When Phoebe said Brittlegate was the smallest estate in the area, her two houseguests thought it was an attempt at humility. They realized, however, that she had been right in her assessment when they reached their destination. The fete in honor of Lady Phoebe Green Montague, Special Investigative Director of Scotland Yard, was being held at Sternwood Castle, ancestral home of the Duke and Duchess of Sternwood and the castle made Brittlegate look like a small hunting lodge. Flags bearing the Sternwood family colors flew from every one of its many turrets, and guests could see the family crest on the flags that flew at the castle entrance. The castle came equipped with its own moat and drawbridge, which had been lowered to allow guests entry. As they drove up, Scully leaned over and whispered into Mulder's ear. "Must have been quite a fortress in its day. A person could have hidden all kinds of secrets here." Scully said. "Still can," Mulder replied. "I think I just saw Elvis."
Darcy the chauffer pulled up to the castle, and Mulder, Scully and Phoebe got out. As they walked across the drawbridge, Phoebe gave them a bit of a local geography lesson. "Brittlegate, the humble abode where you are staying, is about eight miles away. To the East of where we are now is Woodmere Estate. It used to belong to the Fifth Earl of Woodmere. We shall say he made some very poor business decisions that resulted in his loosing the family estate to someone who could better afford it. No one really knows who bought it, however. The records are mysteriously sealed tighter than a mausoleum."
Mulder, Scully and Phoebe walked into the courtyard of the great castle. As they arrived, medieval revelers greeted them and the other guests, and the whole courtyard had been converted to a fair straight out of medieval times complete with jugglers and madrigal singers. As they looked around, the Master of Ceremonies walked up to Phoebe. "Oh, Lady Montague - there you are. Welcome to Sternwood Castle." The very proper and very British gentleman gently took Phoebe by the arm. "I'm afraid we must hurry; we're dangerously close to being off schedule. I'll take you to the dais."
As he led Phoebe away, she called over her shoulder, "I'm afraid you heard the man; you'll have to excuse me."
"Gladly," thought Scully as she left.
Mulder and Scully made their way with the other guests to the great hall. While the courtyard had been a scene of mirth and medieval merriment, the great hall was a scene of understated elegance. Each table was covered with crisp, white linen tablecloths; each chair dressed in a white linen cover with a wide gold ribbon that wrapped around the back and tied in a wide bow. Crystal glasses sparkled in complement with gleaming silverware; the finest china glowed with an alabaster luster. The twinkle of candlelight created the most breathtakingly beautiful scene that any of the guests had every seen.
The actual awards ceremony was much like any other. Amusing anecdote followed amazing anecdote; stories were exchanged, and words of tribute uttered. Despite what Scully thought about Phoebe and her history with her husband, she had to admit she'd had a very distinguished career. Mulder was even able to muster a smile and laugh when they showed a photo of him and Phoebe after they'd solved the arson case. Had it really been that long ago?
The plates were cleared away, the band began to play, and people began to dance.
Scully and Mulder listened to the music as it wafted through the great hall, each note hanging on the air and creating a canopy of sound. It may have been the champagne, but both of them had only had one glass. It may have been the twinkling lights and the magic of the evening. The music may have played a large part in it. But whatever it was, something happened in the next moment that hadn't happened in a long, long time. Mulder placed his hand on the table as he listened to the music. At the same time, Scully brought her hand down on top of Mulder's. The two of them turned to face each other, and Scully gently squeezed his hand.
Their eyes met, and for the first time in a long time, they made a connection and held fast.
The first set was finished, but Scully and Mulder never noticed as the dancers politely clapped in approval. "Our next selection," the band leader began, "comes from a time when Brits and Yanks alike fought side by side and shoulder to shoulder in the second War to End All Wars; WWII. In a tribute to our American guests, here's Glenn Miller's Moonlight Serenade."
The familiar strains of Glenn Miller's signature masterpiece flowed from the band like liquid gold as Scully looked at her husband. "I bet you don't know the last time Glenn Miller played this piece as a civilian," she said.
Mulder looked at his wife. " September 27th, 1942, Passaic, New Jersey. It was his last concert with his civilian band before he went into the army. The band was so sad to see him go that they couldn't finish playing it."
Scully looked deep into Mulder's eyes. "Well, let's hope that doesn't happen tonight," she said.
Mulder stood up, never letting go of his wife's hand. "Well, I think I still can take a pretty good spin around the floor." He paused and looked into Scully's eyes. "Care to come with me?" he said quietly. Scully didn't answer. She didn't have to.
She stood up, never letting go of her husband's hand, and followed him onto the dance floor.
The two of them stood facing each other for one heartbeat, then another. Even though they had known each other and had been together for almost four decades, it was as if they had just met and, in a way, they had. The events of the past six months and the turmoil of recent weeks and days had driven them apart; they had lost their way and had lost each other. But as it had always been whenever they were lost, they always managed to find their way back to each other. No matter how long it took, no matter where, no matter when. At long last, "I" and "me" became "us" and "we"again.
Together. Again.
Scully placed her right hand in Mulder's, her left on his shoulder. Mulder gently placed his hand on her waist, just above her hip. Slowly, very slowly they began to dance. It didn't matter that there were other people in the room - quite frankly, they'd forgotten that the floor was crowded with people. They had created their own space and time, and that was all that mattered.
Not knowing how Scully would react, Mulder gently pulled her close to him. Scully responded by closing the distance between them, and resting her head on his chest. She closed her eyes, filling her nostrils with the scent of him. Mulder's head rested on hers, and the faint scent of her perfume caressed the air around them. He gently tightened his grip, encircling her tiny waist and holding her fast.
He would never let her go ever again.
The band made it to the bridge, and as the music swelled to its first crescendo, Mulder guided his wife, first three quick movements, then gracefully dipping her toward him. His body supported the full weight of hers as he paused, then brought her upright in one smooth and fluid motion. Scully's eyes never left his; and his gaze never left hers.
It was during the clarinet solo that he decided he had to tell her. He knew it would be a risk; he had risked so much already that he was afraid his luck would desert him yet again. But she had to know everything; it was time she knew everything.
"Scully," he said softly. "I have to tell you something...."
Something in his voice made Scully stop. At that very instant, Scully's body grew stiff. Her body was so rigid it was as if she would snap in pieces. She pulled back, she pulled away, and interrupted him by leaving before he could speak again. "Scully, wait..." he called after her.
But she wasn't there to hear him. In an instant, she was gone.
*****************************************************************************
Mulder stood in the middle of the dance floor, unable to move or speak. He scanned the crowd for a sign, any sign as to where she might have gone. As he looked for his wife, he felt a tap on his shoulder.
"Care for a dance?" asked Phoebe.
"No, not really," he replied.
As he scanned the great hall, he noticed a pair of French doors that led to a terrace. Now Phoebe was the one left dumbfounded on the dance floor as Mulder left to search for his wife.
Mulder found Scully on the terrace, alone. Her back was to him, and when she heard him behind her, she turned around.
"Scully.." he began.
"If you're going to tell me that you've stopped loving me," she shot back, "tell me now. Tell me now and tell me quickly. And after you do, I will tell you all the reasons why I will never stop loving you."
"Scully, wait," Mulder continued, but Scully cut him off.
"It has been difficult, I know it has been difficult, and I know you blame you for Meena.."
"Blame you?" Mulder replied, "how could you think that?"
"How could I not?" she replied. "Mulder, we don't even share the same bed, the same space anymore. How could that happen, why would that happen if you didn't blame me and hate me for it?"
"Because I blame myself!" he cried. "I blame myself every day, and the longest day I live I'll never stop blaming myself."
Scully fell silent.
"I swore the day I came back; the very day I knew you were pregnant," Mulder said, "that I would do everything in my power to keep you safe. And when I held our daughter in my arms, I swore on everything that was true and just and right that I would do everything in my power; that I would give my live and soul if I had to to make sure that you and our child would be safe. You've lost so much, Scully..."
"Have I lost you, too?" Scully asked quietly. "No," Mulder replied.
Mulder stood silently in front of Scully. He took both her hands in his, and held them for a brief moment. He then took her face in his hands, and lowered his face to hers. Their lips met as though it was the first time, and the kiss was gentle and almost reverent. They stood there like that for a long time. Mulder gently cupped her face in his hands again when he finished, gently smoothing her cheek with his finger.
"No. You haven't lost me. Not now, not ever."
Scully reached up, and pulled his face down to meet hers. She kissed him with such longing and passion that the universe stood still, and all of creation held its breath. Their lips parted, and Scully reached up to stroke his cheek with her fingers.
Mulder paused for what seemed to be an eternity before he spoke again.
"I've found Meena. She's here in London, with the baby."
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Scully was speechless. So many emotions swirled through her head. She didn't know if she should be angry with him for not telling her sooner or overjoyed that he had found their daughter; she was overjoyed that her grandchild was alive, and worried about their safety. She didn't know what to feel, but she knew that her husband wouldn't tell her this if it wasn't true. Mulder read her thoughts.
"I didn't tell you sooner because I didn't know it was her. I didn't completely trust that I wasn't hallucinating when I saw her at Heathrow..."
"She was at Heathrow?!" Scully exclaimed.
"She disappeared into the crowd before I got a chance to follow her. I didn't make the same mistake today."
"Today..?" Scully began.
"In Harrods. She didn't remember me, Scully. Not at all. Nothing about her old life."
"Then it's amnesia brought on by sudden stress, head trauma," Scully replied. "I don't think so, Scully. I think she's been brainwashed. She stood in front of me and told me this elaborate life story that she's been led to believe is true. But something's wrong, Scully, something's off. Every time I questioned her, tried to dig deeper into this so-called 'history', she'd get a headache. Every time."
Scully moved towards the French doors. "We can't waste any more time, Mulder. If she has been brain washed and she mentioned anything about your meeting with her today, the person or persons who did this will waste no time in moving her and the baby...." Scully reached the threshold, and stopped suddenly.
Mulder came up behind her. "What is it, Scully?"
He soon discovered what it was.