Title: Occam's Razor
Author: Fallenbelle
Rating: M-Mature
Summary: The simplest answer is usually the correct one.
Characters: William Murdoch and Julia Ogden
Category: Angst and maybe romance? Does this seriously qualify as romance? Oh, dear…
Spoilers/Setting: Takes place after season 1, sometime before or very early season 2.
Notes: The bolded, italicized script is dialogue taken from "That Annoying Red Planet", while the italicized script is taken and adapted from William's dream/fantasy in the second Murdoch Mysteries film "Poor Tom is Cold." Dr. Tellers Pocket Companion was an actual sex manual published in the mid-19th century that extolled the virtues of sex and the physiology of the genital areas. This is what happens when you watch the movie and the episodes the same night. Pervy William ahoy!
Crabtree: How can you be sure?
Murdoch: Occam's Razor.
Crabtree: Occam's-sorry, what?
Murdoch: Occam's Razor. It's a principle of logic that states the simplest answer is usually the correct one. (Taken from S1E13, That Annoying Red Planet)
They were on the morgue slab, wrapped in what was most definitely a lover's embrace. He lay between her thighs, buried deep inside her, engaging in the age-old dance of lovers as she lay beneath him, writhing and arching her body to meet his own in pleasure. Holding her head in his hands, he hungrily devoured her mouth in kisses that demanded her participation-which she returned in full measure.
It was nothing short of magnificent, this ritual he'd been warned about by countless nuns and priests, and not at all repellant. He couldn't imagine another activity so sublime, and he couldn't believe that he'd denied himself the pleasures of the flesh for so long.
Running her fingers through his hair and digging her fingernails into his scalp, she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper…
Bolting upright in his bed, William took several deep breaths, and calmed his heart rate, reassuring himself that it was but a dream, ignoring once again the disappointment that such a rendezvous between him and Julia hadn't actually happened.
On the other hand, his virtue was still very much intact. Well, at least physically anyway. He doubted that he could still be considered spiritually virtuous after multiple occurrences of this particular dream-featuring someone who was a friend and colleague no less!
He was ashamed to admit that this wasn't the first time he'd experienced this scandalous dream, and he doubted it would be the last. What would Julia say if she ever learned of these dreams and visions he had of her? When he was less than the gentleman he tried so hard to be around her?
In a moment of weakness and without thought, his hand drifted down to his manhood, desperate for relief before he realized his actions, and instead grabbed his rosary in disgust, shame writ across his features.
Sometime later, after he had recited two decades and was contemplating a third, he decided to reflect instead on why he was having this recurring dream.
Not only was it difficult for a woman to have achieved what she had professionally, but she was also his friend, and he shouldn't be thinking about her in this manner. Yet he didn't have this infernal dream about anyone else. Yet, here he was behaving no different from any other man: imagining sexual relations with her when she instead deserved nothing but his attention and respect. He'd always thought himself better than that.
Apparently, he wasn't.
But he did respect what Julia had accomplished; he also thought her kind, thoughtful, intelligent, witty, and yes, even beautiful. He didn't just think of her sexually-he thought of her in other non-sexual capacities as well.
But why? What was it about her that invaded his subconscious? He'd looked upon other women with lust in his heart before, but usually he'd just admired their form or their pretty, feminine features. Sometimes he wondered what they felt like without a corset, their bodies free of restraint, but he hadn't imagined himself ravishing them with this degree of intensity.
Not like he did with Julia. He'd often found himself imagining that he was kissing her, taking her body against his, inhaling her scent and relishing the feel of her feminine attributes beneath his hands-sometimes even when she was in the same room with him!
Pleading for mercy, William recited Hail Marys until he finally went to sleep.
The next day saw that it was necessary for him to go to the morgue to ask about results on mysterious substances in one of his cases, and he found himself observing her unaware.
Her phonograph played one of the currently popular songs, and he watched her sway in tune with the music, her hips moving suggestively to the beat. He realized that this was not the first time he'd stared at her derriere-in fact he'd recognized her at the train station in the Rouge Valley solely by the swing of her hips-which meant that he'd clearly been gazing at it enough to be able to identify her solely on that feature in a crowd of people in a strange town.
Watching her move about the morgue, he watched with rapt attention as she bent over her lab table to reach something just out of her easy grasp on the top shelf. If he were a true gentleman, he would have rushed over to assist her; instead he imagined what it would be like to bend her across the table and take her from behind.
He had no idea how long he'd been indulging in his base fantasy, because Julia had had to come over and touch his shoulder to bring him from his reverie.
"William! Are you all right? William?" Julia asked, clearly concerned about his wellbeing while he imagined ravishing her in a most debaucherous way.
Blinking and shaking his head to dispel the lecherous thoughts, he looked into her eyes and saw true concern. When had he become so depraved? If she knew what he imagined about the two of them doing together, she would never talk to him again.
Wouldn't she? Was it too much to hope that a woman of Julia's beauty, intelligence, and wit would desire him physically as much as he did her?
No, well-bred women didn't desire such carnal activities-that was what the services of doxies were for, he reminded himself.
But what if she did? In his line of work, he'd encountered women who weren't prostitutes who had enjoyed the sexual act as much as men, and was it possible that Julia could be one of those women?
Somewhere, his heart dared to hope, and remembering the reason for his visit, he recovered and managed to ask about test results before leaving the morgue as quickly as possible.
But not before he caught Julia's confused expression, no doubt stymied at his odd behavior.
He had to get a grip on himself, or he would destroy not only their excellent professional relationship, but their friendship as well.
On the way home from work that night, he found himself subconsciously walking through a seedy part of town by the docks; one populated with brothels and bars that catered to sailors and stopped at a bookshop that specialized in less than respectable reading material.
He found what he was looking for in a slim tome titled "Doctor Teller's Pocket Companion, or Marriage Guide: Being a Popular Treatise on the Anatomy and Physiology of the Genital Organs, in Both Sexes, with Their Uses and Abuses. Later in his room, he read voraciously on the female genitalia and how a woman could be brought to pleasure by targeting specific areas on the body. He committed it to memory and as he lay in bed, he imagined bringing Julia such pleasure while delighting in her smell and her taste. He also thought about how smooth and soft her skin would be as he ran his hands along it, how her sighs of pleasure would be the sweetest music to his ears.
That night, he dreamt the dream again, and this time, it was even more real-something he didn't think was even possible. As always, he woke up at the moment she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him in deeper, and this time he looked up at his ceiling in despair, desperate for a respite from this cruel temptation.
This time, as his hand unwittingly slipped into his pajama bottoms and sought himself out, he closed his eyes and allowed the despicable indulgence-desperate for any release from this sweet torment. Perhaps it would alleviate the frustration he felt.
After he had cleaned himself up, he immediately knelt beside his bed, grabbing his rosary and this time saying three decades before praying. After beseeching God for mercy, the word of God to the Apostle Paul from 2 Corinthians 12:9 repeated in his head.
The next morning, he found it impossible to look Julia in the eye after doing what he had done to thoughts of her the previous night. The situation was becoming untenable.
Was she the thorn in his flesh? Had she been sent by God to test him? Why?
Why was he having these thoughts about Julia? Why now? That was the question his mind kept demanding an answer to, and he knew that it was past time to find the solution, that it could be ignored no more.
His mind raced with possible answers, but then he remembered that he'd recently told George about the principle of Occam's Razor, the statement of logic that decreed that the most likely explanation was the most simple.
So, why was he imagining being intimate with Julia in such detail he hadn't thought about since he'd held Liza in his arms?
If he was entertaining fantasies about her that he never had with any of his other acquaintances, fantasies he hadn't imagined since Liza, what did it mean?
The solution hit him like a thunderbolt. No, it couldn't be. He couldn't be in love with Julia-not like he had been with Liza.
Or could he? Oh, my. Somehow, his heart had overwritten his logical mind and had fallen for another woman-without his permission! Occam's Razor, the simplest explanation is usually the most likely, and this was, undoubtedly, the simplest explanation.
Simplest perhaps, but certainly not the most convenient. Julia was a doctor! She'd been to university; she was from a wealthy family, a socially connected family. She'd never be interested in the son of an alcoholic, abusive fisherman. Surely she could never think of him the same way he thought of her-they were so different! Plus, he reminded himself that Julia was his friend-someone to be treated with respect and integrity, not to be an unwilling participant in his lurid and despicable subconscious desires.
Falling back across his bed, he heaved a loud sigh. He had a problem-and he didn't know what he was going to do about it. He could never tell her.
Could he? He had his explanation, but would he act on it? Was he brave enough to take another chance on love?
Perhaps he would try to court Julia properly. But first, he had to find the courage.
Somehow.