In Scully's opinion, the ride from Heathrow Airport would have been quiet were it not for Phoebe. Her incessant chatter punctuated the drive with observations; "oh Mulder, you won't believe how this has changed or that has changed..." On occasion, Phoebe would be considerate enough to include her in the conversation, but after a scant few minutes, Phoebe somehow found a way to shift her conversation and attention back to Mulder almost immediately. In light of Phoebe's constant prattle, Scully wondered how her husband shut her up long enough to bed her; his virginity for her complete and utter silence must have seemed like a fair deal at the time. It had been a long time since her imagination had traveled to that event in Mulder's life, but the image of that moment coupled with that new spin on it made Scully laugh out loud. "Well, we finally got a rise out of you," Phoebe said. That comment forced Scully to turn towards the window or risk breaking into fits of uncontrollable laughter. "Well , whatever it was, I hope it was funny" Phoebe said. "Yes; yes, it was." Scully replied.
And so the ride continued. The chauffeur driven Bentley cruised through the teeming city on the Thames, the place where monarchies ruled and more than queens had lost their heads. The car continued outside London, passing through hamlets, villages and towns on its way to Brittlegate Manor. The Bentley reached the small country town of East Wickhamstone at the start of twilight; a few miles later, the car and its occupants rolled onto the grand estate of Brittlegate Manor.
If anybody thought Brittlegate was a small country estate, they knew otherwise when they passed through the ornate iron gates. A long, gravel road traveled five miles up to the manor; halfway up, visitors were treated to a splendid fountain complete with water spouting cherubs and giant stone goldfish that sat in the middle of a circular drive. As the car approached, Mulder, Scully and Phoebe could see lights glistening in the Manor windows. "It may not seem like it to you, but Brittlegate is small compared to some of its neighbors," Phoebe said. "The Manor and the lands surrounding it were a gift to my husband's family from some grateful monarch sometime after William the Conqueror and before Queen Victoria for service and loyalty of some sort. I have to admit, I never took too much interest in the history of the place while my husband was alive; my only interest in it was to make sure I could keep it after he died. I must say that through a stroke of luck and some very clever financial moves, I was able to succeed."
The Bentley pulled up to the front steps of the manor, and was met by the butler, who opened the car door as soon as the car rolled to a stop. Phoebe was the first to get out of the car; Mulder let his wife get out first, them followed her out of the vehicle. "Welcome to Brittlegate Manor," Phoebe said. She called back to them as she made her way up the marble steps. "I suppose you'll want to go to your rooms to freshen up before dinner..." Phoebe stopped to explain her last statement. "I couldn't decide which room to give you -- both have excellent views of the garden. So I gave you both. You could turn them into a suite of sorts. There's a door that can be left open between them..."
Phoebe continued up the stairs. "...Or left just as easily closed. I'll leave that to your discretion."
Dinner was held in the large dining room just off of the solarium. The long banquet table was set for an opulent feast for many although there would only be three for dinner. "We don't dress for dinner here, so please don't feel like you need to stand on formality. When she met Scully and Mulder downstairs, Scully could see Phoebe wasn't one to take her own advice. While Mulder didn't don a tuxedo or Scully a haute couture gown, both took pains to clothe themselves in casual yet appropriately dressy attire. Phoebe, on the other hand, had managed to pour herself into a stunning little black dress with a neckline that plunged so low it could have drilled for oil.
Phoebe sat at the head of the table between Scully and Mulder, effectively cutting them off from each other. While Phoebe's position made it easy for her to speak to either of them, the width of the table created a huge gulf between Scully and her husband. She couldn't tell whether it was jet lag or the wine or something else that made everything move in slow motion; the food tasted like cotton, everyone's words were a jumble. She tried to keep focus and keep up with the conversation, but realized she wasn't doing a good job when she felt her husband's hand on her shoulder.
"Thank you for a very lovely dinner, Phoebe, but I think we'd better turn in," Mulder said. "Of course," Phoebe said as she rose from the table. Scully stood up. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to be rude...." "Nonsense," Phoebe began. "Mulder's always done better on flights," Scully continued. Phoebe raised her hand to stop the conversation. "Jet lag effects different people different ways. Think nothing of it." Phoebe turned to look at Mulder, "I guess this mean's we'll have to put dessert off for some other time, then."
Scully was tired. The effort of trying to ignore Phoebe's passes at her husband, the jet lag, and the strain of the past few weeks and months finally hit her. It seemed to have effected Mulder as well, she thought. She watched him as they got ready to turn in.
It didn't strike her until they were in bed that it was the first time in a long time that they were sharing a bed together.
Mulder and Scully lay beside each other, bodies barely touching. They lay together in bed much like strangers and not like people who had been together for over thirty years. Their breathing was measured and predictable, and so was the strain between the two of them. Scully, in spite of her best efforts, felt herself drifting off. Just before sleep hooded her eyes, she felt Mulder's weight shift beside her.
By the time Scully was asleep, Mulder had gotten out of the bed and left the room, slowly and softly closing the door behind him.
**************************************************************************
It is said that it is always darkest before the dawn, yet there are those still yet among the living who would disagree. They would argue that it is actually gray, a discovery and observation made when worries and fears jolt them awake from fitful slumber. They know it is a cold, gray dawn that lives before dawn; a time when the world and fate still doesn't know what the day will bring. It was this cold, gray time, this dawn before dawn, when Scully awoke.
It took her a minute to remember and realize where she was. As she became a little more aware, she remembered that she and her husband, Mulder, had started their slumber in bed together. She was uncertain for the moment if it ended that way.
Scully chose not to roll over on her back to find out the answer, but rather to raise her arm over her head, and bring it slowly down onto the pillow beside her. Her arm hung in the air for what seemed to be an eternity before it came down, fingers searching for a shoulder, a collar, a lock of Mulder's hair. What they found was the hollow left by her husband's absent head. Her hand lingered in the indentation, fingers trying to remember the last time they touched her sleeping mate. Unable to delay the inevitable, Scully turned over to face the empty spot. As Scully looked down the bed, she could still see the outline of Mulder's body. She rolled over into his spot, burying her head where his head had been.
The pillow had captured his scent and held it through the night; it was the last thing Scully smelled as she sank back into sleep.
**************************************************************************
It was a rosy dawn that did not match Mulder's mood as he walked in the garden. Unable to sleep, he had spent the night in the library, finally falling into a fitful sleep a few short hours before dawn. He awoke for a brief while in that time that exists just as the night makes its escape from the sunlight, that cold, gray dawn before dawn, and instinctively reached for his sleeping wife. It was when his hand touched the cold leather of the winged-back chair that he remembered where he was.
The morning sun woke Mulder an hour later. In an effort to clear his head, he decided to take a quick walk outside. He drew his robe close, and made his way out to the garden. As Mulder walked down to the garden, he realized it had been years since he had seen an English sunrise. The cold morning dew dampened his toes as he walked through the grass, but he never noticed it. He had too much on his mind. Mulder thought about the trip to London, and how much he had asked of his wife by agreeing to go. He was sure that had he thought long enough, he could have discovered a way out of it. This had to be hard for Scully; how many husbands ask their wives to spend a weekend as the captive audience of their ex-lovers? She had been through so much already - they both had.
It was little wonder she couldn't stand to be with him.
Mulder already knew she blamed him for everything; their daughter's disappearance, the troubles in their marriage. And she had every right to blame him. It was because of him Meena was gone. He was her father; he was supposed to protect her, to anticipate every danger that lurked in every shadow and every corner. He let his guard down, and the minute he did, she was gone. He'd lost the only thing that mattered in their lives - how could she not hate him? He hated himself for it.
Mulder walked into the ornate, boxwood hedge maze as he wandered alone with his thoughts. His last thought was of last night as they lay in bed together, barely touching each other. Like so many times in recent weeks, he longed to touch her; to take her in his arms and just hold her. But how could he? What if she pushed him away?
But wasn't she already doing that, and after what he did, didn't she have the right?
When Mulder looked up, he realized that he had walked into a dead end. He stared for a moment at the green, leafy wall ahead of him. Not knowing where he was or how he got there, he turned around to retrace his steps.
When he turned around, Phoebe was standing right in front of him.
"I generally recommend a ball of twine the first time people come in here," Phoebe said. "Or a friend who knows their way out."
"I should think, Mulder, that were I you and planning to walk in the garden at the first dewfall," Phoebe said, "I would want to shod my feet in something other than cloth bedroom slippers." "Which is why you're out here in your bare feet?" Mulder asked. "Why Mulder, I thought you knew. It how we English women keep our youthful and dewy complexions."
There was enough space for Mulder to brush past Phoebe and try to make his way out of the maze. Undaunted, Phoebe followed him closely. "I should tell you it's very difficult to get out of here without a guide. My late husband played a practical joke on me our first month together. Stood right in the window up there in one of the rooms - the rooms you and Scully are in, actually- and watched with great amusement as I wandered around helpless and lost." "Helpless? You, Phoebe? I highly doubt that," Mulder replied. "Stranger things have happened," answered Phoebe.
Mulder, in his efforts to escape Phoebe, found himself instead at another dead end, with Phoebe continuing her relentless pursuit. "Did you sleep well last night, Mulder?" "Like a baby," he replied. "And Scully? How did she rest last night?" asked Phoebe. "She slept the same way she always sleeps," Mulder replied. He brushed past Phoebe again, this time finding a break in the maze. Unfortunately, it led to another dead end. "Really?" Phoebe replied when he stopped again. "I should wonder how you would know that by sleeping in the Library last night. Had I known," Phoebe continued, "I would have directed you to my late husband's collection of Sherlock Holmes novels. First editions signed by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle himself..."
Mulder and Phoebe stared at each other. "Your marriage is in trouble, isn't it?" she asked.
"You're the investigator, Phoebe," Mulder replied. "You tell me" "Very well," replied Phoebe, "where should I begin? Would you like for me to detail, in my professional opinion, how the two of you avoid each other's glances? Perhaps we can discuss how the two of you find it uncomfortable to engage in conversation with each other..." "When could we?" Mulder shot back. "All you've done is talk since we've arrived." The instant he said that, Mulder realized that he had been mean-spirited. "You don't need to apologize, Mulder. I deserved that."
Phoebe moved in closer to Mulder, the tips of her bare toes touching his. "One of the things I regret most is how things ended with us. I take full responsibility for that." Phoebe stared deep into Mulder's eyes. "I would hope," Phoebe continued, "that despite whatever happened between us all those years ago, you would let me help a friend who is so obviously in need." Phoebe raised the back of her hand to Mulder's cheek, and gently laid it on his skin.
"I'm here. Let me help you."