scrambled for it, Mulder winning by a mere breath. He fumbled with the receiver while Scully tried to regain her bearings. "Oh, god, Drew, yeah," he was saying while he wiped sleep from his eyes and kisses from the side of his mouth. "Geez, is it that late? No, uh, I must have fallen asleep. Yeah, it was a long day. Sure, go ahead. We'll catch up in a few minutes." He hung up the phone and regarded his partner. "Um, that was Drew. The guys are all getting together at the Eel. It's almost 9." He stopped and chewed on his lip. "Of course, we could be . . . a little late. I mean, they might get a couple of pints on us, but . . ." Scully couldn't stop the grin that broke out on her face. She shook her head. "Mulder, I have no intention of meeting a schedule," she told him firmly. "We'll go and see your friends for a while. You don't get to England that often and lord knows the nice friends you have haven't made it to the States. Then we'll come back and see what happens later." "I knew there was a reason I love you," he said giddily as he kissed her once more and jumped up off the bed to clean up in the bathroom. Scully lay there a moment longer, savoring the smile and the warm feel of his mouth on hers. end of part 05 Vickie Come visit our websites brought to you by the fabulous Shirley Smiley! http://susanproto.freeservers.com http://vickiemoseley.freeservers.com From: Vickie Moseley The Oxford Files: Going Home 06 By Susan Proto (STPteach@aol.com) & Vickie Moseley (vmoseley@fgi.net) As they entered, Scully felt overwhelmed by the amount of noise and movement in the somewhat darkened room. As music blared from the six foot high speakers scattered about the large room, she watched people mill back and forth between the large bar area and the tables. She noted that people were carrying their own glasses of beverage in varying degrees of emptiness and fullness. She then noted others were walking back and forth from a second area where there was apparently food offered on a menu that was posted on a chalkboard. The customers here as well carried their orders back to their tables. Then Scully saw the small gathering in the rear corner of the pub and realized that a group of people was playing what appeared to be pool. In the other corner, a man was throwing darts while a companion was keeping score. The cacophony of sound felt a bit overwhelming to Scully who wasn't quite used to the lilting accents of the British people. Of course, there were a fair share of Irish and Scotsmen and women scattered among the bunch, not to mention hints of upper crust and lower class Englishmen and women. Scully felt as if she were in the middle of the play Pygmalion and that any minute someone was going to burst into song, singing "Get me to the Church on Time." Then she caught a glance of Mulder and let out a small gasp. Why it surprised her that her partner felt so totally comfortable and in his element in this foreign place, she didn't know. But he appeared completely at home here. Though he'd protested earlier that The Electric Eel was never his favorite choice of hangouts, the calm, happy expression he now wore proved him wrong. It was with a true sense of wonder that she watched him slip into his role of the Academic as if it were a second skin. They looked about and found Caroline and Drew, as well as Ann and Thomas, sitting at a large round wooden table. Each was already halfway through their brews, so they'd obviously began the party without them. "Well if it isn't the great orator, himself! Bloody good presentation! Simply exquisite! So, has the old man hit on you for a position at good old St. Elban's? I know he's been looking to handpick his successor, and I daresay I do believe he's got his sights on you, my dear Fox!" cried out Drew. When he saw Mulder's nonplused expression though, he quickly changed the subject and exclaimed, "But now you do need to hurry up, mate! You and Dana have some catching up to do!" "So I can see," he responded more calmly with the change of subject. "I suppose I'm buying the next round, eh mates?" "Ah, but it's good to know the Yank doesn't forget his manners, now isn't it?" exclaimed Thomas. "Of course you are!" Mulder took everyone's order and then he and Scully walked up to the bar. "I'll need three pints of bitters, a white wine and a club soda." He then turned to his partner and asked, "What are you having, partner?" "A Guinness?" "Your wish is my command, G-Woman," he said. "You know," he began tentatively, "I wasn't all that sure I wanted to come here tonight, Scully. I mean, like I'd said, this place was never really my favorite, but __, well, let's just say I'm very glad you're here to share the experience with me." He handed a couple of the drinks to Scully who then insisted she could manage one more, so he placed the bottle of Guinness carefully in her hands. Next he paid the bartender the exact amount and began to walk away. "Mulder, didn't you forget something?" Scully whispered hurriedly. "Forget? What did I forget?" "The tip, Mulder. You didn't tip the bartender," she reminded. "Oh," Mulder responded and then chuckled. "No, I didn't forget. It's not customary here to tip the bartender, Scully. At some point we'll offer to buy the bloke a drink, but that's all the 'tip' he expects." "You're kidding?" Scully responded incredulously. When Mulder shook his head, she murmured quietly, "My, my, my, how civilized." They returned to their table and passed around the drinks. When the duo finally managed to take a seat, Thomas was heard to say, "So, Mulder old chap, how does it feel to be back in the old haunt? It certainly feels almost like old times to me!" Mulder didn't say anything at first; his face did manage to turn a slight shade of amber. "It feels fine, Thom, though I can say the only thing I missed about it was beating the hell out of you at Darts," Mulder finally responded, smiling. "Oh, I daresay that sounds like a challenge if there ever was one, now doesn't it?" Thomas replied laughing good-naturedly. "Just as soon as I finish my brew here, we'll have a go of it." "Now it definitely feels like old times, listening to the two of you try to one up one another," chimed in Ann, "though of course we do need Phoebe and Freddie here to round out the old gang, now don't we?" "Say, speaking of Darts, where's our number one target?" asked Drew. "Are you speaking of Freddie?" asked Scully who then added rather sardonically, "or Phoebe?" "My word, the woman is definitely a quick study! You'd better do whatever you can to snag this woman for keeps!" responded Drew. "Funny, I thought he already had," teased Thomas. "C'mon guys, stop razzing us and drink your beers 'cause I know someone besides me gets the next round!" retorted a smiling Mulder. Scully watched in amazement at how relaxed her partner seemed. If they were in the States and a peer had made that kind of a remark, she knew Mulder would have become totally defensive and withdrawn. Yet here, he accepted the jibe as it was intended and threw it right back at his friends. His friends. Scully realized how rare it was she thought of that phrase in context with her partner. Of course there were the Gunmen, but they were in a class by themselves. She'd almost considered them colleagues, as they'd saved both of their asses so many times she'd begun to consider them as a necessary part of their lives. But in terms of just ordinary, sit and shoot the breeze type of friends, she'd never considered whether Mulder even had any. He had many acquaintances; he played pick-up basketball games all the time and hung out on the courts with the other neighborhood players or Bureau players, but she didn't think Mulder considered them his friends. She realized something rather startling. She and the Gunmen were Mulder's only true friends in the States, and that wasn't saying much considering how little time they all spent actually just socializing. Scully suddenly felt a little sad for her friend and then for herself as well. She realized that over the years she'd isolated herself too, however unintentionally, from her own close friends. The job kept her so off kilter in terms of a schedule, she'd given up making dates for lunches or dinners with those she was once close with. Scully realized she'd have to do something about that when she returned home. She knew she'd have to make a concerted effort to get a life, and she knew she'd have to convince Mulder to do the same. Having a real life looked good on him. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Some time had passed and Freddie still hadn't showed up. Though everyone considered him a monumental bore, everyone also knew he was perfectly harmless and was considered a part of the group, if for no other reason to be the brunt of everyone's wisecracks about society's upper crust. Freddie, himself, was perfectly accepting of that, and readily joined in the jibing. Often, his target was Phoebe, for whom none of the gang felt any love lost. Thomas tried ringing Freddie's home earlier, but there was no answer. The former classmates were actually becoming a bit concerned as they worked their way through the fourth and fifth rounds of drinks. Scully was becoming quite amused at the change in Mulder's demeanor. He was actually becoming quite the life of the party. "C'mon, Thomas, let's have one more go at Darts. I've had three more pints, and I'll still be able to kick your English butt!" Mulder crowed. The two men quickly jumped up to go tangle with the Dartboard, with Scully and Ann following close behind. Neither woman trusted either man with a sharp weapon in his hand, so both women felt compelled to stay close by. The two men continued to dare one another and raised the stakes of their bets each round by offering another pint as a reward for the winner. The amazing thing was, each man seemed to get better with their scores the more they drank. Perhaps it was their relaxed attitude (or rather their drunken demeanor) that caused them to handle the darts in the correct position that best allows for consistent, high scores. They bantered back and forth in a lighthearted manner until Mulder finally proved victorious by a mere three points. "I told you I still got it, Thomas!" Mulder cried in utter glee. "So you did, old Chap, so you did! Good show! I've missed the competition, Mulder," Thomas declared as they moved their way back to the round table, "Drew here never could keep up your level of competitiveness." "Oh for crying out loud, Thom, _no one_ could keep up with the two of you and your competitiveness! You drove us crazy! The only other person who could keep up with you was her royal highness, Phoebe!" "I say!" called out the all too familiar voice, "You're not taking my name in vain, now, are you darling?" "Why Phoebe, dear girl, what in heaven's name brings you here?" asked Drew warily, as he looked a Phoebe, then Mulder, and finally Scully. He knew Phoebe's arrival was not going to bode well for any of them. Whenever Phoebe came in their presence, someone suffered. He could only imagine whom it would be this time. Little did he know it was the last person in the world he'd expected it to be. "I'm afraid this isn't a social call, though to be honest, darlings I'm a tad miffed I wasn't invited to join in celebrating Fox's triumphant return to the University. Your presentation at the symposium was captivating, darling, truly captivating. But, as I said, I'm afraid my task here tonight is on a professional level," informed Phoebe. "Professional level? Whatever might that be?" asked Scully all the while muttering under her breath, 'You sure are a damned professional, though not the kind that works out of Scotland Yard.' "Well, I'm here in the role of Inspector Greene, Agent Scully, and I've come with some rather sad news," Phoebe said. "I'm afraid dear, boorish old Freddie, has bitten the proverbial radish." "What?" asked Scully in confusion. "Freddie, my dear Agent Scully, is dead." Mulder, Scully, and the remaining quartet of friends all looked rather shell shocked at the news of Freddie's death. Several moments passed before any one of them could speak. Mulder was the first to break the stunned silence. "It's good of you to come and let us know, Phoebe," he said quietly. "Oh, Fox, I'm not here so much out of the kindness of my heart, as I am here to investigate a murder," she retorted. "I don't understand," Mulder said slowly. "Fox, the last place dear Frederick was seen in public was at the symposium luncheon. I dare say, there were enough witnesses there to help us determine if there was any indication of our poor, deceased comrade having a problem!" Phoebe explained. "Phoebe, what are you blustering about?" asked Drew impatiently. "Dear, dear Andrew, it's so lovely to see you again," Phoebe said with the sarcasm practically dripping from her. "I am talking about the ugly little incident between Freddie and your Mr. Laing. A number of witnesses shared with Scotland Yard investigators earlier the fact that there were apparently words passed between the two of them. I was hoping you could enlighten me and tell me what it was all about." "Words?" asked Mulder incredulously. "You're saying Freddie and Mr. Laing had a disagreement that led to Freddie's death?" He paused momentarily to try and sort out everything Phoebe laid out on the table, when it suddenly dawned on him what his former girlfriend was implying. "Oh God," he gasped. "Phoebe, you can't possibly think that Mr. Laing had anything to do with Freddie's death?" When he received no reply, he blustered, "Phoebe that's insane!" "Oh, come now, Fox. Surely you've seen stranger possibilities when investigating your X-Files," the Brit countered. "One thing has nothing to do with the other," Mulder answered with obvious irritation. "Actually, you're right about that, Fox, so if you don't mind, I'd like to do my job without further interruption. I must conduct interviews with you all, and if you're agreeable, we can do them right now," she said patronizingly, but then added with much more force, "Unless of course, you'd rather I take you to Scotland Yard to make a formal statement. You could visit your Mr. Laing while you're to make your statements." Scully looked at Phoebe Greene with total disdain. She couldn't believe the inspector was trying to intimidate the very people whom at one time called her friend. Scully tried to figure out why she was using that tactic, but for the life of her she couldn't understand it. "You can't possibly tell us that you're holding Mr. Laing on suspicion of murder?" Scully asked incredulously while Mulder and the others looked stunned. "Of course he's been detained at Scotland Yard, Agent Scully. The man is our prime suspect at the moment," Phoebe replied. "The man is close to seventy years old, Phoebe. Why is he being detained in jail?" asked Mulder in quiet ire. "Where else does one hold suspected criminals, Fox? He might try to flee," Phoebe retorted without the least bit of conviction. "You're harassing him, Phoebe," accused Mulder in an angry whisper. Phoebe merely stared him down. Thomas, who had been quiet throughout the discussion, finally spoke up. "Please, let's just get this over with, Inspector Greene," with a particularly loud hiss as he emphasized the word, 'inspector.' "Though heaven knows what you think we'll be able to tell you." "Well, let's begin with you then Thom. What was Freddie doing the last time you saw him?" she asked. "Having a drink, of course. My God, the man always had a bloody drink in his hand, Phoebe, you know that!" declared Thom. "Was he drinking alone?" she asked. "I don't recall seeing anyone nearby," he responded. "Phoebe, we were too busy giving Mulder here our kudos for a job well-done; we were too involved to take note of what Freddie was doing or not doing for that matter!" interjected Drew. "He was angry," threw out a small, tentative voice. "Who? Freddie?" asked Mulder, Scully and Phoebe all at the same time, instinctually. "Thank you, Agents," she said tersely, "but since this is _my_ jurisdiction, I do believe I shall take the lead in this interview, if you _both_ don't mind." Phoebe glared at both Scully and Mulder. "Be my guest," replied Mulder quickly, albeit a tad red-faced, as was Scully. Both stepped back from the circle of friends to give themselves a physical reminder to not interfere with Phoebe's interviews. Old habits obviously died hard. They did, however, continue to listen with interrogators' ears, and both carefully scrutinized the words that next came out of Caroline's mouth. "I saw Freddie. He looked very angry, very angry, indeed." "With whom was he speaking?" Phoebe asked. "Why, it was Mr. Laing," she replied. "Mr. Laing was obviously explaining something to Freddie; the good doctor appeared almost as exasperated as Freddie. I think Freddie bloody well wanted to punch the old man out, though!" "Caroline, what are you talking about?" asked Drew in exasperation. "Do you have any idea as to what you're implying? This is Mr. Laing, for God's sake. The man is like a father to us, and you're standing here and practically accusing the man of murder!" "Oh, don't be a bloody fool, Andrew! I'm doing no such thing!" exclaimed Caroline. "Damn it, Drew, I hate it when you get all melodramatic! I'm simply saying what I saw. Both men were angry, and that's the plain fact." "Thank you, Caroline, for your cooperation," said Phoebe who then added, "Does anyone have anything else to add?" When nothing else was forthcoming, Phoebe informed everyone they would probably be contacted again in the next forty-eight hours and to 'please make yourselves available.' "We've got a flight back to the states on Monday, Inspector Greene," informed Scully formally. "Well, I dare say you may well have to postpone that flight, Agent Scully." And with that, Phoebe Greene turned and left as quickly as she'd arrived, while Scully stared with disbelief at having been the brunt of such terse treatment. "Caroline," growled a very agitated Andrew, "what the hell were you thinking." "I thought I was aiding the police in solving the murder of someone; a friend of yours as a matter of fact!" exclaimed Caroline. "Not at the expense of Mr. Laing," he replied through gritted teeth. "Andrew, if the man is innocent, then there's no need to be concerned," she argued. "You didn't need to single handedly cast the last unmitigated piece of doubt," Andrew began, until Mulder sought to calm everyone down. "All right, time-out. Let's calm down and try to let cooler heads prevail. Fighting among ourselves will not help Mr. Laing one iota." "Mulder's right," agreed Scully. "We need to determine what it was that caused Mr. Laing to become so upset with Freddie, though having met the man already, I don't see how there could be any question that all Freddie needed do to irritate someone was breathe." There was a slight chuckle at the gallows humor, then a nod, and finally agreement. "So what do we do?" asked Thom. "Shall we go talk to Mr. Laing?" "I don't know that we should all go; I suspect that may unnerve him," Mulder said. "Right you are, old man," agreed Drew immediately. "A representative makes more sense, then, don't you agree?" "Yes, I do," nodded Mulder. "Fine. Call us then and let us know how Mr. Laing explains the situation, all right, Fox?" suggested Caroline hastily. "Beg pardon?" Mulder looked a bit taken aback at Caroline's presumptuousness. He was downright pissed off about her cavalier use of his first name. "Well, it just seems to make the most sense that the person or, in this case, persons, with the most experience in dealing with these kind of matters would be the ones to talk with Mr. Laing," declared Caroline. "Doesn't seem so hard to understand," she added in a whiny mutter. "Mulder, you know she's right," said Scully. Up until Scully spoke, Mulder had his doubts. He wasn't absolutely sure prior to Scully's voicing her opinion; in fact, he'd been of the mind to abandon all thoughts of investigative work for a short period of time so he could think things over. He wanted to make a rational and reasonable decision. He wanted to find out if there was a reason he was brought to England. He wanted to know if he'd actually sought it out in order to have the chance to reverse the choice that was made for him so long ago. He hadn't realized just how much he wanted that chance until Scully, unwittingly and without malice, snatched it away from him yet again, possibly out of reach forever. end of part 06 Vickie Come visit our websites brought to you by the fabulous Shirley Smiley! http://susanproto.freeservers.com http://vickiemoseley.freeservers.com From: Vickie Moseley The Oxford Files: Going Home By Vickie Moseley (vmoseley@fgi.net) & Susan Proto (STPteach@aol.com) Mulder didn't say a word during the entire ride over to the Yard; Scully tried to get him to talk about it, but she wasn't successful. He was having a difficult time facing the fact he was going to his former mentor to question him about his possible role in a murder case. Since she had none of the emotional investment Mulder had in the relationship with Mr. Laing, Scully was able to view the situation with detachment. It wasn't that Scully was unfeeling; she was simply better able to fall into her professional role. Under the circumstances it was to both agents' benefits. Because it was killing Mulder. And Scully was none the wiser, which only added to his heartache, yet neither one realized it. For Mulder did what he did best; he kept his worries to himself so as not to alarm either his former advisor or his partner. The only problem with not confiding in someone was that it allowed Mulder's self-doubts to become fruitful and multiply. He couldn't help but wonder why it seemed everyone whose life he touched somehow managed to have trouble touch them. He wondered if he'd stayed home and had not returned to England, whether Freddie would still be alive and his mentor safe? Mulder realized those thoughts were almost self-indulgent, but given his track record, he didn't think anyone would have blamed him for feeling slightly paranoid. They finally arrived at Scotland Yard. Scully moved to open the door when she suddenly felt a tight grip on her wrist, which prevented her hand from moving. "Mulder, what the hell__?" "Wait. Please, just wait a minute." Mulder stood still clenching and then unclenching his fists. He stood in place, but Scully could feel the nervous energy emitting from him like pulsating electrons flying all around him. He began to role his head around in circles in order to iron out the thousands of tiny kinks that had developed between the hotel and Laing's house. "Mulder, let's just get this over with, all right?" Scully said softly but with a hint of impatience. She understood that Mulder didn't want to see his friend unjustly accused, but Scully had never seen Mulder back off from an attempt to find the truth. Until now. "I don't know how wise this is, Scully." "I don't understand what you're talking about," she replied, though in reality she did. "We're FBI agents, Scully, from the United States in the middle of friggin' England. I'd say we're slightly out of our jurisdiction, wouldn't you?" he asked emotionally. "Mulder, we're not here as FBI agents; we're here as friends of the family." "Bullshit, and you know it, Scully!" he cried out in anger, though he realized immediately he was directing his ire at the wrong person. "Jeeze, I'm sorry," he apologized quickly. "I don't mean to be angry, but it's just so damned frustrating." "I know. I know this must be very, very hard for you," she assured. "Scully, at times he was more like a father to me than my own father," he lamented. "Mulder, the truth will come out," she said aloud, but the unspoken 'no matter what it is' sang loudly in the silence. "Come on. I'm sure Mr. Laing could use your support, to say nothing of poor Mrs. MacFarley. The woman must be beside herself." Mulder nodded at this and allowed Scully to open the door. He held it behind her and followed her into the dark hallway. They introduced themselves as friends of Mr. Laing and asked to be allowed to see him. There was some hesitation at first; perhaps it was the American accents. Finally, the Station Reception Officer informed them that the Custody Sergeant would escort them to the Custody Suite. Sergeant Thompson would remain in the viewing room while they met with the accused. Mulder jumped slightly, ready to object to that, but then one look at Scully's determined face, and he decided it was best not to chance antagonizing the locals. He already knew Phoebe was going to place up roadblocks every chance she could get; why give the police here any more of a reason to resent him. He smiled gratefully at Scully; she knew exactly what he was thinking and why it was ill advised at that point. "Thank you for your assistance, Sergeant Thompson," Mulder replied politely. Then he and his partner followed the middle-aged Sergeant to the 'Nick' as he called it. Mulder remembered the expression from his Oxford days, when he'd been hitting the bottle a little too heavily, they'd say if he weren't careful he'd be 'nicked' by the police for disorderly conduct. They were led into a room void of furniture with the exception of a table and chairs. Mulder and Scully were directed to take a seat and wait patiently. The perpetrator was being brought to the room. When Laing finally entered, Mulder gasped. His former mentor looked as though he'd aged ten years. "Mr. Laing? Are you all right?" "Fox? Oh, it's good of you to come here. Yes, yes, I'm fine I suppose, though I do want to leave this dreadful place and go home." "I'm sure you do, Sir," began Scully in her patented comforting, but no nonsense manner, "however, we need to hear what you know about Freddie Blumford. What happened today, Sir?" "I'm not quite sure, to be honest," he began shakily. "The lad had come over to me and remarked at how well Fox did on his presentation. I quickly agreed with him, and I said you showed some fine promise." "What did he say to that?" asked Mulder with a slight blush. "Oh, it t'wasn't anything important, Lad," he responded quickly. "Please, Mr. Laing," Mulder pleaded, "anything and everything is important now." Laing saw the seriousness in Mulder's expression and the gravity in his tone. He nodded and spoke. "He was a tad disturbed with my remark on your potential, Fox." "How did he show he felt disturbed, Sir?" asked Scully quietly. Mulder looked at her, but didn't say anything about her taking control of the interview. In fact, he felt somewhat relieved. "He began to raise his voice to me," Laing described. "The poor boy has been looking for an academic appointment for quite some time now. I've never had the heart to simply out and out refuse him; I suppose that was a mistake. I fear I'd led the poor lad to think he'd had a chance at attaining an appointment, when in reality he never had. Scully nodded encouragingly, while Mulder sat quietly feeling a bit numb. He understood what had happened. Blumford felt totally slighted; Laing was going to offer Mulder a position with St. Elban's. It didn't' matter whether Mulder would take it; the fact that Blumford would be passed over for a Yank was probably almost too much for him to accept. "He asked me outright if I was going to offer Fox an appointment. I didn't' want to lie to the man; I didn't think I had to lie. But when Freddie heard me reply in the affirmative, he became so very angry. He was almost incoherent, Miss Scully! He blustered and ranted about how he was more deserving than any 'Yank' could ever be, and how dare I consider giving Fox the position _he_ deserved! "Then the poor man went on and on about how he'd earned that appointment; why he'd done no such thing! I couldn't understand what would have ever possessed him to think such a thing, much less say it out loud. I told him as much, I fear, and that's when he__." Laing stopped suddenly. "That's when he, _what_?" asked Scully. "That's when he threatened me, Miss Scully. Dear god, I hadn't given his ramblings a second thought, but I fear I should have taken him much more seriously, shouldn't I have?" Laing said, obviously distraught. "Mr. Laing," Mulder pressed quietly, "had Freddie threatened you?" "Yes," was his whispered reply. When Mulder asked him to recall exactly how Freddie had threatened him, the older man said tiredly, "He told me he would destroy me. He would destroy me by destroying everything and everyone I held dear." Laing sighed and then said, "Can you imagine Freddie saying such a thing to me, Fox? He wasn't a brilliant young man like you; he never showed the promise that you had shown. But Freddie was still a good lad. I can't imagine what kind of pressure he'd felt to make such awful threats on my life and those I care about." "I don't know, Sir," answered Mulder. "We'll find out though, Sir," interjected Scully. When both men looked up at her with surprised expressions, she elaborated, "Perhaps if we find out why he felt that pressure, as well as who was putting that pressure on him, it might erase any doubts about your innocence, Mr. Laing." Suddenly the door sprang open and in walked the Custody Sergeant and Inspector Greene. "Well, well, well! Look who's here? A Connecticut Yankee in our dear Mr. Laing's court," Greene said sardonically. "To what do we owe the pleasure, Phoebe?" asked Mulder tersely. "Temper, temper, Fox, dear. I bring good news for our academic here. You're being released for now, Sir, but do not plan on leaving the jurisdiction any time soon. We need you close by for further questioning." "Admit it, Phoebe," Fox said with his jaw locked, "You have absolutely no evidence to hold him. Damn it, Phoebe, you had no right to arrest him in the first place!" "He was brought in for routine questioning, and we had every right! Now, if you'll follow us, Mr. Laing, we'll get your personal items and take you home." "Scully and I will accompany Mr. Laing home, Phoebe. I think you have done more than enough," Mulder interjected quickly. Upon seeing her curt nod of acknowledgment, he asked Scully to accompany Mr. Laing while he called for a cab. He also wanted to let Mrs. MacFarley know her boss was coming home shortly. Then, and only then, he'd allow himself the time to think about how he was going to help his former mentor. Mulder knew from past history that Phoebe wasn't letting go totally. If at any time she was thrown some kind of clue; if she were given any bone that she could sink her teeth into, the good inspector would have Mr. Laing back in custody immediately. He had a terrible feeling in his gut something exactly like that was going to happen. He didn't know why, he just did. Spooky Mulder has entered the building. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ They'd arrived back at the hotel after having dropped Mr. Laing off at his house. Mrs. MacFarley was hovering over the old man like a mother duck who had lost one of her ducklings. She thanked Scully and Mulder over and over for accompanying him home, but she was going to see to it that dear Dr. Laing was 'going to lay down for a spell.' That's exactly what Mulder and Scully felt like doing. The evening had turned into night and the night had turned into early morning. The partners were barely able to shed their outer clothes before they collapsed into the bed. Mulder was quiet. Too quiet, according to Scully's thoughts. He usually expounded upon theory after theory in cases such as these, but tonight he was quiet. She wasn't sure as to exactly why, but she knew she was way too exhausted to hear an explanation. She also knew Mulder was way too tired to give one, at least coherently. "Mulder, I have to sleep. You should too," she mumbled. She felt him nod against her back, so she drifted off to sleep in mere minutes. Mulder, on the other hand, laid with his arms around Scully and his faced pressed into the crook of her neck. His eyes remained wide opened. And he wondered if he could have ever fit into this world of academia. This was supposed to be a quiet, long weekend devoted to higher education and renewed friendships. It might have even been a weekend in which Fox Mulder might have considered new directions in his life. But now, he wondered if there was a reason that he'd never given university life a second chance. He wondered if his lack of choices was because of outside influences or of his own doing. Mulder wondered if he was the reason that bad things happened to good people. It sure started to seem that way to him. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The phone rang and rang and Mulder tried but he simply could not figure out where it was. The fact that he refused to open his eyes might have added to his difficulty in locating it, but that was why he counted on his partner to cover his back. So when Scully finally reached over and found the phone, she muttered unintelligibly, "Scuy." She listened a bit more and then passed the phone up, over, and behind her to Mulder. "For you," she uttered. "Mulder," he answered hoarsely. "What? Wait, please," he said and as he attempted to extricate himself from Scully's grip for he was now wide awake, but he wasn't absolutely sure as to what he was hearing. "Please, slow down. I don't understand," he pleaded, and then waited patiently as the caller took several deep breaths in just such an attempt. "Fox, dear boy," the nervous voice began, "You must go to the Police Station. They've arrested him again." "Mrs. MacFarley?" When he heard a small 'yes,' he asked, "When did they come for him?" "Not ten minutes ago, Fox. I promised I'd call you." "Mrs. Mac, why did they arrest him again?" Mulder asked. At this point Scully was wide-awake as well, and she too was sitting up in the bed, listening intently. "They found another body, Fox." "Another one?" Mulder looked quickly at Scully, who looked as surprised as her partner. "Who, Mrs. Mac? Whose body?" "Caroline Holbrook, Andrew's wife," she answered with tears. "Caroline?" Mulder looked at Scully who mouthed a question to him. He nodded and then asked, "Why would they arrest Mr. Laing again. They had no evidence for Freddie." "Oh, but Fox, they did find something this time. They found a hankie. It was stuffed in the poor lassie's mouth," she wept. "A handkerchief?" replied Mulder incredulously. "It was his, Fox. It was one of his monogrammed hankies. It was his," she cried out. "Oh, Fox, what are we to do? What are we to do?" Fox sat and wondered the same exact thing. end of part 7 The Oxford Files: Going Home 08 by Susan Proto (STPteach@aol.com) and Vickie Moseley (vmoseley@fgi.net) Scully was pulling on her robe and waiting for him to tell him what was happening. "Mulder?" she asked, when he'd sat there, staring into space for a good three minutes. Mulder pushed past her and into the bathroom, not bothering to close the door. She didn't follow him, but stood by the bed. "Caroline's dead," he said after a few moments of running water. "Ohmigod," Scully said, coming quickly to the doorway and putting her hand to her mouth. "But Mulder, it sounded like . . ." "They found his handkerchief in her mouth, Scully. His fucking handkerchief. Anybody could have taken it, killed her and planted the evidence. But, that's not how Phoebe will see it. She never liked the old man. Hated him because I used to tell her I had to study for my class instead of come over to her place and . . ." He stopped in mid sentence and Scully could detect a faint blush that colored his cheeks in the dull light of the bathroom. He grabbed a towel and dried his face, coming back through to the main room. "I gotta get over there. Before she breaks out the rubber hoses." She watched him pull on jeans and a turtleneck, trying to sort it all out in her head. He looked up at her. "Scully? Are you coming?" "It's not our case, Mulder. And if you make Phoebe angry, it might make it worse for Mr. Laing." She hated the look of betrayal on his face, and quickly worked to erase it. "Mulder, I'll come with you, but we have to remember. Drew will most likely be at the station, too. And he needs your support now, just as much as Mr. Laing." She hadn't meant it to sound like a rebuke, but it had the same effect. Mulder jerked as if slapped and sat down heavily on the bed. "My God, when did I get so callous?" he whispered. He looked up at her, dazed. "I hadn't thought past the murder. I didn't even give a thought . . ." She shook her head to stop his words and reached up to cup his cheek. "No, Mulder, you haven't become callous. It's too much to sort through, all at once. We're used to . . . violence, but when it touches so close to home, it's hard to deal with. You were simply dealing with the part you could understand. That's not callous, it's human. And I'm sure that as soon as you saw Drew, you'd help him." For a moment he sat there, just letting her touch bring some warmth to his soul. He finally smiled, faintly. "Hey, who's the psychologist here?" She laughed a little at his taunt. "You are. And if you'll give me five minutes, I'll be dressed and we can go over there together." Mulder hung up with Mrs. MacFarley having promised her he and Scully would meet them over at Scotland Yard as soon as possible. However, Mulder felt it was important to first touch base with Drew to not only find out the details of what happened, but to offer his sympathies to the man over the loss of his wife. Mulder rang up the operator who then connected him with Drew's residence. A police officer answered the phone, so Mulder asked to speak with Drew. The agent was refused at first, as the officer stated that Drew was unavailable at that moment, since he was giving a statement to the police. "Scully, Drew is still at the house. We've got to go. Now," Mulder said urgently to his partner after he'd hung up the phone. "Is that Andrew?" she asked. "No, police officer," he confirmed. "He says Drew's giving a statement to the police. We have to get over there before Drew says something that might be incriminating to Mr. Laing." "Incriminating?" Scully echoed in disbelief. "Mulder, do you suspect Mr. Laing of any wrongdoing?" "No!" he replied quickly, "no, I don't suspect Mr. Laing of anything. However, Drew just lost his wife. He might say something that can be misconstrued by anyone who wants to hear it as evidence against Mr. Laing." "You're talking about Phoebe, aren't you," Scully said softly. "I hope not," whispered Mulder in reply. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Drew, I'm so sorry," Mulder said earnestly at first sight of his friend. "Mulder, I don't understand what happened," he gasped. "I don't understand how she can be dead.'' "Drew, please, tell us what you know," Mulder pleaded. The Brit looked totally lost at this point. His American friend asked him to make sense of something that was beyond comprehension. His wife was dead; his wife with whom he'd just argued like cats and dogs not six hours ago was dead. And he couldn't explain why. "I don't know what happened. We had an argument over what she'd said at the Eel, you see?" he began. "I'd asked her how she could have said what she did in front of Inspector Bitch__. Oh, God, Mulder, I'm sorry. I didn't __." "__Drew, it's okay. It's as good a description of Phoebe as any I'd ever thought," Mulder consoled. "Please, tell us what happened." The bereaved man took a deep breath, opened his mouth to speak, but then simply broke down crying. It took him several minutes to gather his wits about him and regain control of his emotions. He looked up finally and saw the sympathetic eyes of Mulder and Scully looking at him. He worked up the courage to continue his narrative. "I was so angry with her; it was so vindictive of her," he began. When he noted the confused expression on his friends' faces, he explained, "Caroline and I had been having some problems. I mean it wasn't anything that we couldn't work out; we knew if we just gave it the time__. Oh God," he cried out as he broke down again. After several moments passed, Scully spoke up and gently asked, "Drew, what kind of problems were you having?" "Caroline is__, I mean was__, unhappy with her lot in life. She'd become somewhat disenchanted with my position. Marriage to an academic apparently isn't all that it was cracked up to be, Mulder old boy. If you were seriously considering taking Laing up on his offer, I would give it a good, hard think." He sat there shaking his head sadly, while Scully gave Mulder and Drew questioning looks. She couldn't help but wonder, 'what offer?' "What was she so unhappy about?" Mulder asked. "Our thrifty lifestyle for one," he admitted. "On my salary, we can barely afford this place. And Caroline wanted to start a family, but her parents kept telling her we'd never be able to afford a child on my salary, and if she wanted to become a mum, then she shouldn't work as it wouldn't do right by the baby. "Mulder, she blamed Mr. Laing. Can you imagine? She cursed the man's name to my face; she claimed the bloke besotted me, and that I would do anything for him, even at the expense of my own family. That's crazy, isn't it, Mate?" Drew asked in despair. At this point the grieving man didn't know what to believe. All he knew for certain was that his wife was dead. "She was so angry with me at that point, and I was so angry with her, she headed off to the guest room and locked the door. I heard her slam the door and then the snick of the lock." He paused for a moment before he said, "The door was locked from the inside this morning. I wanted to try and talk things out with her, so I went to the bedroom. "It was still locked, so I called to her. When I didn't receive an answer, I started banging on the door. The damn door is solid oak and hard as a rock. I became frightened when I couldn't get a response, and I called the police. They took it off its hinges, and we found her. "I don't understand how she can be dead. She was angry with me, but she wasn't sick. She shouldn't be dead, Mulder! She shouldn't be dead!" Drew cried out with frustration. He began sobbing again in grief. When his cries eased, Scully asked gently, "Drew, has anyone determined the cause of death yet?" "No, the medical examiner was here, but he said he needs to do an autopsy. There apparently wasn't anything conclusive." "I'd like to do the autopsy, Drew," said Scully. "You?" At Scully's nod, Drew shrugged his shoulders. "If you think you can find out what killed my wife, than yes, please. I want you to do it." He hesitated, then touched her sleeve. "Just don't be surprised if our little Phoebe decides to stand in your way." ***** While Scully went off to do battle with Phoebe regarding the autopsy, Mulder headed over to the Custody Suite to see Mr. Laing. Mulder was perplexed, as he didn't have a clue as to why or how his former mentor's monogrammed hankie ended up stuffed inside the mouth of the deceased. He couldn't imagine Mr. Laing having any kind of motivation for wanting to kill Caroline; he found it difficult to picture the elderly man demonstrating any kind of violent tendencies. However, the fact of the matter was, Caroline Holbrook was the victim of some kind of physical violence though no obvious markings had been noted by the coroner on the scene. By the time he'd arrived, Mulder observed a very agitated Mrs. MacFarley pacing up and down the small waiting area. He was quite sure he heard some choice phrases come out of the elderly housekeeper's mouth, but Mulder wasn't about to mention it. He understood how upset she was feeling; he knew a few choice phrases he could spout at that moment, himself. "Oh, Fox, I'm so relieved you're here, lad!" she cried out upon sighting him. She rushed over to embrace him in a bear hug. "I'm so sorry I wasn't able to get here any faster, Mrs. Mac, but I needed to see Drew to find out as much information as possible," he apologized. "Oh, I understand, Fox, don't you fret now. It's just that I'm a wee bit worried about Mr. Laing,'' she explained. "I fear this isn't going to be good for his blood pressure. I'm afraid he may not have taken his medication," she worried as she fingered the small pill bottle in her hand. "We'll check with him about that as soon as they let us see him, Mrs. Mac, I promise," he comforted. "Where is Mr. Laing right now? Do you know?" "I'm not sure; all I know is they said he was going to be processed. Oh, Fox, it seems as though that was ages ago!" "I know, I know," he comforted. "But it takes time to photograph and fingerprint people." "Fingerprinted!?" she exclaimed in horror. "Oh my poor Mr. Laing!" "He'll be okay, Mrs. Mac, I promise," he responded quickly, and then hesitated for a moment before he said, "I wish I didn't have to bother you about this now, but I'm afraid I have to ask you some questions." "If it will help our Mr. Laing, the dear man, you can ask me anything you want," she replied determinedly. He nodded and gave her a small smile of understanding. Mrs. Mac was getting on in years. Mulder had to wonder if this terrible scenario wasn't doing her blood pressure any good as well. He took a deep breath and began his questioning. "Mrs. Mac, do you have any idea as to how Mr. Laing's handkerchief got into Caroline's room? Was he careless about loaning them out?" "But Fox, that's just the thing of it all," began Mrs. Mac, "Our Mr. Laing is positively fanatical about his hankies! He always wants them folded just so; the monogram must be showing properly. I'm the only one who can fold it just so," she added with a small smile. "I'm sure you are, ma'am. But, what I really, really need you to think about is, well, how do you think the hankie got out of Mr. Laing's possession and into that of Caroline Holbrook's?" Mulder asked as gently as possible. "Well, Fox, me boy, I do have a theory, but I don't guess you'd believe me," she stammered slightly. "Now, Mrs. Mac, why wouldn't I believe you?" "Because my ideas are a wee bit o' the outlandish, Fox. That's why." Mulder couldn't help but chuckle out loud at that point. When Mrs. MacFarley's expression took on a defensive look, he quickly spoke up in order to explain the irony of her claim. "Mrs. Mac, you're looking at the 'poster boy' for extreme possibilities," he said with a smile. "If anyone would want to believe your ideas, it would be me." Mrs. MacFarley looked notably relieved and nodded. "Very well, Fox, my boy, very well. But I think I need to be sittin' down for this little confession, as these old bones of mine need to get a wee rest." The two of them sat quietly down on the chairs near the table. Mulder sat quietly and allowed the elderly woman sitting before him take the lead in her storytelling. He waited patiently, and finally, she took a deep breath and pressed on with her thoughts. "Do you know this Saturday would have been my fortieth wedding anniversary had Mr. MacFarley lived?" she asked, seemingly out of the blue. "No, ma'am, I didn't know that. How long ago had Mr. MacFarley passed away?" Mulder asked gently. "Ah, well, let me think; he died soon after my thirty-fourth birthday. He was going to be fifty-one, so that would make his passing twenty-three years ago," she replied. "Forty years? Mrs. Mac, that would have only made you __." "__Seventeen years old when I'd gotten married. Yes, Fox me lad, I'd only been a wee lass when I married my Scotsman, my Gavin. He was over sixteen years my senior, but he was a good, upstanding man, and he loved me with all of his heart. "He'd been in love with me for a very long time, but since I was so young, he was made to wait till my seventeenth birthday. One week after I'd celebrated it, we were married. Oh, 'twas a joyful celebration, our wedlock. Truly joyous!" Mrs. Mac recalled with a tender smile. "I'm sure it was a wedding to remember, Mrs. Mac, but __." "__But you're wondering what this old lady's ramblings have to do with our Mr. Laing's problems at the moment," she asked rhetorically. "I'll be getting to that me lad; just give me a moment." She paused for a moment or two, as if she needed the time to find the words to best explain. Mrs. Mac knew she needed to be as clear as possible in order to convince the young FBI agent she wasn't just a dotty old woman. "I believe," she began slowly, "Gavin is behind all of this." "Gavin? Your husband, Gavin?" Mulder echoed, and then finally added, "Your dead husband, Gavin?" "Yes," she said firmly. "Yes, my dead husband, Gavin." "Mrs. Mac, I'm afraid I don't quite understand," Mulder admitted. "Fox, Mr. MacFarley was a very devoted husband when he was alive. He'd become every bit as devoted after he'd died," she said cryptically. "After he'd died?" echoed Mulder. "Yes, dear. I know this is going to sound like words coming from a crazy woman, but it is very important for you to believe me. You see, after me beloved Gavin died, he apparently wasn't ready to go with God. Instead, he chose to stay nearby me and protect me." "Mrs. Mac, is it that you simply feel his presence, or do you actually see him?" asked Mulder seriously. The older woman paused a moment, as she was actually surprised that Mulder was taking her at her word. Then she said, "No, I've never actually seen the dear man, but I've seen the results of his presence in my life." Mulder tried to process all that the elderly housekeeper was saying. He couldn't believe it, but it was if he was hearing Scully's voice in his head. It kept asking him to question the housekeeper about what proof she had to support her claims. "Mrs. Mac?" he said gently. "It seems like it's going to be pretty difficult, if downright impossible, to go to the police with the story that your dead husband's ghost is responsible for these murders." "I know," she whispered in reply, "but it's the only explanation I have." Mulder lowered his head into his hands. He had to come up with more concrete evidence to prove Mr. Laing's innocence, but he wasn't sure as to where to even begin. His shoulders slumped in defeat. "Oh, Fox, my boy, you're exhausted!" she exclaimed. Here you were supposed to be celebrating a job well done, and we've got you waiting around Scotland Yard. I'm so sorry, me lad. So, so sorry." "Oh, Mrs. Mac, you know I wouldn't want to be any other place," he replied as he straightened up in his chair. Mulder knew the only way he'd get the necessary proof was to think like Scully would and ask the questions she would ask. "I do have some more questions for you though, that is if you're feeling up to it?" "If it'll help our Mr. Laing, then of course," she replied. Mulder proceeded to methodically question her about the comings and goings of the late Mr. MacFarley, and to elaborate on how he shows himself to her. Scully would be proud of him as he sought proof that would back up Mrs. Mac's truths. After several minutes passed, Mulder learned that the ghostly MacFarley often confiscated personal items of Mr. Laing and hid them. It usually occurred after Mr. Laing made a demand of Mrs. Mac because he was upset over some such thing. Mrs. Mac never disagreed with her employer, though she might have been unduly stressed as well as upset by it. Having seemingly misplaced yet another personal item completely exasperated Mr. Laing, but Mrs. Mac kept quiet, as she was concerned her boss would think she was daft and possibly let her go from his employ. Mrs. Mac explained to Mulder that she'd noticed a pattern. Every year, around the time of their wedding anniversary, Mr. MacFarley would make his presence known to his widow. Mrs. Mac always knew when her late husband was about, since items of hers were always moved about where she knew she had never left them. Mr. Laing's personal items would invariably end up misplaced and sometimes even missing. Mrs. Mac looked forward to remembering her wedding anniversary with great trepidation, since she was never sure what her husband's apparition would do next. The current dilemma had Mrs. Mac in a great quandary. She had no way of knowing for sure if it was her late husband who was causing the murders and feared if she suggested it, the police would not hesitate to throw her into jail as well. Her words convinced him, and Mulder believed her; he had no doubt she was speaking the truth. He was, in fact, quite sure the ghostly apparition of the late Mr. MacFarley had a hand in the deaths of both victims. He figured that MacFarley felt both Freddie and Caroline were going to place Mrs. Mac in some kind of danger, though how was still a question. The motive remained unclear to him, but the deed was very much a reality in Mulder's mind. The problem facing the agent now was how to get the others to believe in this newly formed theory. He knew it would be a hard sell, and he fully expected his own partner to be the most difficult to convince. He sighed deeply at the prospect. "Mrs. Mac?" Mulder looked at the older woman with tenderness, "It's going to be okay. We'll find a way to help Mr. Laing." "But how, Fox?" Mulder couldn't help but wonder the very same thing. end of part 08 Vickie Come visit our websites brought to you by the fabulous Shirley Smiley! http://susanproto.freeservers.com http://vickiemoseley.freeservers.com From: Vickie Moseley Due to popular demand (read that 'angry mob' ;), I am posting the rest of the story tonight. Don't kill me, I'm only the co-author Oh, and someone asked for a summary. Here it is. Mulder and Scully go to England. There ya go. ********* The Oxford Files: Going Home 09 by Vickie Moseley (vmoseley@fgi.net) and Susan Proto (STPteach@aol.com) Scully had a nice long cab ride to work up her anger at Phoebe. She had a full head of steam as she stormed her way into the lobby of Scotland Yard. More than one officer turned and gave her a curious look, so she stamped down her anger and pulled up that professional calm she'd made legendary in the Bureau. She was completely composed when she approached the information desk. "I need directions to your morgue," she said in a sharp, clipped tone. "Our morgue?" echoed the uniformed officer. "Yes, your morgue. I need to speak with the medical examiner about a victim that was recently brought in," Scully said firmly. She was determined to get as much information as she possibly could, and examining Caroline was the best way she could do so. The young woman in uniform manning the desk looked up at her with a startled expression. "Ma'am, I'm afraid you're in the wrong place." Scully wondered if someone (that someone being Phoebe, of course) was pulling a fast one on her for a moment and then said quickly, "My name is Dr. Scully, and I'm here on behalf of a patient. Now, will you kindly direct me to the morgue?" "But Dr. Scully, the morgue isn't located here. It's at the Coroner's Office which is a few kilometers away," the young woman said politely. When she noted the confused expression on Scully's face, she nodded her head and smiled. "American, aren't you?" Scully nodded. "You Yanks are all alike; you have this rather odd idea that Scotland Yard is this huge complex of buildings and departments that takes up whole London city blocks! Well, sorry to disappoint you, but this is pretty much it, Ma'am. We're just your basic police operations that happened to be made famous by some bloke named Sherlock. Now, if you want the morgue, you'll need to find your way to the Coroner's Office. Do you need directions or will you be fetching yourself a taxi?" Scully felt the color rise from her toes all the way to the top of her head. She knew some found her coloring endearing, while she merely found it irritating. "I'll be taking a cab. Thank you for your time," she said in an attempt to maintain some professional decorum. Scully was able to hail a cab and take the short trip over to the Coroner's Office. When she arrived, she found herself at a receptionist's desk. The young woman behind it asked, "May I help you?" "Yes, I need directions to your morgue, please," Scully said with a determined tone. "And your business there is?" replied the receptionist in kind. Scully thought of the response she'd tried earlier at the Yard. "I am a doctor, and I am here on behalf of a patient. Now, if you would kindly spare me the third degree and point me in the direction of the morgue, I can attend to my business." "Basement. It's clearly marked," the young receptionist added with a weak smile. "Shall I ring ahead and let them know who you're, uh, visiting, Doctor?" Finally, Scully allowed a tiny smile to form on her lips. "No, that won't be necessary. I want it to be a surprise." It felt good to be doing something, even if it was making her way down to the basement, to another morgue. She wondered about Mulder, on his way to see Mr. Laing. Poor Mr. Laing. For some reason, Scully couldn't picture the old man as a killer. He'd seemed kind and gracious. Doddering, in some ways. Oh, he'd exhibited a mind as sharp as a tack, but his physical movements had been tremulous, slow and apparently painful. She doubted sincerely that he would have the strength to make it all the way to Drew and Caroline's house unaided, much less murder a healthy young woman. Unaided. Scully sucked in a shocked breath as her mind starting making connections she hadn't seen. What if Mr. Laing was working with someone? Who would do that? Who would help him commit murder? Mrs. Mac? Scully shook her head in frustration. Now, she was getting ridiculous. Why in the world would Mrs. Mac and Mr. Laing team up together and murder two of Mulder's old classmates? That was ludicrous! No, she needed to do the autopsy. Not until she said the words to Drew had she even realized that she keenly needed to get to the bottom of this. Just moments before she'd reminded Mulder that this wasn't their case, that he had to be careful around Phoebe. They were guests in the country, and if they interfered with an ongoing murder investigation, they ran the risk of finding themselves on the next supersonic flight home. Or worse. Yet, just as much as he couldn't stop himself from wanting to protect his old teacher, she couldn't stop herself from wanting the answers to this particular puzzle. Something in the back of her mind was warning her. It was like a little siren, a little flashing red light. And, as always in their seven years together, she couldn't help but think the warning was directed squarely at her partner. While her mind was occupied, her feet had accomplished their mission. She took the elevator to the basement and was met once again by a similar dressed young woman behind a desk. "May I assist you?" said the dark haired woman with a compassionate smile. She was obviously accustomed to dealing with grieving families. Scully pulled out her medical card and flashed it for the young woman. "My name is Dr. Dana Scully. I'm here at the request of Andrew Holbrook to view the body of his wife, Caroline." The woman nodded in understanding and consulted a computer terminal. "I believe Mrs. Holbrook's body has arrived. Dr. Manning is scheduled to do the autopsy at half past ten. If you'll wait a moment, I'll ring back and let him know you're here." Scully looked up when a handsome young man in green scrubs and white lab coat came through the steel double doors behind the desk. He glanced to the young woman and she nodded toward Scully. Then he came around the desk with a welcoming smile. "Dr. Scully. I'm Peter Manning. I'm the resident slicer here. I understand you're here to view a body?" Scully was a little taken back by his causal manner but smiled openly. "Yes, Caroline Holbrook. I have her husband's permission," she added hastily and fingered the note Drew had scribbled on a sheet of her notepad paper before she hurried off to find a cab. It wasn't much and she doubted if it would stand up in court, but she was hopeful she could 'charm' her way into the examining room. Dr. Manning was regarding her with the hint of a smile. "My, my, that accent is appealing. Did you study in the states?" "Umm, yes. I'm from America," Scully said feeling her composure crack at the edges. For some irrational reason, she sported a secret desire to strangle her partner at that moment. Even though he wasn't exactly at fault for putting her in an embarrassing situation, he usually was, so it was force of habit. "I holidayed in New York two years ago. Fascinating city. Incredible medical facilities," Manning chatted amiably. He raised an eyebrow as Scully flinched at his comments. "Sorry. I've just had occasion to utilize those facilities not too long ago. But you are correct. They are incredible." "So, a tad unusual, an English couple keeping an American doctor," Manning said with a sly smile. Scully chewed on her lip. "My, uh, my friend is an old classmate of theirs. We were visiting and when this happened . . . Drew asked that I . . ." She pulled the note out of her pocket and handed it to Manning. He looked at it, reading each word carefully, then looked up at her. "And what exactly is your specialty, back in America, Dr. Scully?" She hated it when her coloring got the better of her. There was no stopping the blush on her cheeks. "I'm a forensic pathologist," she said through gritted teeth. "For the Federal Bureau of Investigation." Manning's smile turned to a beaming grin of triumph. "Well, then, let me afford you every hospitality. As one colleague to another," he said, putting his arm around her shoulder and escorting her back to the examining room. "But, before we get started, would you do me one favor? I know it's silly, but ever since I was a lad I've wanted to see a real FBI badge. Elliott Ness, the Untouchables. All that, you know." For a moment, Scully thought he had to be teasing her. But the look of utter sincerity, mixed with boyish curiosity spreading across his face changed her mind. She reached down into her purse and found her ID wallet. "The badge is, well, it's not like the one on the television show," she offered apologetically. "We don't 'wear' them any more. They just sort of . . ." her voice trailed off as she handed him the wallet, open for his inspection. Manning spent several seconds eyeing first the badge, then the accompanying ID. He looked from the picture, to the original standing before him. "Phoebe really does need to retract those claws more often. You don't look anything like an 'Irish troll'." Scully's stomach hit the floor with a resounding thud. "Phoebe? How did she know?" she asked timidly. She sighed heavily at his Cheshire cat grin and shrug. "She is an inspector," Manning reminded her playfully. Scully nodded, biting down hard on both lips. She suddenly realized she'd been 'made,' most likely by the young receptionist at Scotland Yard. She probably informed Inspector Greene of Scully's intent to go to the morgue. Damn, she thought angrily to herself, and then through gritted teeth said, "I won't be taking up any more of your time." Scully had just turned to leave when Manning grabbed her sleeve. "On the contrary, Doctor, or should I call you 'Agent' Scully? While our beloved Inspector Greene may think she can still solve the Lindy kidnapping single-handedly before her retirement, I know when to call for reinforcements. Lend-lease and all that rot. I would love to have you give your opinion on this case." Again, Scully was convinced he had to be toying with her. But he swept his hand away from his body and pointed dramatically toward a door marked 'dressing'. "Unless you intend to assist me wearing your street clothing, Agent Scully?" It took just a moment to pull herself back together, but Scully managed. "No, of course not, Dr. Manning. Thank you," she said graciously and pushed open the door leading to the locker rooms. Still, she couldn't resist listening closely for footsteps behind her. And she couldn't help thinking she'd just stepped into a trap. Caroline's body was laid out before her, but it wasn't the lively young woman she'd swapped drinks and stories with at the Electric Eel. Scully knew that woman was gone from this vessel, hopefully to a better place. But what remained was filled with secrets, answers to her questions. She gladly let Manning take the lead, especially since she knew that he could easily order her from the room. As they worked, she learned to admire the young doctor. He was conscientious and thorough, asking her input frequently, making note of what she contributed. It took a little over an hour and a half to finish the internal exam. "I ordered a set of X rays before we started. They should be developed by now," Manning told her as they jointly stripped off gloves and head coverings. "I'm almost afraid of what we'll be seeing." "There was no external trauma," Scully nodded in agreement. "And the internal exam was . . . confusing." "Confusing? More like 'impossible'! Agent Scully, my dear woman," Manning exclaimed. "It's obvious that the woman died of strangulation, but how? Certainly not from that hankie. That was applied post-mortem. From the looks of it . . . it was almost as if," he held his hands up in surrender, not daring to voice his thoughts. "Like she was deprived of air. Like she was forced into a vacuum or the breath was literally stolen from her body," Scully finished his thought for him. "But without any trauma that I could note." "Either of us could note," Manning corrected her. "Oh, my, the Terror is not going to like this one," he muttered under his breath. He looked up sheepishly. "Sorry, old joke." Scully couldn't help the amused grin on her face. "You mean to tell me she really _is_ called the Terror of Scotland Yard?" Manning started to explain when the door to the outer hallway opened and the subject of conversation herself walked into the room. Judging from her expression, her title was justly earned. "Agent Scully. I'm placing you under arrest," Phoebe said sternly as she marched across the room. Scully immediately took a combative stance, and Manning fearlessly stepped in front of her. "Calm down, Phoebs, old girl. I _asked_ Dr. Scully for assistance. It's my understanding the family requested her presence here, as well. Let's not go charging Trafalgar again." "I want her _out_ of this morgue!" Phoebe shouted. "She has no business here!" she fumed at Manning. She then turned her tirade at Scully. "You and Mulder make quite a pair! Just because you've discovered the 'joys' of his bed is no reason to become his lap dog and . . ." SLAP! Scully looked almost as startled as Phoebe. She stared down at her reddened palm and then back up to Phoebe's reddening cheek in horror. Only Manning, if either woman had dared to look at him, seemed to know what had happened. And for his part, he couldn't have looked more pleased. Phoebe shot a glare over to Manning at his chuckle. He held up his hands protectively. "Don't look at me. I didn't see a thing," he said with amusement. "Inspector Greene," Scully fumed, struggling to contain her emotions. "What my partner and I . . ." "Save it, Agent Scully," Phoebe said haughtily. "I couldn't care less who, or _what_ Fox Mulder is taking to bed these days. But the fact remains, you are not allowed to have free reign over facilities not under FBI jurisdiction. I would ask that you remove yourself immediately." Scully was ready to continue the battle, but Manning was still standing there, obviously enjoying the show far too much. With fire in her eyes, she marched into the dressing room to change. When she returned, Phoebe was still standing there, lips pursed like a headmaster waiting to escort an expelled student from the premises. Scully glared at the woman, silently allowing defeat for the engagement, but not the war. As she reached the elevator, she heard Phoebe's voice behind her, issuing an order that she be barred from the facilities. She shook her head angrily and punched the elevator button again. It was a surprise when she heard a voice very near her ear. "Tell him to restrain himself to holding the old man's hand and stay the hell away from my investigation," Phoebe hissed angrily. "Or I'll see you both deported before the sun sets." It was only when she tried to pull out her cell phone that Scully realized exactly how far away from home she was. She remembered laughing at Mulder when he'd told her mournfully that he'd decided to leave his at his apartment. She hadn't given a second thought to bringing it. They were on vacation. They would be together most of the time. Why would they need their cell phones? Why, indeed, she wondered as she stood out of the sidewalk, glancing back at the building behind her. Here she was, in London, knowing that her partner was somewhere in the city, more than likely at Scotland Yard, the same building Phoebe would probably ban her from next. Should she risk Phoebe's wrath and venture back to the holding facilities to find Mulder and Mr. Laing? Trespassing on the facilities might not get her arrested, but slugging a policewoman might. Her stinging hand served as a gentle reminder: punch, instead of slap, next time around. She really didn't want to lose to 'the Terror' again. At least not until she found herself a good defense solicitor. As she was scratching her head and coming to the conclusion she should hail a cab and direct it to the nearest car rental agency, regardless of her partner's warnings, she heard her name being called from what was apparently a rental car. "When did you go and rent a car?" she asked. "Oh, I figured with all of the running around we'd been doing in the last few hours, it just made more sense to have easy access to wheels. I'm actually finally getting the hang of this driving on the wrong side of the road business," he said with a smile, however he was quick to add, "but feel free to take over the driving anytime you want." Scully smiled and told him to move over. "What's the latest word on Mr. Laing?" Mulder ran up to her, his face animated and joyful. "Scully, great news. They're releasing Mr. Laing. Insufficient evidence to link him to the crime. We got a nice judge," he said taking her into a hug. "Mulder, I was allowed to assist in the autopsy. We need to find a place where we can talk, alone." "Sure, Scully," he said absently, ignoring her concerned scowl. "We just need to get the old man and Mrs. Mac back to the house. Then we can go to the hotel and talk. So what did you find?" "Let's just say there's some disparities. I think I'd rather talk about it when we get back to the hotel, after we deliver your friends back to their home." Mulder finally noticed the rather chagrined expression on Scully's face and simply nodded. He then gave her directions back to the Yard. Once settled into the rental car, Mr. Laing promptly fell asleep. Mulder couldn't help but notice that Mrs. Mac wasn't long in following him. "Well, it's not exactly alone, but I don't think a small nuclear device would wake either of them right now, so what did you find?" Mulder asked. "I thought we were going to wait till we got back to the hotel?" "C'mon, Scully, obviously you found something, or you wouldn't want to wait till we got to the hotel. Problem is, I can't wait any longer! Please?" he asked with is patented puppy-dog eyes. Scully considered the road before her, her fingers gripping more tightly at the wheel. "Mulder, that's the problem. There was nothing to find." "What, no prints? That's to be expected. Whoever they are, they're trying to pin this on Mr. Laing. They would take every precaution . . ." "No, Mulder. There was no _trauma_. She was just, somehow, she was . . . deprived of air." "Smothered?" he asked, confused. "No, there would have been fibers in her throat or mouth. And when a person is smothered, they fight. Caroline wasn't a frail woman, she would have fought like a wild cat. No, she wasn't smothered." "Drugged?" Mulder prodded hesitantly. At her glare he shrugged. "Sorry. You would have mentioned that." He stared out at the English countryside that had so calmed him just a few short days before. "No physical evidence," he said, almost in a whisper. "Scully, Mrs. Mac told me something. And I want you to listen to the whole story with an open mind." Scully's knuckles turned white on the wheel. "If you're going to tell me a story with Bloody Mary in it, Mulder, I suggest you prepare to leave the car. And I don't intend to slow down." He chuckled at her. "Now, Scully. Would I do that? No, no. No Bloody Mary. A bloody Gavin, maybe, but no Bloody Mary." "Who is Gavin?" Scully asked with a deep sigh. "Mr. Mac. Gavin MacFarley," Mulder said proudly. Scully's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "But I thought Mrs. Mac was a widow." "She is," Mulder said enthusiastically. "Close to twenty years now." "And so what you're telling me is that Mr. Mac, Gavin, who is dead, has been dead for going on twenty years, has come back suddenly after all this time and is committing these murders?" she asked with a dour expression. "Gee Scully, how come when you say it, it sounds so outlandish?" Mulder pouted. "Because it _is_ outlandish, Mulder! That is just . . . it's just plain _cruel_! Accusing a dead person, someone who can't even defend himself. And besides, isn't stuff like that supposed to happen in castles and be part of big inheritance schemes?" "Been watching 'Scooby Doo' again on Cartoon Network, haven't you, Scully," Mulder said with a wicked grin. She turned the grin into a wince when she reached out with her left hand and punched him in the shoulder. "Ouch! Getting violent won't solve this thing," he chided. "Maybe not, but I discovered this morning that it sure makes me feel better," Scully replied cryptically. "What happened?" he demanded. She bit her lip. It was bound to come out sooner or later. She'd been hoping for later. Much later. Like when they were on the plane back home. "I slapped Phoebe." "You _what_?" "I slapped her. She said something that I didn't like . . ." "Scully! That is no excuse! I can't believe you! Weren't you the one this morning telling me to be nice to Phoebe, or she'd take it out on Mr. Laing? What the hell were you thinking?" he shouted. "Mulder, lower your voice," she hissed through gritted teeth. "It was a set up. Phoebe had warned the medical examiner that I might be coming. Unfortunately for Phoebe, the guy watches reruns of the Untouchables and has a soft spot for he Bureau. And I think he was actually interested in getting some help. He let me assist." "So when did you hit her?" Mulder asked, still fuming. "When she stormed in at the end of the autopsy and implied that I was doing your dirty work because I'd 'found the joys of your bed'," Scully growled in kind. Mulder clamped his mouth shut and stared at her wide-eyed. After several moments of impenetrable silence, he whispered. "Guess we're lucky you didn't have your gun, huh?" She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her smile, so she ducked her head and her hair fell down to cover her face. When she thought she could risk looking up, he was still sitting there, chewing his lip. "I suppose I should apologize," he said quietly. "For what? The fact that as a young, impressionable college student you slept with a total bitch? Please, Mulder. Let's not go there. Some of my choices when I was younger make yours pale by comparison." "The fact that I put you in that situation. Scully, I know how you. . . feel about your privacy. I should have thought about that. Phoebe probably checked the hotel register and knows we're sharing a room. That puts you in a horrible position." Now he was starting to get her angry again, and she couldn't understand why. "Unless _you're_ embarrassed that she found out, Mulder," she seethed. He couldn't have looked more shocked. "Me? Why would that bother me? I mean, shit, Scully, I'd scream it from the steps of the Jefferson Memorial, if I thought you wouldn't shoot me for it." He grabbed her hand off the steering wheel and brought it to his lips. "Besides, you were accused of something you never did," he whispered between kisses. She strained against his hold for a moment, then when he started to nibble the little hairs on the backs of her fingers, she started to melt right there in the seat. "My Grandmother had a saying, Mulder." "The Grandmother who knew St. Brendan?" he asked wryly. "The same," she nodded. "And what would be that saying?" he asked, turning her hand over and nibbling lightly at her wrist. "It's better to die as a sheep, than as a lamb," she moaned. "Which means, do the deed before the punishment comes," came a voice from behind them. "But why not wait till you can commit the crime in the comfort of a nice warm bed?" added a smiling Mrs. Mac. "Very good advice," Mulder agreed with a fierce blush, and turned his attention back to the road. Scully couldn't stop giggling for miles. end of part 9 Vickie Come visit our websites brought to you by the fabulous Shirley Smiley! http://susanproto.freeservers.com http://vickiemoseley.freeservers.com From: Vickie Moseley This is the part that borders on R, just so you know :) The Oxford Files: Going Home 10 By Susan Proto (STPteach@aol.com) and Vickie Moseley (vmoseley@fgi.net) Mulder helped Mr. Laing into the house and accepted another hug from Mrs. Mac. She assured him that she was going to 'tuck the poor man in, if I hafta use a frying pan'. Mulder was certain, just by the set of the old man's shoulders, it wasn't going to take too much persuading to get him to take a nap. The two agents were silent all the way back to the hotel. Mulder really didn't want to break the mood by bringing up the ghost theory again. He would be patient and wait for evidence before trying to convince Scully. He snorted to himself, thinking that in days gone by he wouldn't have given a thought to pushing his theory, practically shoving it down her throat in an effort to make her admit the obvious. How times change, he pondered. Scully was lost in her own thoughts. Caroline's body in the morgue was like a puzzle to her, a 'rubics cube', begging for her to solve it. Silently, she chided herself. Caroline had been Drew's wife, they'd been sweethearts all through college. How would she feel if she ever lost Mulder and then later found some Medical Examiner calling his body 'a puzzle'? The thought made her stomach churn. Better to die as a sheep than as a lamb. Lambs are led off to slaughter, but at least sheep had a few more years. Not that sheep were ever allowed to settle down, marry, build that perfect little house with the white picket fence. She shook her head. Her thoughts were jumbled more than she could ever remember. And all the time, she kept skirting around the obvious. She was ready to become a sheep. She was tired of being a lamb. But could she convince Mulder to become a sheep with her? They arrived back at the room and Mulder suddenly seemed intent on examining the carpet. "Uh, I'm going to take a shower," he said hastily. "Sure," Scully replied, and cursed the crack in her voice. Geez, has it been that long, Starbuck, she railed internally. She remembered vaguely that she'd been the one to put the moves on Jack Willis, something no one at Quantico would have ever suspected. It was time. Hell, it was past time, she reminded herself. They weren't on a case, they were in a lovely room in an old English hotel with a bed that she had to admit was more comfortable than her own back at home. And the way he'd been nibbling the back of her hand in the car had almost caused her to drive right into a ditch. That was a clue, wasn't it? But she knew Mulder as well as she knew herself. And running off to the bathroom was just an excuse. She was certain that if she stepped in there now, she wouldn't be greeted by a cloud of hot steam. Cold showers don't produce clouds of hot steam. If she didn't do something, they would be in this rut forever. Sure, it had only been a couple of nights that they'd slept in the same bed. She could take it as slow as the next person. But, as she'd already realized, she knew Mulder too well. He could content himself to just holding her while they slept . . . forever. Look how long he'd been happy just to touch her hand or brush a lock of hair or even slide his fingers down the small of her back. The man was a rock of restraint. She didn't really want that kind of rock anymore. She would have to make the first move. And it would have to be in bold capital letters, underlined and in 24-point type. She smiled almost greedily as she determined her plan of attack. Mulder was rubbing his head vigorously with a towel, dressed in just his jeans, with no shirt when he reentered the room. He was a little surprised to find Scully huddled under the covers on the bed. "You cold?" he asked, curiosity warring with concern on his face. "We got up so early, and we've been going crazy since we got here. I'm not cold, I just wanted to take a nap." He nodded in understanding and relief. "OK, I'll be quiet then." This was not going as planned! Mulder was pulling on a clean shirt and settling down at the desk, searching the drawers for writing paper. She felt a pang in her chest. He was going to write a profile of the killer. But it wasn't their case. And she had other things on her mind. She had to do something. "Mulder, what are you doing?" His head shot up at the sharp tone to her voice. His startled expression served to warn her to curb her exasperation. "I'm looking for something to write on. Scully, did you bring any paper?" She sighed, deeply. Maybe 24-point type wasn't big enough. Maybe a billboard. On top of the Tower of London. With laser lights and flags and fireworks over head. She was going to have to be firm with the boy. He couldn't help it if he was dense, could he? "Mulder, get over in this bed. Now." That got his attention. The startled look was replaced with a smirking leer. "Are you coming on to me, Agent Scully?" he asked, the devil dancing in his eyes. She threw back the covers, revealing more creamy white skin than Mulder had viewed since their side excursion to the South Pole. "Yes, Agent Mulder. Now, are you gonna do something about it?" For a moment, she thought she'd given him a coronary. His face turned a frightening shade of pale, his chest didn't raise for a full half a minute. But other parts of his anatomy seemed to be very much alive and thoroughly enjoying the show. "Mulder, I asked you a question. Are you going to stand there and choke on your tongue, or are you going to come over here and do something about my offer?" Mulder looked just like he was in a trance. He stared at her as he obediently stumbled over to stand next to the bed. "Sc-sc-scully," he stammered. "Are you, um . . . I mean do you really . . .?" "I'm naked. I'm on a bed. If this ever gets back to the FBI, somebody is gonna be examining your powers of deductive reasoning. Now, get undressed and get under the covers. There's a draft in here," she ordered in mock gruffness. That seemed to light a fire under him. Mulder stripped off the jeans, leaving on a pair of navy silk boxers. With one swift hop, he was next to her and the covers were over them both. It seemed he needed no further encouragement. Much to her delight he pulled her into his arms and kissed her completely. His hands were moving all over her body and she squirmed and pressed into his touch. "So, Mulder, is this how it is in those movies you don't own?" she teased playfully just before dipping her tongue into the ridges of his ear. "Those are not good examples at all, my love," he purred. "Even the really well done ones don't concentrate on technique. Besides, those actresses are paid to moan like that," he said, stopping his kisses only long enough to give her an explanation that she considered far to long for her liking. He kissed her all over and she loved it. The feel of his tongue on her skin was like fire and ice, red hot from his touch and then freezing cold when he moved on. But he knew what he was doing, following a road map known only to him. Road map, hell, this man had a friggin' GPS system in his tongue! Hours, days or centuries later, they lay tangled in each other's arms, drawing breath into oxygen-starved lungs and holding each other so they didn't spin off the planet. "So, do I pass the class, teach?" he asked impishly. "Anatomy 101, Fox Mulder, A plus," she panted. "You . . . graduated . . . top of class . . . Right?" he panted in a weak whisper as he popped open first his left eye, then his right. "Yeah, well, you ran cross country, didn't you?" she shot back, lightly kissing his eyelids and cheeks. "Three years. Varsity letter two years," he answered, pulling her body down to where she was snuggled on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around her in a loose, but firm embrace. "I could tell. You have endurance," she said, hugging him tightly. They lay there, locked in each other's arms. Scully felt the warm haze of sleep start to cover her. "What took us so long?" came a hoarse whisper, and the sensation of lips kissing the crown of her head. "We were scared. Scared of what would happen. Fear of the unknown," she reasoned and snuggled in closer, hoping to erase any fear that might still be lurking in the shadows. "I've known you so long, Scully. And you've known me. I don't feel like this was a 'first time'. It's not the beginning of our relationship. It's a confirmation of what we already knew." She smiled, knowing he couldn't see it. "Well, let's do another confirmation a little later. Like after dinner." He answered her with a hug. "This would be nice, wouldn't it? Just to lie here, order room service, make love, eat, make love again. I could do this an eon or two, no questions asked." He sighed contentedly. A tiny stirring of doubt blossomed in her stomach. "Mulder? Have you given much thought to Mr. Laing's comments the other day?" "Hmm, which ones? Mr. Laing says a lot of things," he muttered, obviously about to drift off to sleep himself. "About accepting a position with the faculty. About staying here, teaching psychology?" "Oh, that," he replied with a yawn. "No, not really. Other stuff got in the way." He shifted slightly, leaned more toward her and she could tell by his breathing he was sound asleep already. "Once again, male hormones win out," she said ruefully. It was a topic she knew should be talked out, but maybe he wasn't going to consult her on it. She mentally cuffed her ears for that thought. Especially after what had just transpired, she knew to the depths of her soul that she would at least be involved in his decision. The problem was, she wasn't sure which path was the best one, for either of them. Finally, fatigue and sexual satisfaction won out over her mind's frantic dialectic, and she too, feel asleep. end of part 10 Vickie Come visit our websites brought to you by the fabulous Shirley Smiley! http://susanproto.freeservers.com http://vickiemoseley.freeservers.com From: Vickie Moseley The Oxford Files: Going Home 11 By Vickie Moseley (vmoseley@fgi.net) & Susan Proto (STPteach@aol.com) She stretched ever so slowly as she savored the warmth of his body next to hers. If she hadn't known any better, Scully would have sworn it was all a dream, but the satisfying ache she felt all over her very bare body was all the reminder she needed that it was indeed, not a dream. But now, as she was just about to snuggle in with her love and enjoy the quiet solitude of the early evening, she heard the ringing of the hotel phone. She looked at Mulder, who was in fact closer to the phone, to see if he would reach for it. He continued to snore in blissful ignorance. Typical man, Scully thought, but then she remembered their afternoon activities. Maybe not very typical at all, she contemplated with a very satisfied smile on her face. She reached over the slumbering body of her partner and picked up the phone. "Hello?" "Hello? Hello?" responded the anxious voice. "Yes? Who is this, please?" asked Scully. When all she heard what was an apparent gasp for air, she realized immediately whom it was. "Mr. Laing? Is that you?" "Oh, Miss Scully, I'm sorry to disturb you, but I dinnah know who else to call!" the elderly man cried out. "It's all right, Mr. Laing, but please, tell me what's wrong?" she replied in a tone that woke up her partner. Mulder wiped his face with his hand as if to try and wash away the sleepiness. His mind wandered a bit back to their lovemaking session that afternoon caused a sudden, impish grin to appear on Mulder's face. He was about to make some leering remark to that effect when he'd finally noticed Scully's expression was definitely not offering any kind of invitation for double entendres or suggestive remarks. "What's up?" he asked aloud. "Mr. Laing," replied Scully, her hand covering the mouthpiece. "Sounds really upset. Don't' know why yet," she said as she offered him the phone. "Is he okay?" Mulder mouthed so as not to cut totally into the conversation. "I'm not sure," she answered while once again covering the mouthpiece, "not without examining him first, Mulder. You should speak with him. He may feel more comfortable speaking with you and calm down." Mulder nodded and took the proffered phone. "Mr. Laing," he began, "It's Fox Mulder. Please, start from the beginning. What happened?" "He called about fifteen minutes ago," Mr. Laing began. "He being?" probed Mulder. "Oh, didn't I say?" When he heard that in fact he hadn't, he replied, "Thomas. Thomas Evans. He called to ask me where Ann was. Can you imagine? I couldn't imagine where Ann Hilton would be," Laing said quickly. "But then, I thought perhaps she'd gone out for some cream. That's what Mrs. Mac is doing even as we speak. We'd discovered we'd run out of cream for our tea, and God bless the woman, she put on her coat and immediately went out to buy some. Can you imagine being without cream for your tea?" he asked earnestly. "I see, so Mrs. Mac is not there now?" Mulder asked to confirm. "No, Fox, she's gone out for some cream," he repeated. Suddenly, there was a rather loud bang from Mr. Laing's end. "Are you all right, Sir? What was that?" asked a surprised Mulder. "Oh, damned renovations. This house is almost a century and a half old, Fox. They started in one room, eight months ago. They're still renovating! Can drive a man bloody crazy!" "Mr. Laing, why would Thomas call you about Ann Hilton?" Mulder asked in an attempt to bring the wandering conversation back into focus. "That's exactly what I was wonderin' 'bout. I dinnah understan' why he'd think I'd know where the lass is," answered Mr. Laing. "But he did think that, Mr. Laing, so why?" he asked his former mentor, deadly serious. Mulder decided the best tact was to not beat around the bush, but to focus the elderly gent on the facts at hand. "Sir?" he repeated, albeit gently, "Why does Thomas think you would know where Ann is?" "The card. He found the bloody card," he gasped in frustration. "Card? What card, Sir?" prodded Mulder. "Those bloody business cards the University had made up for me eons ago. I never used the blasted things! Too damned self-serving for my taste. Someone wanted to contact me, they could bloody well remember my name and just ring me up. Those dratted cards have been collecting dust in the bottom drawer of my old roll top for years now," Laing explained. "Bloody waste of money," he muttered to himself. "Mr. Laing, what did Thomas say about the business card? What exactly did he say to you when he'd called?" Mulder asked so that Scully could follow the conversation more easily. At that question, Mulder did a fair imitation of his partner in the raised eyebrow department, as he tried to focus her on the question in hand. Scully nodded in understanding. "He said he'd gone to pick up Ann. She's been using Thomas' car to get to her office at the bank, while Thomas continues his research at the University. She drops him off and then goes on to the bank, you see," Laing explained in great detail. Mulder, however, was beginning to lose patience and very nearly handed the phone over to his partner, when Laing resumed a more direct course of conversation. "When he'd gotten to the bank, she wasn't there. They said she went home at midday. He figured the poor lass was exhausted from all of the sad events that have taken place recently. So he went to her flat, but there was no answer," he said with a slight pause, "so he used his flat key to enter. "He called out to her and searched the entire flat. He was going to call the police when he saw the card by the telephone," Laing concluded. "And that's when he called you," Mulder assumed. "Tom told me Ann has been working at the bank for the last four and a half years with not a blemish on her record. She had only one absence, as a result of a hundred-three fever. So, it was definitely not the norm for Ann Hilton to leave in the middle of the day," the older man rattled on. "What did you say to Tom, Mr. Laing?" "I told him the truth; I hadn't the foggiest notion as to where in the bloody blazes Ann was, and I was a wee bit upset that he'd assume I was the only one who would know," Laing said with great emotion. "What did Thomas say to that?" asked Mulder. It was at that moment the agent became worried. He heard the man suddenly gasp for air. There was no way of knowing when Mrs. Mac was going to return to help the man calm down, so he realized someone was going to have to talk him down, so to speak, and get him to calm himself. Mulder pictured the frail old gentleman in his mind and knew he was not the most qualified for the job. "Mr. Laing, are you okay? I'm going to give the phone back to Scully. Talk to her, Mr. Laing. Please," Mulder pleaded. He practically pushed the receiver into Scully's hand. While his partner attempted to assess the long time teacher's health, Mulder quickly began to search for some clothes to put on. "Mr. Laing, listen to me, please," began Scully. "I need you to stop talking for a moment and concentrate on taking deep cleansing breaths." She waited for some sign from him that he was gaining more control of himself, but all she heard was another deep gasp or two. "Are you in pain, Sir? Do you feel pain in your chest?" she asked hurriedly. "Yes," he moaned. "Mr. Laing, are you standing up?" When he gasped out 'yes,' she asked him to lie down on the couch. Thankfully, Laing didn't show a total disdain for modern conveniences and actually had a cordless phone. A few minutes passed and Laing informed Scully he was laying down. Finally, Scully asked him if the pain eased at all. Thankfully, the older man said it had. He felt the pressure in his chest ease up considerably. Scully continued guiding his breathing for several more minutes, and soon Mr. Laing was able to resume his tale. "What happened next, Sir?" she asked, as she looked at Mulder. He waved at her to indicate she should continue questioning Laing. The elderly man took a deep, deep breath and continued with the part that caused him the deepest concern. "Thomas said he was going to call the Yard, since he knew Ann would never stand him up, not when she knew his experiments depended upon him being there on time for trial runs and such. "I begged him to wait before he called the police. I begged him to hold off until we could both have a chance to speak with you and Fox. I'm quite frankly petrified they'll come and charge me whatever reason they come up, for Ann's disappearance. "Mr. Laing, we'll be right over. Don't go anywhere. Don't answer the door if you can avoid it." "Please, Miss Scully, would you join me as quickly as possible, please?" the elderly man pleaded. "Of course, Mr. Laing, we'll be there as soon as we possibly can." End of part 11 Vickie Come visit our websites brought to you by the fabulous Shirley Smiley! http://susanproto.freeservers.com http://vickiemoseley.freeservers.com From: Vickie Moseley The Oxford Files: Going Home 12 Susan Proto (STPteach@aol.com) & Vickie Moseley (vmoseley@fgi.net) By the time Mulder and Scully had arrived at the Laing residence, Mrs. MacFarley had returned from her dairy run. She was upset with how Mr. Laing appeared upon her return, and she was extremely relieved to see Mulder and Scully at the door. "He's in the sitting room. He looks terrible, aye, he looks simply terrible," she worried aloud, and then looked Mulder straight in the eye and said sternly, even angrily, "Fox, I don't think he can take much more of this." But then, as if her words suddenly had the ring of truth she was trying so hard to avoid, she began to cry and her voice quavered, "I'm so frightened he won't be able to take this." Mrs. Mac dropped her head to her chest and began to weep quietly. Mulder moved quickly to gather the slight woman up into his arms. He did his best to try to comfort her quickly, so they could all go into the other room to see Mr. Laing. "Mrs. Mac, we're going to do everything we can to see Mr. Laing _does_ get through this," he said with as much confidence as he could manage, "and we're going to help _you_ get through this, too. Scully and I aren't going anywhere," he comforted, though at this last statement he looked quickly at Scully, knowing he was probably being presumptuous again. Scully, to her credit, nodded and softly added, "Of course we'll be here to help." Mulder looked at his partner and smiled at the gift she just gave him. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ They walked into the small sitting room, and Scully quickly walked over to the elderly man sitting in the oversized chair. He looked completely wiped out, and Scully immediately grasped his wrist to take his pulse. Mr. Laing managed to smile wanly at her and remarked, "'Tis be a miracle if you actually found a pulse, lass. I feel like as if I've died a thousand deaths these last couple of days." Scully smiled gently back and said warmly, "Your pulse is good and strong, Mr. Laing. I'm sure we'll see an end to this soon." "Have you heard from Thomas again, Sir?" asked Mulder. "He called a few minutes before you arrived," he replied. "He said he was coming over here." "Did he call the police?" Mulder then inquired with some trepidation. "I don't know," replied Laing wearily. "I didn't have the strength to deal with his answer." As if on cue, the doorbell rang and Mrs. Mac left to answer it. Some moments later, she returned, with Thomas Evans right behind her. "Thomas, any word?" asked Mulder hopefully, but knowing in his heart the answer. When Thomas shook his head mutely, Mulder said, "Have you called in the Yard, yet?" Mr. Laing looked up at this question. When Thomas shook his head no, the teacher let out a breath he wasn't even aware he'd been holding. Three other sighs of relief were heard in the room as well. "I didn't want to call yet; not until I was absolutely sure something was amiss," Thomas explained stoically. "In fact, I brought this to show it to you." Thomas removed a small plastic baggy from his jacket pocket. Turning to Mulder he said, "You'd be proud of me, Mulder. I used tweezers to pick it up and put it in the bag. I swear, I didn't touch it, so if there are any fingerprints on it I haven't compromised them." "Smart thinking, Thomas," Mulder agreed softly, as he examined the small business card while it remained inside the bag. "You did well." Thomas then turned to Mr. Laing and said, "I don't want to believe, Sir, that you've had anything to do with the tragic incidents that have befallen us, but I desperately need to find Annie. So, Mr. Laing, if there is anything you can tell me about her disappearance, anything at all." It was at this point that Thomas broke down. Mr. Laing wanted to move toward his distraught, former student, but instead he remained seated and stunned at this latest turn of events. Scully was the one to move and assist Thomas; she wanted to get him sitting down before he collapsed. The doctor in her suspected he had a good chance of going into shock, and she wanted to make sure he was seated in a safe position in case he did start showing symptoms. "Scully, can you handle things in here? I want to go check out Mr. Laing's office. The one where he kept the business cards; I'd like to compare them to see if they're the same card," he further explained. When she nodded yes, he turned to Mrs. Mac and asked, "Would you show me where the room is, please?" Mulder's reasons for asking Mrs. MacFarley to lead him to the little used room were twofold. The first was the most obvious; he simply didn't know the layout of the entire house, as he'd never been privy to a complete tour prior to this day. Second, he felt it was important to find out if Mrs. Mac had any further notions regarding her late husband, Gavin. "Here we go, Fox, lad. Best button up, as it's a tad chilly out." "Mrs. Mac, where are we going?" asked a rather confused Mulder as he followed the housekeeper to the outside. "Why, to the carriage house, Fox. Didn't you realize the office was in the carriage house out back? They've been pounding and making enough noise to wake up the dead, that's for sure. Mr. Laing decided to convert the carriage house into apartments for students who needed but couldn't afford housing on campus. It's been months since they'd started the construction; heaven knows when they're going to finish it!" she declared with frustration. He followed her up the path toward the large building that was surrounded by various trucks and construction paraphernalia. He was amazed to see how large the structure was and asked, "How many apartments are being created?" "Four. They'll be rather small, of course, but they'll be suited to a student's lifestyle, that's for sure. They've practically finished the upstairs ones, but they've been dallying with completing the downstairs units for the longest time. I swear, they're charging Mr. Laing by the day!" They arrived at the building and Mulder noticed there were no workmen about. It was late in the evening, so it didn't surprise him that the workers would have gone home by now. "Where was the office, Mrs. Laing?" asked Mulder. "Well, it was in the far corner at one point, but when they'd completed the first upstairs room, we had them move the few pieces of furniture worth saving up there. They're all covered from what I remember. I don't see how or why anyone would want to fiddle around with Mr. Laing's business cards. I don't think anyone besides Mr. Laing or me even knew they were there." "If that's the case, then someone went to an awful lot of trouble," Mulder muttered to himself. They went inside and Mulder felt almost claustrophobic amid the multitude of two by fours and sheet rock and buckets of building material that lay about. He noticed there was some work being done on the steps and wondered aloud how they'd managed to haul the office furniture up them. Mrs. Mac answered, "Oh, they used the crane. It was the fastest and easiest way to get the furniture out of everyone's way. Mr. Laing didn't want it brought back into the main house, since he knew it was only going to be moved back here, so he promised the boys a couple of ales if they'd do him that small favor and they did." Mulder nodded and asked which room it was. The housekeeper pointed to the right, but then said, "I'll be happy to show you, Fox." "No, Mrs. Mac, these steps don't appear all that sturdy yet. I'd feel a lot better if you would wait here, please?" When Mrs. Mac finally nodded her assent, Mulder began to climb the stairs carefully. Mulder wondered just how much Mr. Laing was paying this construction crew and decided it was probably too much, given the poor condition of the steps. Suddenly, before he'd gone halfway, there was a loud, but deep moan emanating from the upstairs. Mrs. MacFarley heard it too, for she cried up, "Fox! What is that?" "I don't know, but I'm going to go check it out. Please, go back to the house and get Scully." Mrs. Mac was about to protest, but Mulder turned and kept going before she could utter a sound. However, she did hear more of the moans coming from above, and realized the best thing she could do was to go back and get Miss Scully for him. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ He walked into the room on the right, as that was the one Mrs. Mac had indicated was the first to be completed and housed his mentor's office furniture. He realized it was rather dark and there was of course no electricity. He pulled out a small key chain flashlight he'd been in the habit of carrying. Mulder surveyed the area as best he could when he came upon a hand. "Ohmigod," he gasped as he stepped closer. When he finally was close enough to make out the fact that there was a body lying on the floor, he moved the flashlight up to the face. It was Ann. And she was alive. "OOMMPH!" Mulder gasped in surprised pain as he felt a heavy punch to his gut. Next, his entire body was being pushed up and away from the spot where Ann lay. He couldn't see anything, as it was rather dark, but he felt the strength of his attacker all too clearly. "Who's there?" Mulder managed to gasp out. "Please? Who's there?" When the only response Mulder received was another blow to his gut, Mulder's mind made one of his usual leaps of faith and gasped, "Gavin? Gavin MacFarley?" The next thing Mulder felt was a heavy blow to his head as he was knocked, literally, out of the room and into the small hallway. The agent was now dazed, but he tried to get up off the floor. He heard the painful moan come from the bedroom again. Mulder searched the darkness futilely and pleaded, "Gavin, please, don't hurt her anymore. She hasn't done anything to you or to Mrs. MacFarley. Please, don't hurt Ann." Within seconds Mulder received a reply to his plea. As the blow to his midsection registered in his brain, the pain he felt threatened to cause him to black out. Yet, no sooner had Mulder felt himself wishing he could indeed surrender to unconsciousness, he found himself the recipient of one more devastating blow to his lower back which forced his body to follow the laws of gravity. Mulder's body suffered even more bruising with each step he bounced off as he rolled over and over down the stairwell. When he landed he tried to remain conscious. He knew he had to let them all know Ann was alive and that the time frame simply precluded Mr. Laing from having anything to do with this abduction. He knew he had to let Phoebe know. Mulder knew he had to be the one to convince Phoebe that it was impossible for Laing to have been involved in Ann's disappearance, and therefore it was highly unlikely that he had anything to do with Freddie's or Caroline's murders. He had to be the one to tell her. He knew he was the only one who could get her to see reason. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Mulder heard the buzzers and blips and bleeps before he actually saw anything. Unfortunately, those sounds were all too familiar to him and decided it would be nice to avoid reality for another second or two. However, it had also suddenly occurred to him why he was here, and realized he needed to let everyone know what had happened. Ann was still alive. He had to rescue her. He had to let them know. It was Gavin, not Mr. Laing. It was Gavin's ghost. He had to tell them. He had to tell Phoebe before she arrested Mr. Laing again. He couldn't allow Phoebe to arrest the old man again. He couldn't let him down. He couldn't let Phoebe's disdain for him and the old man allow her to make a huge mistake in judgment. He had to talk Phoebe out of it. He had to talk to Phoebe. "Phoe-be," he rasped. Scully stood there and couldn't believe what she'd heard. Surely she heard him wrong. Surely, after sitting vigil for the past six hours the first words out of his mouth would not be that bitch's name. "Phoebe." His voice remained hoarse, but the word was as clear as day. "Sorry, Mulder, but Phoebe isn't available at the moment. She's busy placing Mr. Laing under arrest for the murder of Ann Hilton." "No," Mulder replied. "Ann's alive." "Alive?" Scully's voice softened at this and said gently, "No, Mulder. Ann Hilton is, unfortunately, deceased. I did the autopsy, Mulder. We found the same characteristics on Ann, as we'd found on Caroline and Freddie. No obvious marks were found on the outside of the body. No obvious bruising that could be identified as the cause of death either. "I'm sorry, Mulder," Scully said sympathetically. "Phoebe," Mulder responded in a hoarse whisper. "I have to talk with Phoebe." Scully looked at her partner and wondered what the hell was going on. She'd just explained to Mulder that she'd completed an autopsy that laid the groundwork for connecting Ann Hilton's death with the murders of Freddie Blumford and Caroline Holbrook. An autopsy performed in her sleep after hours of worrying over her partner, she thought, silently offended. But the one person who seemed to be connected to all three was his former mentor, Mr. Laing. And all he could think of was Phoebe? Whatever happened to talking things out with his partner? Whatever happened to talking things out with her, first? "I'll see if she's available," Scully responded tersely and then turned on her heels and walked briskly out the door. Mulder didn't have a clue just how annoyed and frustrated his partner felt towards him. All he knew was he had to convince Phoebe Mr. Laing hadn't killed Ann Hilton. He had to help her see beyond her old feelings of vindictiveness toward him and the old man. Mulder had the black and blue marks to prove it. He groaned in pain as he tried to find a comfortable spot in the hospital bed. His entire body and being was in pain at that moment; what was supposed to be a weekend of celebration had turned into anything but that. However, if he could vindicate his former teacher; if he could prove to everyone what really happened, then it would have been worth all the pummeling his body just took. Now if he could only get Phoebe to really see the truth. For that matter, he wondered just how difficult it was going to be to get his own partner to see the truth, too. Where were the good drugs when he really needed them? End of part 12 Vickie Come visit our websites brought to you by the fabulous Shirley Smiley! http://susanproto.freeservers.com http://vickiemoseley.freeservers.com From: Vickie Moseley The Oxford Files: Going Home 13 By Vickie Moseley (vmoseley@fgi.net) & Susan Proto (STPteach@aol.com) The clicking heels came to him in stereo, which meant only one thing to the still hazy Mulder. Scully and Phoebe found one another and were on their way to his bedside. Mulder wasn't sure if he had the strength to go through with this meeting with Phoebe and Scully. It was tough enough trying to convince one skeptic; convincing two was a challenge he wasn't sure he was up to dealing with. "Mulder, wake up. Phoebe's here." That was odd, Mulder thought to himself. Scully sounded pissed off, and he wasn't sure as to why. He couldn't help but wonder if Phoebe had done something to irritate his partner yet again. "Mulder, Agent Scully says you wanted to see me." Mulder tried his best to focus his eyes on his former lover and his current one, but he felt a wave of dizziness come over him every time he tried to shift his head to look at them both. Neither woman seemed terribly sympathetic to his plight. Finally he closed his eyes while he spoke. "I saw Ann." "Yes, Mulder. Ann is dead. I am sorry," Phoebe said in an uncharacteristic display of compassion. "No, not dead," he responded. "Mulder," Scully interjected, "I told you, I'd already performed the autopsy. The woman died from unknown causes." "No!" he said a bit more forcefully, which only caused him to wince in pain. Both women moved slightly toward him, but he continued speaking before they could actually do anything. "What I mean is, Ann wasn't dead when I saw her. She was alive; it was just barely, but she was moaning. I heard her. Mrs. MacFarley heard her, too. That's when I told her to run and get you, Scully." Scully remembered back the several hours when the spry Mrs. Mac came rushing through the door, insisting that Scully get over to the carriage house as quickly as possible. She ordered Thomas to go with her, while she remained with Mr. Laing. Scully recalled the anxiety in the old woman's voice scared the hell out of her. When they'd arrived at the carriage house, it was rather dark. Scully was grateful for Mrs. Mac's foresight in telling them to take the emergency flashlights. When they'd entered, they hadn't seen anything unusual, but they did hear several mournful cries throughout the house. Scully had called out into the darkness for her partner. It took but a few minutes before Thomas and Scully had found Mulder's body lying in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. Both of them had gasped at the amount of blood that had escaped from Mulder's head wound. So now, while she still felt a bit annoyed with her partner, she was now also worried. Perhaps Ann had still been alive when Mulder and Mrs. Mac were in the carriage house, but that didn't explain who ultimately killed Ann or how her partner had sustained so many bumps and bruises. "Mulder, did you see Ann Hilton's body?" asked Phoebe in her best investigative voice. "Yes," he moaned. He was really hurting again and was about ready to ask for pain meds when he realized he had to give his statement as clear-headed as possible. "Mulder, are you all right? Do you want something for the pain?" asked his very clairvoyant partner. "That would be wonderful, but let me finish with Phoebe first," he said. When he saw the slightest of winces displayed on her face, Mulder realized things were not all that great in Oz. "Scully," he explained, "I can't think clearly when I'm on the pain killers. I need to tell Phoebe, _and you, G-Woman_, what I saw. "You're both going to have enough trouble buying into what I'm about to say; if I'm on the drugs, you'll have the perfect excuse to ignore my statement. Please. Hang in there with me, okay, Scully?" he pleaded gently. Scully nodded. She quickly realized that there was a reason he'd called for Phoebe first; he'd wanted to give the Scotland Yard inspector his statement as quickly as possible in order to help his former teacher. Mulder wasn't insulting Scully, he was desperately trying to aid Mr. Laing. "Go ahead, Mulder. We're _both_ listening," she said with a kind smile. He felt as if he was able to breathe again. Scully apparently was no longer angry; he realized it had been with him that she was peeved, but that didn't matter now. All he knew was she was willing to hear his story with an open mind. Now, if only Phoebe could be expected to do the same. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ He felt totally spent. He couldn't believe how much it physically took out of him to tell his story, however brief it was, to the satisfaction of both officers of the law. Both women asked him question after question; they needed clarification on every detail. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to give them the one detail they all needed, a positive ID on the attacker. Mulder felt quite reticent about having to admit there was no figure in the room with him other than Annie that was identifiable. His attacker was seemingly air, yet packed a wallop that was evidenced by those bruises incurred from other than the fall. "Mulder, you do realize how this will go down at the yard, don't you?" asked Phoebe. She wasn't being her usual irritating, know-it-all self; she was merely being pragmatic. "I suppose so, but Phoebe, is it enough to get Mr. Laing out of jail? The old man couldn't have been the one to kidnap Ann. You know that. Her disappearance just doesn't fit in with the time line of Mr. Laing's release from jail. Please. Give me this one," he begged. Phoebe looked from one agent to the other. "I can't make you any promises, Fox, but I shall run it by my superiors and see what they suggest." She heard her former lover sigh, not of relief but of resignation. "I'll push for his release, Fox. I can see the old codger doesn't have it in him, either," she said with a small smile. "No promises, though," she added as a means of covering her still very shapely ass. "Thank you, Phoebe. That's all I can ask for." He watched Phoebe nod her good-byes to both him and Scully and leave. He next turned to his partner and said, "Okay, she's gone. I want you to be honest with me. Do you believe one word of what I'd just described?" Scully looked pensive and obviously was struggling a bit for the right words. Finally, as if a cloud was lifted she said what was in her heart, "Mulder, after all I've seen, and all I've been through, how can I not believe your words. You weren't on drugs when you encountered this entity. You were in your right mind, as you are in your right mind now." "Hey, can I quote you on that, Scully?" he retorted with a smile. "You do, and I'll deny everything," she responded in kind. "But Mulder, if you want me to say that yes, I believe in ghosts, well, I guess I won't be able to do that. Not right now, at least. However, I do believe that something attacked you, and I do believe you gave credence to Mr. Laing's alibi and innocence. And that's what counts, doesn't it?" Mulder smiled at that, and motioned to her to bend down low. He placed a soft, sweet kiss on her lips and then said with great seriousness, "Um, now that I've told my tale of woe, do you think I can get something to help with the pain. God, Scully, for a friggin' apparition, that sonofabitch really packed a wallop." Scully couldn't help but chuckle and told her partner she would make sure he'd have some relief soon. Within minutes, Mulder's IV was drug enhanced, and he fell off into a blissful sleep. Scully waited until the pain meds took effect and smiled tenderly as her lover lost his fight to stay awake. Then she squared her shoulders and left the room, determined not to lose her own battles. The enemy was waiting at the nurses' desk. "I suppose you're firmly convinced that Mulder has gone 'round the bend' this time," Phoebe said with a smug expression. Scully crossed her arms in front of her, at least in part to keep from reaching out and grabbing the illustrious Inspector Greene by her scrawny little neck. "I think Mulder was attacked. By what, I don't know. But if he says that Ann was alive, when we know . . . and have _witnesses_ that Mr. Laing was somewhere else, I believe him." Phoebe dropped her eyes and stared intently at a wilting arrangement of leftover flowers on the desktop. "I'd have to agree," she said in a voice barely loud enough to be heard. Then, she looked up sharply. "But as I said to Mulder, I'm just the messenger. My superiors are going to see things in a different light." She looked at Scully and shrugged. "I need proof." "But you don't have proof that Laing did it!" Scully exclaimed. "And Mulder's story should prove him innocent of this murder, at the very least." "Agent Scully, you've admitted to me that you were in the carriage house, downstairs, at the approximate time of death. You and Thomas were helping Mulder. It is possible . . ." Scully's anger, coupled with mental and physical exhaustion, bubbled over. "He is an _old man_! Are you saying he climbed those stairs, the same stairs Mulder crashed through, then strangled a perfectly healthy young woman, leaving _no_ external marks, and then climbed back downstairs? How? By clambering down the drainpipe? Phoebe, the logistics alone make it impossible for Mr. Laing have been anywhere near Ann at the time of her death!" Phoebe had stood silently through Scully's tirade, but now her eyes flashed with equal fire. She leaned in close, using her extra three inches of height to their fullest advantage. "See here, Agent Scully. I know in the FBI you get to use resources and appropriations far beyond their reasonableness in the investigation of your cases. But here, we're just like any metropolitan police force. You say we have no proof. Well, Agent Scully, fingerprints can be wiped or avoided by the use of gloves. Men have been convicted, _hanged_ on less than we have accumulated against that old man! I can't go to my superiors and ask them to release a suspect on the basis of a. . . of a _ghost tale_! Not for Mulder, not for anyone!" She spun on her heel and started toward the elevators, but stopped and turned back. For a moment, Scully almost expected to have a finger poking her in the chest. "You want to save the old man? You want to prove Mulder right? Bring me some evidence, Agent Scully. Hard, fast, scientific evidence. Then, I will do everything in my power to convince my superiors to let the old man go." At Scully's defiant glare, Phoebe softened slightly, giving her a faint, but admiring smile. "If you're half as good as Mulder has always gone on about you, I'm sure you'll have all the evidence you need before sunrise." Without another word, Phoebe caught the next elevator and left Scully to fume alone in the hall. The agent stared at the elevator doors for a long time. Then, she glanced back to the door just down the hall, where her partner lay sleeping. She chewed on her lip. Ordinarily, she'd have no problem going off to investigate the case once she knew her partner was out of danger. Hell, she reminded herself, a good quarter of their cases were solved while one or the other of them had been incapacitated in some way or another. But this time, she was in a foreign country, without proper jurisdictions. Sure, Phoebe had thrown down the gauntlet, but Phoebe would also gleefully lock up the American agent on anything from breaking and entering to obstruction of justice or the English equivalent, if Scully ran afoul with the local law. But it was obvious that Phoebe was torn. Torn between protecting her own ass, and making sure an innocent man was convicted of crimes he never committed. "Mulder, why do you always seem to miss out on all the fun?" Scully asked with an impatient puff of air directed at the hair falling over her forehead. Not one to drag out the inevitable, she motioned to the closest nurse. "I'm going to be gone for a while. If there's any change in his condition, or if he wakes up and asks for me, Scully, call this number at the hotel and leave a message, please?" The pretty, young nurse took the scrap of paper with the number and tucked it in the jacket of Mulder's chart. Reassured, at least somewhat, Scully took the stairs to the ground floor and headed off to find her proof. She made it as far as the lobby when she found Mrs. Mac, clutching a handkerchief and talking frantically to the woman at the reception desk. "I've been to the emergency room, they say they took 'im up stairs. But I canna find out where!" the old woman wailed in misery. "I can't seem to place him in the computer, madam. I'm sure he'll turn up soon. Why don't you have a seat and I'll ring the floors, see if we can locate him that way," the woman behind the desk said with a sympathetic smile. "Mrs. Mac?" Scully asked quietly as she came up behind the older woman. "Mrs. Mac, what's wrong?" The woman spun and hung onto Scully as if her very life depended on it. "His heart. It's been too much. I knew it, I knew it was too much. And the police keep hounding him! How could they every think . . ." She was quickly reduced to sobs. Scully enfolded the distressed woman in her arms and led her to the nearby set of padded chairs. "Mrs. Mac, here, sit down." It was the right thing to do, for the older woman soon regained her composure. "Oh, Dana, I'm so frightened for him. I dinna know what to do! He was so pale, like a wraith. And he was in so much pain." Tears streamed down her face, but she wiped at them angrily and fought to keep her wits about her. "I rang the surgery. They brought a lorry to take him away." Again, she dissolved into tears. "They said there wasn't room for me, that I had to follow. I called a taxi and came quick as I could." "Mrs. Mac, I'm so very sorry . . ." Before Scully could complete her sentence, Mrs. Mac startled and then grabbed her hand. "Dear Heavens, where's my head? How is Fox? Is he awake? Is he all right? That's part of what was weighing so heavy on himself today. He was so worried about Fox." "Mulder, er, Fox, is doing better Mrs. Mac. He regained consciousness just a little while ago. Inspector Greene was there and we were able to get his statement, but it tired him out and he's asleep again. I'm sorry I didn't call, I was headed back to Mr. Laing's when I saw you down here." "Inspector Greene," Mrs. Mac said with more than a hint of disdain. "And where is the 'dear' Inspector Greene? Trumping up charges against another innocent, I suspect," she harumphed. "She's back at the Yard. Mrs. Mac, let's see if they've found Mr. Laing. I'll stay with your while you talk to the doctors. Then, I have some things I need to check on." "Thank you, dear," Mrs. Mac said, cupping Scully's cheek. "Fox got himself a prize in you," she said with a gentle smile. Scully felt her cheeks redden, but didn't object. It didn't bother her that others could see their relationship. She wondered if she'd feel the same when they finally got home to DC. Mr. Laing was found and had been settled in a room in the cardiac unit. His doctor was hesitant to speak with Scully, but upon finding her a doctor, and an American, he found it in his heart to give her the details of the tutor's condition. "Stable angina, I suspect," the doctor assured Scully. "We're starting him on a low dose of nitroglycerin and want to keep him a few days for observation. At his age, it's best to error in the conservative, I feel." Scully nodded her agreement. "He's been under a great deal of stress in the last few days," she added. "Hospitalization is probably the best thing for him right now." Mrs. Mac was unconvinced that the danger had passed. "I don't understand. He was in so much pain." "Stable angina is the best diagnosis we could hope for in this case, Mrs. Mac, believe me. He was reacting to the stress, there was no permanent damage to the heart muscle. And if he responds favorable to the medication, a couple of days in bed and he'll be good as new." Mrs. Mac still looked worried, so Scully leaned in and whispered in her ear. "Besides, as long as he's here, he can't be a suspect in any further deaths, can he?" Finally, a smile broke through the worry. "You are the cleaver one, aren't ya?" she said with a quiet chuckle. "Well, I best go see how he's doin'. He hates being fussed over. If I dinna take him to task, he'll be making the nurses crazy in no time." Scully bit her lip to keep from voicing a similar trait in her partner. "Mrs. Mac, I really need to go look into some evidence. I hate to leave you . . ." "No, dearie, I'm gonna be fine. I'll just sit with him a bit, make sure he's mindin' his manners. You run a long." She patted Scully's cheek again. "Just take care, Dana. Fox would never survive without you." Scully heart twisted at that statement, but instead of acknowledging it, she just said goodbye and left. end of part 13 Vickie Come visit our websites brought to you by the fabulous Shirley Smiley! http://susanproto.freeservers.com http://vickiemoseley.freeservers.com From: Vickie Moseley The Oxford Files: Going Home 14 By Susan Proto (STPteach@aol.com) & Vickie Moseley (vmoseley@fgi.net) Scully found herself feeling an air of trepidation as she approached the carriage house, but she didn't know why. She believed that Mulder really did see Annie alive. She believed in Mr. Laing's innocence. What she found herself questioning over and over again was Mulder's theory of how Annie met her demise. There were no outward abrasions on her neck, just as there were none on the other victims. Scully was positive though that the coroner would find the cause of death was choking, based upon the bruising found within the neck area, under the skin. So as she lifted the barrier tape to the site, which was now void of all law enforcement due to the history of the case. The members of the Scotland Yard task force were, if nothing else, overly self-confident in their presumption that Mr. Laing was automatically guilty. Mulder's eyewitness account was the proof to Mr. Laing's innocence. Now all she needed to do was prove Mulder's eyewitness accounting of the event. It was with little wonder that Scully found herself entering the building with caution and uneasiness. There was an atmosphere of unrest in the carriage house; the agent couldn't for the life of her place her finger on what it was exactly that had her so disturbed, but Scully knew that as soon as she entered through the door, she was no longer safe. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Mrs. Mac sat quietly by the old man's bedside and wondered how things had gotten so far. She knew who was behind their sorry predicament; she simply had no way of proving it. Nor did she have an explanation as to why. Why was her late, beloved Gavin doing this to her and to Mr. Laing. Not only that, there were dear, young innocents whose lives were being directly affected as well. Mrs. Mac couldn't help but wonder why Gavin would go so far as murdering people whom had nothing to do with him. It was too much. It was simply too much. "Gavin?" she whispered tremulously. "Gavin, we have to speak. You have to tell me what's wrong so we can make all of this suffering stop," she pleaded. She felt Mr. Laing stir as he lay nearby in his bed. She didn't want to awaken him, but nor did she want to avoid a confrontation with her late husband's apparition. She continued seeking out her long, dead husband. "Gavin, you must come to me now. You must tell me why you are doing this to Mr. Laing and to me. For God's sake, Gavin me love, you've caused so much heartache already!" "And what about me, Effie? When does the heartache stop for me?" responded a low, plaintive voice. "Gavin, I don't understand, love. What are you talking about?" she responded with genuine confusion. "Do you think it's been easy for me to watch over you all of these years? To be sure you were safe? To be sure you were happy? Did you think I'd be able to go on and meet our maker until I was sure you were taken care of? Oh, Effie, I've been waiting all of these years to go on to the next world, but I couldn't. I couldn't leave you." "Gavin, I'm safe. And with the exception of a few aches and pains from the rheumatoid, I'm healthy. What are you waiting for?" she asked. "I'm waiting for you to discover your happiness, me love. It hurts so much to see you not happy," he explained. "But I have a full life, Gavin. I have a household to take care of and a lovely man to care for. I'm not sad, my sweet." "But, you're not happy either, Effie. When are you going to find someone who will care for you; who will make you happy?" he sighed. "I can't take it anymore. Can ya understan' that my love? I canna watch over you anymore; I'm tired. I'm so, so tired, and I need to go on to meet our maker. I canna sacrifice my afterlife for your life on earth, but I feel so guilty about not being able to do so, that I__, I had to get your attention somehow. "I dinna know it would go so far. Oh God in heaven, help me, but I canna stop myself any longer. I have to go! Effie, you have to help me! I have to go back there, and I'm afraid of what may happen when I do. Help me, my darling. Help me stop!" And in the next split second, his presence vanished. Mrs. Mac sat but for a moment longer when she realized what Gavin had said to her. "Ohmegod!," she cried out. She jumped out of her chair and quickly found her way to Mulder's hospital room. When she saw him lying in the bed, she didn't know if she should tell him what Gavin had told her. But then she realized how devastated the young man would be if anything ever happened to his Miss Scully. He would be even more traumatized if he came to find out he might have been able to save her. "Fox," she whispered urgently, as she gently shook his shoulder. "Fox, you have to wake up, me boy. I think she's in trouble." "Trouble?" mumbled Mulder with his eyes half shut. "Who's in trouble?" "Miss Scully. I think Dana is in trouble," she replied. At that, Mulder lifted himself up to a sitting position, though his body practically screamed in protest from the pain. "I don't understand, Mrs. Mac. Why do you think she's in trouble?" "He told me he couldn't control himself anymore, Fox. He told me to help him." "Who told you, Mrs. Mac?" asked Mulder desperately. "Gavin," she whispered in anguish. "My Gavin told me he had to go back there. He needs our help, Fox. Please, he needs help. Your Dana needs help," she cried out. Within moments, Mulder swung his legs over the side of the bed and opened the small closet door. Thankful the British weren't nearly as scissors happy as Americans were when it came to the removal of clothing in an emergency room, Mulder grabbed his clothes and began to dress. He was still weak from both his injuries and the pain medication, so he elected to remain in the room to dress and not go into the bathroom. He figured the elderly Mrs. Mac could be trusted not to jump him upon seeing his naked body, and he certainly could use her help in keeping him upright until he found his equilibrium again. Just as he was trying to make sense of his belt buckle with a little help from the now very anxious Mrs. Mac, a nurse entered the room ready to check on Mulder's condition. "Mr. Mulder? Now just what do you think you're doing, sir?" she asked in a most flustered tone. "Signing myself out, Nurse ___," he paused for a moment to read the name tag on her lapel, but he felt a little disconcerted when he realized his vision was a little too blurry to read the small print. "___AMA, I guess." "AMA?" echoed Mrs. Mac in a questioning tone. "Against Medical Advice," responded Mulder. "But you're injured, Mr. Mulder. You can't leave!" cried out the nurse. "Yes, I can leave, and I am leaving, so if you want me to sign the form absolving you of any and all fault should I find myself in a more dire predicament as a result of my current condition, I'll be happy to sign it. But you have to bring it to me within the next thirty seconds, because I will be gone after that." The nurse left immediately to get the form. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Scully moved about the first floor until she found the collapsed stairway. She wondered if there was enough of it left for her to climb to investigate the upstairs. She stepped up on the first stair and pushed hard on it. Well, that one seemed sturdy enough. She picked up her other foot and placed it on the next step. With her flashlight out in front of her, she was able to see the condition of the rest of the stairs and realized it was probably not the safest or smartest thing for her to continue on to the second floor. Of course she continued onward and upward. When she'd managed to bypass the large gaping holes in the numerous stairs ahead of her and negotiate the final three steps, if one could even call them steps there was so much of them missing, she was able to step onto the second floor. She took a moment to catch her breath, for she realized upon looking down from whence she came, that she had certainly taken a helluva risk in coming up here. Finally, she held her flashlight in front of her and proceeded to walk to her right. Seconds later, as her flashlight shone brightly ahead of her, Scully screamed! And she heard a scream of equal timber in return. "Agent Scully! What the hell are you trying to do? Give me a bloody heart attack?!!" "Inspector Greene, I could ask the same of you," replied a breathless Scully in reply. "I'm doing my job, Agent Scully," stated Phoebe. "And I'm doing what you practically ordered me to do, Inspector. I'm searching for the proof you so emphatically stated you needed in order to corroborate my partner's story and exonerate Mr. Laing," retorted Scully. "This is a crime site, Agent Scully. You shouldn't even be here," Phoebe stated, albeit rather halfheartedly. "So it is; what better place to find evidence than at the crime scene?" replied Scully wryly. "Touch," answered the inspector. "Well, as long as you're here, we might as well get on with it. Let's go Agent Scully, and see what we can see." And in the corner, waiting ever so quietly, was the apparition of a man who fervently prayed he could be stopped in time. end of 14 Vickie Come visit our websites brought to you by the fabulous Shirley Smiley! http://susanproto.freeservers.com http://vickiemoseley.freeservers.com From: Vickie Moseley The Oxford Files: Going Home 15 By Vickie Moseley (vmoseley@fgi.net) & Susan Proto (STPteach@aol.com) "Dear God," muttered Phoebe aloud as the two women entered the room in which Ann Hilton was found. "It looks like a cyclone hit it." The furniture, or what was left of it, was turned on its side and whatever papers that had once occupied the desk were now strewn all about the room, including the business cards. "Mr. Laing's business cards; these are the ones he'd told us were collecting dust in his desk drawer up here," elaborated Scully. "What the hell happened in here?" she asked incredulously. "I'm not sure, but I bloody well intend to find out," answered the British counterpart. "Inspector, you can't possibly think Mr. Laing caused all of this damage, can you?" Scully paused a moment to get a better look around the room and then continued, "For crying out loud, Phoebe, all you have to do is look at the condition of this room to realize Mr. Laing simply is not physically capable of causing this kind of damage." "I know, I know," Phoebe muttered in reply, and then added in a stronger voice, "but we've got to find out who did in order to clear him of any wrong doing." CRASH! CRASH! WHOOOSHH! The women felt the sudden rush of air fill the room, and the women ducked feverishly to get out of the way of flying glass. The windows were now in large shards with equal amount of small glass splinters all about the floor. "What the hell?" asked Scully out loud. "Do you see anything?" yelled out the inspector. "No! No, I don't see anything. I can hear something, though. Can you hear someone else breathing?" asked Scully quickly. Both women remained silent for a moment or two to listen. Finally, Phoebe nodded her head vigorously, and then she pointed in the direction of the corner window. She began to step towards the window when suddenly there was another loud crash from the opposite end of the room. Scully, who was closer, reacted immediately and ran toward the sound. When she got to the corner of the room, she saw an end table that had been sitting on its side when they'd first entered the devastation but was now totally splintered and useful only as firewood. "Who's there? Show yourself, now!" commanded Scully. She waited a few moments before she called out again, "Who is there?" Phoebe watched the American react fearlessly to the situation. The Brit was actually quite impressed by her former lover's partner. Phoebe almost regretted the disdain she automatically felt for the woman by virtue of Scully's rather obvious close association with Mulder. So Phoebe wondered if it was for that particular reason she didn't move seemingly fast enough to assist the agent when she started clutching at air and gasping for breath. But move she did, and in the next instant Inspector Greene rushed to Scully's side in an attempt to remove whatever it was that was hampering her breathing. There was nothing there. There was nothing for Phoebe to grasp, to clutch, to throw off of the petite woman in front of her who was now gasping for air. "Dana! Dana!" Phoebe screamed helplessly as she watched Scully's lips slowly turning blue. Suddenly, without either woman realizing it, another presence entered the room. At his arrival, Scully suddenly fell to the ground. "Scully!" screamed Mulder. "Scully!" He ran to her and checked her respiration and her pulse, neither of which was strong. "Damn you, Gavin MacFarley! Enough is enough!" Phoebe looked at her former lover and first wondered what the hell he was doing out of the hospital, and then second, how quickly she could get him back into one, preferably in a straight jacket. "Fox, who the hell are you talking to?" she demanded. "The murderer, Phoebe. I'm talking with the murderer. Jeezes, Phoebe, use your damned cellular and call for an ambulance. Scully's in trouble here," he pleaded. Phoebe quickly brought out her cell phone and placed the call. While they waited for an ambulance, Mulder continued his one-sided conversation. "Gavin, you have to let it go. You can't do this to Mrs. Mac any longer; she can't take much more of this. And you're going to kill Mr. Laing if you keep this up," Mulder implored, "and you don't really want to do that, do you Gavin? You can't want to do that, because having Mr. Laing around for Mrs. Mac is your salvation, isn't it?" An eerie silence followed Mulder's pleas. He waited for Gavin to reply all the while holding on to Scully, willing her to breathe more life back into her listless body. He could see her chest rise and fall with each shallow breath, but Mulder was scared help would be too little, too late. "NO!" screamed the voice of the damned. "NO!" And within the next instance, Mulder felt himself being lifted up, away from Scully thankfully, and being manhandled roughly to the other side of the room. "What do you know of anything, you young sonofabitch!" he asked rhetorically. But Mulder needed to answer him. He had to make him understand. "Gavin, you think you're the only being that doesn't know peace of mind? You don't have to be dead to not know peace. Damn," he sighed heavily, "being alive is no guarantee for peace, old man. In fact, the unrest some of us face on earth has your unrest beat by a mile." Mulder sensed someone's vision penetrating right through him. And then in the tick of a second, the ghostly entity's began to pummel Mulder's chest and stomach mercilessly out of anger, frustration, and desperation. Meanwhile, Phoebe had immediately bent down in a vain attempt to protect Scully as well as herself from whatever the hell was wreaking havoc in the room. She watched with her mouth agape as Mulder's body sustained blow after blow from an invisible force. She was sure though no bruising would be seen from the outside, Mulder was definitely going to experience the trauma of internal bleeding. She was at a loss as to what to do. Phoebe feared that calling out to Mulder would be nothing more than a futile attempt to assist the agent while at the same time calling attention to herself and the injured Dana Scully. Yet, she felt it absurd that she, an inspector with one of the most highly regarded police forces in the world, was rendered useless by an unknown and unseen force. Inspector Greene finally made the decision that she could no longer hang back and allow Mulder to bear the brunt of that trauma. She rose and purposefully distanced herself from a still unconscious Scully to try and divert the entity's attention from a now beaten and disoriented Fox Mulder. "Mulder! Mulder, what is it? Who is it, Mulder? Help me out here!" Phoebe called out forcefully. She had to rouse Mulder out of his stupor if he was to be of any help to himself and Scully, not to mention the inspector herself. "Argghh," he groaned in reply. "Scu-lee," he managed to grit out between his teeth. "Mulder, she's fine," lied Phoebe, but she had to get him to pay attention to her. "Who is it, Mulder? Who is in here with us?" "Gavin,'' gasped a punch drunk Mulder. "Gavin MacFarley." "MacFarley?" she echoed. "I don't understand, Fox. The only MacFarley I know is Mr. Laing's housekeeper." Phoebe's face wore an expression of total confusion. "Yes," he muttered in acknowledgment. "Yes? Fox, what are you saying? Mrs. Mac is the bloody killer?" she reacted in frustrated anger. "What the hell is going on here?" "Not Mrs. Mac. Gavin__, her husband," he managed to rasp. Whatever injuries Mulder had sustained earlier in his fall down the flight of stairs now caused him even more discomfort, what with the beating he received from the apparition and the fact that Mulder's pain medication was wearing off quickly. It made it difficult for him to speak with any kind of coherence. "Her husband? Mulder, I thought Mrs. Mac was a widow," responded Phoebe hesitantly. She feared what Mulder was going to say next, because she knew her ex-lover only too well. "It's his ghost." "Ohmygawd," replied a breathless Phoebe. "Where? Where is he, Mulder? Damn it, Fox, how do I arrest a bloody ghost?" she shrilled. "Don't know," was all he could manage for the next few seconds. Then, he called out to his foe. "Gavin? Gavin, you have to help me help her," he said while looking toward his partner who remained lying on the floor with little movement. Moments passed before his voice was heard. Even Phoebe was able to hear him now. "What do you want me to do? I can't help her. I can't help her," he moaned. "Who can't you help, Gavin? Agent Scully? Or are you talking about Mrs. Mac?" asked a now mesmerized Inspector Greene. "Oh, my poor Effie. My poor, poor Effie," he lamented. "What is wrong with Effie?" asked Phoebe softly. She didn't want to frighten the presence back into hiding from her. She only wished she could see his form, rather than just hear him. "She's alone. My poor Effie is all alone," he cried, "and I can't leave her." "Alone?" croaked out Mulder. "Gavin, Effie's not alone. She's got Mr. Laing." "Hah! She's got nothing! She's in his bloody servitude! His bloody indentured servant! That's not the life for my girl! Not for my Effie!" his voice boomed in anger. "Servant? No, Gavin, no. Mrs. Mac's not anywhere she doesn't want to be," Mulder replied in a hoarse whisper. "But she's his bloody housekeeper!" he cried out in horror. "And didn't she keep house for you when you were alive?" was Mulder's reply. "It's what she does, Gavin. It's how she shows she cares." "But I didn't pay her to do it. I loved her, for God's sake. I LOVED her!" "And you don't believe Mr. Laing cares for her?" asked Mulder. "Not like I do," he replied quickly. "Did." "What?" asked MacFarley in confusion. "Did. Not like you _did_ love her, Gavin. You're dead now, so it's not the same. Mr. Laing cares for her now. In his own way; he cares for her in his own, very much alive, way," pressed Mulder. "But what about Effie?" asked a now stunned Gavin. "She still loves me, doesn't she?" "She does, Gavin, but only because you refuse to let her go. She feels disloyal to you if she allows herself to knowingly love another man. Let her go, Gavin. Let her love again, so Mr. Laing can willingly love her back." "But how do I let go of the one true love of my life?" he asked sadly. "Willingly, because you did love her once, so much," Mulder replied gently. "She'll return to you someday, Gavin. True loves, soul mates, always find one another again." Mulder winced now in obvious pain and then uttered, "Scully," as he attempted to crawl back toward her. Mulder felt a pressure on his shoulder and cringed in fear. He was sure Gavin was going to begin the pummeling again. Instead, Mulder felt himself gently lifted up and placed by Scully's side. Then, Mulder heard Gavin ask, "You think me 'n Effie will truly find our way back to one another someday?" "Yes, I do," replied Mulder as he tenderly pushed the red tendrils out of Scully's now opened eyes. He bent down and kissed her gently on the lips to let her know he was there, and that she was going to be fine. "How do you know, lad? How can you be sure?" asked Gavin anxiously. "Because I have had my own soul mate at my side for the last seven years, and I know no one, not anything of this world or beyond, will ever willingly part us. We were meant to be together forever, Gavin; even if one of us dies before the other, we are soul mates forever." "Forever," whispered the slightly ragged voice of Dana Scully. Mulder smiled contentedly for the first time in hours. end of part 15 Vickie Come visit our websites brought to you by the fabulous Shirley Smiley! http://susanproto.freeservers.com http://vickiemoseley.freeservers.com From: Vickie Moseley The Oxford Files: Going Home 16 By Susan Proto (STPteach@aol.com) & Vickie Moseley (vmoseley@fgi.net) "Gavin, love, what 'ere ya doin'?" Mulder lifted his head and saw Mrs. Mac stepping gingerly over the destruction that was the remains of the room. "Effie?" Mulder wondered if he was the only one to see the specter. Phoebe's eyes were roving the room, jerking when Gavin spoke, but never resting there. Scully, now that air was moving into her lungs, seemed to have her eyes glued to their locked hands and occasionally, his own face, but nowhere else. But Mrs. Mac seemed to stare straight at the ghost of her late husband. "Ah, Gavin, love," she sighed and a trembling sadness came to her voice. "Why, Gavin? You'd never hurt a living soul, love. Never in your life. Why now? Why those poor young ones, with their lives ahead of 'em." To Mulder's amazement, the old woman's words seem to have a strong impact on the see-through image of the man before him. Shoulders stooped, a head bowed in contrition. "I dinna want to hurt them, Effie. I just . . . it hurts so much, Effie. I've been hurtin' so much for so long. I couldna stand the pain any longer. I had to get your attention somehow." Mrs. Mac jerked back as if slapped. "My attention? Gavin, why on earth did you need to go through all that to get _my_ attention?" "I tried the easy things, Effie. I stole your hairbrush, I moved his 'lordship's hankies'," Gavin said the last with a bitter sneer. "But it was all for naught, love. You just didna see what you've been doin' to me. Why couldna ya let me go?" Tears were streaming down her face now and she put her hand up to her mouth to hold back a sob. "I loved you so, Gavin." "Aye, as I loved you," he answered. "I dinna want to lose you, not so young," Mrs. Mac said shaking her head sadly. "Effie, I want my rest. Please, let me have my rest. But I canna leave until I know you're cared for. Till I know you're safe . . . and loved." "Ah Gavin," she whispered. "I am loved. He's gruff and he doesn't know how to show it, but believe me, lad. I am loved." Mulder held his breath, waiting for the specter to decide the truth of her statement. The ghost took his own sweet time. Finally, a filmy cloud formed out of nowhere and engulfed the ghost. "Till next time, love. When we'll be together forever." The specter raised his hand and blew her a kiss. Mrs. Mac returned the gesture. "Till next time, love. Till next time." A freezing wind howled through the room and blew the papers up into a vortex. Mulder rolled over and covered Scully as best as he could, but in the end, only paper and small business cards rained down on them, and not the sharp glass and debris he'd expected. Before he could move again, Phoebe and Mrs. Mac were kneeling beside them, checking them for injuries. Mulder waved them off, but of course, Scully's stern glare made them ignore his protests. "Looks like you'll be sharing an ambulance," Phoebe grinned. As Mrs. Mac clucked over the two injured agents, the Inspector sat back on her haunches and surveyed the room. "Thinking of how the hell you're going to turn this into a report?" Mulder asked, and wiggled his eyebrows wickedly. "How do you do it, Mulder? All your cases are like this? How in the world . . ." "Easy," he replied, and had to wait while emergency personnel shouted up the stairs and managed their way up the rickety steps. The question was lost for a while, during which the agents were strapped onto stretchers and readied for transport. As they were being carried toward the stairs and the descent down to the waiting ambulance, Phoebe touched his arm. "You were saying it's easy?" "Sure," he said, craning his head up to catch a glimpse of his partner, already arguing with the medical attendant. "I just let Scully do the reports. She writes great fiction." Phoebe screwed up her face, but refused to honor him with a laugh. Instead, she ruffled his hair gently. "Promise me one thing, Mulder." "Anything for an old friend," he replied easily. She leaned in close to his ear and whispered her request. "When you're both well enough to travel, . . . you'll go home straight away!" It hurt to laugh. Heathrow Airport three days later "You really didn't need to come all this way, Mrs. Mac," Scully insisted again, for the fifth or sixth time. "I'd never hear the end of it from Mr. Laing if I hadn't," the old woman said with twinkling eyes. "And I think I'm better off here than sitting with him at the hospital. He's been pretty grumpy the last few days." "Like someone else we could mention," Scully grinned and cast a glance toward her partner as he checked in at the airlines desk in the passenger lounge. "Oh, I'm certain we could say it of all of them, dearie," Mrs. Mac laughed in reply. "But it can get awful lonesome without 'em," she added with a sad smile. "Are you all right?" Scully asked, but before the woman could answer, Mulder had returned, boarding passes in hand. "I'm interrupting, I hope," he said lightly as he handed his partner her pass. "Not every conversation is about you, Mulder," Scully replied with a raised eyebrow. "Just the good ones," he answered and leaned down to lightly kiss her lips. She surprised him by reaching up and pulling him down so that she could kiss him back soundly. When he recovered, he smiled. "I'm gonna walk over there so I can come back and get that same welcome, OK?" She grabbed his hand. "Oh, you can stay here. That way I can keep an eye on you." "Afraid I'll wander off?" he asked, the teasing tone of his voice belying the deeper discussion. "Afraid you'll get yourself in more trouble, more'n likely," chuckled Mrs. Mac. "Well, I really should be off. I don't want to think what he's doing to the poor nurses while I'm away." "It was great seeing you again, Mrs. Mac," Mulder said, taking the older woman into a bear hug that brought her off her toes. "Oh, my! You always were a sly one, Fox," she giggled. "Now, don't make yourselves strangers. Come back. Soon." With that, she kissed him soundly on the cheek and did the same to Dana before hurrying off into the crowd, wiping away a few stray tears. "You were talking to Mr. Laing when I was making the change in reservations this morning," Scully said as they waved to Mrs. Mac. "What did you finally decide?" He chuckled lightly and pulled her to him. "Ever the investigator," he said and kissed the crown of her head. Without moving, he spoke into her hair. "I told him I have a job, one I love. I have no intention to leave it." She was glad he couldn't see the relief on her face as she closed her eyes and hugged him tightly. "I'm sure he was disappointed." "Oh, he's not giving up. He says that eventually the FBI will try to chain me to a desk. The job will still be open, he'll make sure of it." Her face grew serious and she nodded, which he always knew meant she was thinking too hard about something. "Of course, we'd have to find a medical school somewhere nearby. I'm pretty sure they have one, but I tried to stay away from it when I was here. They weren't always real particular where they got their cadavers. Find yourself pissed in the alleyway and you might be the next anatomy lesson," he teased, then drew her close. "But you'd change that. That is, if you don't have any other plans for retirement." "I suppose I could do worse," she said dryly, with a wicked gleam in her eye. "It does sound more appealing than the 'Old Agents Home' in South Florida. "Death sounds more appealing than the 'Old Agents Home' in South Florida," he chuckled. "But I'd take the Old Agents Home in a heartbeat . . . if you were there with me." "When you put it that way, I have no other plans." She kept her arms around her, but turned her head so she was looking out at the runway and their waiting plane. "Will things change when we get back home?" she asked wistfully. "Yeah," he sighed. She tensed in his arms and tucked her head in his shoulder. She should have realized this was just a vacation. A vacation from their everyday lives of chasing mutants and government conspiracies. He would want to go back to his normal existence, which included keeping her at arms length. And she would do the same, because that was what was expected of them, what they expected of each other. Before she knew it, hot tears were streaming down her cheeks. "For one thing, I have to get a new bed. Since the great flood of '99, I've been sleeping on that damned couch. I don't think we'll both fit." She had been so deep in her own misery, she almost missed what he'd said. "A new bed?" "The waterbed was a king sized, but I don't want one that big. I'd keep losing you in it. Maybe a queen sized. Or maybe you'll just let me sleep with you at your place." "When you said things would change . . ." she said and he looked down and noticed her tears. "I meant change from the way they were, Scully," he whispered softly as he leaned down and kissed her. "I don't want to go back home if it means going back to the way things were going. One step forward, two steps back, it was driving me crazy! I mean, the only reason I wanted us both to go on this stupid vacation . . ." He stopped abruptly, realizing his unconscious confession. "What I meant to say," he sputtered. Her eyes narrowed as she pulled back to look him square in the face. "You mean you weren't coming here because you were seriously considering a career change," she challenged, her voice low and dangerous. He swallowed audibly. "Well, I did want to prove to myself that I could still make it in academic circles. I mean, Scully, some of the stuff we turn in to Skinner makes great sci-fi, but as for true scholarly works . . ." "_I_ try to make our reports credible enough to be considered scholarly," she retorted indignantly. "But besides that, exactly what did you expect to accomplish by this little sojourn across the Atlantic?" Her arms were crossed and her brow was furrowed. For an instant, he got the image of her as a cartoon bull, complete with steam coming out of her ears. He shook his head wildly. Wrong image, definitely wrong image. When all else fails, tell the truth. "I wanted us to have some time when we weren't on a case, when we weren't in danger, when we could be just ourselves," he rambled out in one breath. "Well, so much for _that_ plan," she replied dryly. "Really, Scully," he groaned. "I had no idea this was going to turn out to be such a . . . a . . ." "Fiasco?" she provided. "Fiasco," he sighed, hanging his head in defeat. She couldn't keep it up, the strain was just too much. "Mulder, get over the guilt trip. I knew what you were trying to do before we even touched 'the ole sod'," she said, smirking and pulling him in for a hug. "You did?" he croaked. "Mulder, you kissed me on the plane," she reminded him as she reached up to do a replay of that momentous event. "And I wasn't being transferred, and you weren't half drowned. I knew something was up." She kissed him again. "Just please don't tell me you flew all the way over here just to impress me with your scholarly ways'." He blushed. "Not even a little?" he asked timidly. She laughed at him. "I was already impressed with your brain, Mulder. I always have been. But if this also proved something to you about yourself, then, who am I to object?" "Who are you? My heart. My soul. My partner," he said, leaning down to kiss her more soundly this time. "British Airways Flight 609 direct flight to Dulles International Airport, is now boarding at Gate 45. All passengers are requested to have their boarding passes ready for the attendant at the gate. Thank you for flying British Airways." They both pulled away at the same moment, slightly breathless. "When are we due back at the office?" he asked in a whisper. "I got us three extra days. Skinner thinks your 'injuries' are a little more serious and will require some rest." "Your bed or mine?" he leered down at her. "Mine. I don't want to waste time shopping for a new bed," she leered in return. "A woman of expediency. My dream has come true," he chuckled as she pulled him along. It was time to get started on their new life. the end