From: XFanficOld Date: 5 Aug 1998 17:33:13 GMT Subject: Repost -old fanfic: So shall you Reap 1 This old fanfic isn't on the archives, so I'm reposting....hope this is 'kay! >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> So Shall You Reap. by Stephanie Davies. StefXF@aol.com ************************* This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter, the Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. As such, the characters named are the property of those entities and are used without permission, although no copyright infringements are intended. The story contains an X-File plot, relationship elements, rude words, and some descriptions of sexual situations. I'm not sure about the US categorisation of such things, but maybe you'd better assume a few sections of it are NC17 to be on the safe side, and I apologise to anyone in advance who feels cheated that such sections are probably rather mild :-) I also apologise for any accidental English colloquialisms that have found there way into this. It is set over a period of seven days in May 1996. Comments, flames etc willingly accepted and replied to. ************************* PROLOGUE February 1994 Venable Plaza Hotel, Boston. "That doesn't mean there won't be any fires to put out tonight," she said, as she leaned into his arms, and they swayed together to the music drifting in from the ballroom. She felt the last of Fox Mulder's reluctance dissipate as he relaxed against her. Nuzzling his neck, Phoebe Green felt warm, safe, felt a rush of tenderness for him, and to please him said, "I thought about you often..." even though this was not in the least true. She looked up at his face and slowly, tentatively, he leaned forward and touched his lips to hers. She returned his kiss gently, and then he was holding her more tightly, his hands moving down her back as the embrace became more passionate. She was aware that the rush of pleasure she felt was not just from the proximity of this attractive man of whom she was fond. Anticipation of the delicious entanglement to come was alloyed with the euphoria she felt in the exercise of her power, in breaking through his resistance. A small spark of triumph flared as she noticed the figure of his little partner standing hesitantly in the shadows, her face jealous and hurt and hardly knowing why. And then Fox Mulder tightened his grip and deepened the kiss further and she was lost in a flood of feeling..... ************************************************ TWO YEARS LATER - ENGLAND Article from The Mendip Daily News Saturday 13th April 1996 Stop Press:- 'US Ambassador's wife missing.' Police are searching for the wife and son of US Ambassador Richard Matheson who has been missing for over twelve hours. Mrs Matheson and her son Jonathan were due at the Ambassador's country residence on Friday night, but their whereabouts are unknown since they left London at 7pm. Richard Matheson has been widely tipped as a potential candidate for the White House in the millennium year election. Mrs Matheson is his second wife. __________________________ Article from London Evening News Saturday 13th April 1996 'Fears Grow for Ambassador's Wife and Son' High level security operations were mounted in the West Country today as the mystery surrounding the whereabouts of the two missing members of the US Ambassador's family deepened. The car they were traveling in has been found abandoned in the middle of field in Somerset. Eyewitnesses to the discovery state that there was the body of a man at the wheel of the vehicle. Police sources indicate that no further information has been found which might aid in the search for Annelise Matheson, aged 42 and her son, Jonathan. __________________________ Article from Sunday Post Sunday 14th April 1996 'Ambassador's family safe' The wife and son of US Ambassador Richard Matheson have been found alive and apparently unharmed at Glastonbury in Somerset after a massive air and ground search was launched. Mystery still surrounds the abandoned car found yesterday in a field near Wincanton. Eyewitness reports state that there were several small formations of the phenomena commonly known as 'crop circles' surrounding the vehicle, but the area has been sealed off by a police cordon. Chief Superintendent Bill Hancock refused to comment on this aspect at last night's press conference. _________________________ Article from Daily Post Monday 15th April 1996 'Aliens Abducted Me! claims Ambassador's wife' In a bizarre twist Annelise Matheson, wife of US Ambassador Richard Matheson, claimed last night that her car had been driven off the road by a UFO, and she and her son had been abducted by aliens to be deposited a day later 15 miles away on Glastonbury Tor. No comment was available from the US Embassy last night, but the claim is sure to be an embarrassment to the Ambassador, who is expected to stand as a candidate for the presidency in the year 2000. Richard Matheson has been a staunch supporter of the US Space Program and the SETI program, and has vigorously opposed moves in Congress to cut funding to these and allied projects. Mrs Matheson has been under considerable strain in the last few months, due to the severe illness of one of her sons, whom she claimed was abducted with her. _____________________________ Extract from an article in 'Weekend Review' Saturday 20th April 1996 'Wacky Wives!' Annelise Matheson's claims to have been abducted by aliens last weekend have certainly put into the spotlight her husband's ambitions to enter the race for the White House in four year's time. Below we examine whether 'wacky wives' are a help or a hindrance to a politician...... .....[ there followed a series of examples of eccentric behavior by the wives of statesmen, including Nancy Reagan consulting astrologers and Lady Constance Albury insisting on a formal afternoon tea once a week for the twelve household alsations].... . .If Richard Matheson ever becomes US president, perhaps his wife can invite E.T. to the White House for coffee! ***************************** Washington DC. 10.15 a.m Tuesday 21st May. "Sit down, Agent Mulder". Well, at least he wasn't going to be reamed, thought Mulder. He hadn't been aware of violating Bureau protocol or pissing anyone off recently - not this week, anyway. But with Skinner, you never knew. Sometimes it seemed to Mulder that Skinner just liked to yank them in and pick apart their case reports with that formal Bureau disdain of his. Mulder's lips curved slightly. "Agent Mulder, are you still with me?" Skinner 's dry words pulled Mulder's attention from his musings, and to the folder the AD had pushed across the desk towards him. "Your assistance has been requested in this matter. You leave this evening - all the necessary documentation has been taken care of." "Sir, as of tomorrow I have vacation-time planned......" " Your personal time will have to be taken at a later date, Agent Mulder. A speedy and successful outcome is essential. Expect to be gone at least a week." "And Agent Scully......." Mulder queried, leaning forward and picking up the folder. Abruptly, Skinner stood up, and walked over to the window. "Agent Scully has not been requested for this assignment. You have, Agent Mulder, and I suggest you lose no more time in making whatever - ah - domestic arrangements are necessary." Mulder glanced down at the folder....and looked back up his boss, face white, mouth tight. With a visible effort, he pulled himself together and rose to his feet. "And who do I have to thank for this piece of......" "Enough. You will give the assistance requested." Mulder bowed his head slightly in sardonic acknowledgment of the other man's authority, and turned to leave. "Sir? Where did this *request* for assistance originate? Am I to assume that this has a certain nicotine tinge?" With no infection at all in his voice, Skinner replied, "Agent Mulder, you have friends *and* enemies in high places." He turned his back on Mulder and stated out of the window, unmoving, until he heard the office door close softly. Skinner was not a happy man. He did not appreciate outside interference in the running of his departments. He was, of course, pleased to come to the aid of other governmental organizations when called upon to do so for good reasons, but this specific request for Agent Mulder stank. Skinner knew some of the background. He had his sources - and he had read Agent Mulder's personnel file. So he knew damn fine when someone was jerking Mulder's chain - or trying to. But it was very difficult to ignore a request from the Secretary of State, even when relayed to him by that Marley-smoking bastard. He also knew, though he chose to ignore, how the relationship between his wayward but brilliant agents had taken a new turn in the past months, and he was not uncognizant of the fact that both had requested personal time for the same weeks. He knew them both well enough to consider that they were capable of keeping their private and professional lives separate. If he hadn't thought that, Dana Scully's feet wouldn't have touched the ground as he transferred her back to duties at Quantico. And at the very first sign that their efficiency was being compromised, he *would* act. But it had occurred to him before, and the thought struck again - did They know, and could they use the knowledge against the two agents? Well, if They thought that sending Agent Mulder to England, and putting him in that particular situation, would be a way of breaking the X-files........... Walter Skinner was going to do his damnedest to throw a spanner in their works. He picked up the phone, and called in a few favors. *********************** Washington DC 11.30 a.m. Tuesday 21st May Mulder had come back from Skinner's office with an unreadable expression on his face. "I've been ordered to England - to London - to do some work for the Ambassador." Scully picked up at once. "You've been ordered ...... not both of us?" She was surprised. They always worked as a team now: it had been a very long time since either of them had been seconded separately to another project - not since the X- files had been re-opened following her disappearance. And to be sent abroad was strange; but the Ambassador was Mulder's erstwhile ally on the Hill, Senator Richard Matheson. < But to England....oh, shit!> "Well....." -there was a brief hesitation - "I was specifically requested." There was a long expectant pause. Scully watched as he sat down at his desk, and laid down very carefully the blue folder he had been carrying. She watched as he flipped over the papers, and then leaned back in his chair, and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers - the way he always did when he was getting a headache. The silence in the room stretched out. Taking a deep breath, Scully picked up a file from her desk, the one containing the paperwork from the case they'd just wrapped up, and pretended to read it. She swallowed hard. "When do you leave?" She didn't look up. "Tonight." Her hands tensed around the papers she was holding. "Fine, " she replied, as coolly as she could. " I'll call the travel agent." Again, she spoke without looking at him. She heard his chair squeak, heard him move across the room. "Scully, we always knew it would be difficult. I couldn't say to Skinner, `Sorry sir, I'll have to pass on this one because Agent Scully and I have a double room booked for the week at the Maui Hilton'. He just told me to take my personal time at a later date." The thought surfaced unbidden in Scully's mind. "There's no need to explain, Mulder. I said I'd call the travel agent and cancel." "You could still go....." His voice faded as Scully turned her cool, blue gaze on him. Shoving the hurt and disappointment ruthlessly back where she hoped Mulder wouldn't be able to see it, Scully replied in the best scornful tone she could muster, "Yeah, right - go by myself." She put down very carefully the papers she had been pretending to read, so that Mulder wouldn't notice that her hands were trembling. What an incredibly stupid thing for him to say. The vacation had been planned, the location chosen specifically, to give them a chance to go away together, away from the pressures of work, to give their personal relationship a chance to develop. They were strict about the professional distance they needed to maintain when working on cases, and since December it had been one case after another..... At least that was how it had seemed. No time for the personal things...and both of them had been secretly wondering whether this was truly the case, or whether they were afraid of taking that final step. There was silence in the room again. After a while , when he could no longer bear to look at her rigid body, her head averted from him, Mulder got up, picked up his briefcase and started for the door. " My flight leaves at 11 tonight. I'll call you before I go." And then, hurriedly, as if it had just occurred to him, "I'll take a cab to the airport...." "Mulder" Scully finally looked straight at him. " We need to talk about why you're shutting me out here." He gave her that little shrug; the one that made her want to slap him. His response to a question or situation that was too painful to explore: the one he had given her on that Maryland bridge when she had confronted him for not letting her know that her life was being traded for 'Samantha's'. It made her want to slap him, and it made her want to go up to him and hug him and tell him that it was all right, she was strong, they could face it together. "I can't talk about it just now, okay?" He would not meet her gaze. "I'll call you later," he repeated. The door clicked shut, and his footsteps echoed down the corridor. Dana Scully listened to them retreat. She sat very still as the wave of sadness and grief washed over her unchecked now. Wrapping her arms around her stomach as if trying to hold down the misery that threatened to overwhelm her, she took several deep breaths. <. Maybe he's asked for this assignment because he can't bear to say that he's made a terrible mistake.... And when he comes back....we'll just have to try and make it work like it did before ... before....> She squeezed her eyes shut. She had to be brave for both of them. And if that meant facing the reality that Mulder was doing his best to extricate the two of them from an entanglement that he now felt would be hopeless, then that reality must be faced .......and then worked through together. That way they might be able to come out the other side - so they could still be partners and loving friends. And if they couldn't - if he or she couldn't bear it - then at least she'd know she'd tried. ********************* Fox Mulder's apartment. 4pm Tuesday 21st May. Fox Mulder always kept a bag packed and stowed which he could pick up and run with if a case suddenly broke. But this was no ordinary case: he was devoting much more effort to the task than normal. This was partly of course because he was going a long way and didn't know how long he would be staying. He wouldn't allow himself to consider what other reasons there might be for his unusual care. He was however aware that the longer he spent debating what to pack, the longer he could put off making the phone call to Dana. He didn't know what to say to her. Slamming his suitcase lid shut, he decided he needed a drink first. A strong one. But of course there was no hard liquor in his apartment - except for a bottle of Scotch whisky that Phoebe had brought for him as a sly present two years before when she had requested his help on the Cecil L'Ively case. He sat on the couch in his apartment as the afternoon shadows grew long, nursing a stiff scotch, thinking about the irony of it as the bitter liquid warmed his stomach. How has it come to this, he thought. He had acknowledged to himself and to Dana Scully several months ago, that he loved her, not just as a partner and friend, but as a woman. His thoughts spooled back through the miserable winter, when they had seemed to grow more and more distant with each case, to the moment of epiphany. A struggle on a dark rooftop. A shot ringing out. Mulder coming to himself for the first time in days, and looking down over the parapet to see a body lying below and Scully's pale face looking up at him. "You okay, Mulder?". They had called for backup and medical aid. Scully had worked silently on the murderer - on *Patterson*, his old boss - until the medical team had arrived. After a first anxious inspection she had said nothing further to him. In the flurry of flashing blue lights, sirens , and the arrival of Skinner and a posse of SOCO agents he had lost track of her. He had found her half an hour later on the edge of breaking down, leaning against a dank wall in a dark alley. "Scully?" he whispered , incredulous. She huddled away from him. "Go *away* Mulder." Her voice was low, fierce. "Scully, I don't understand." He stepped up to her, put his hand on her shoulder. "What's going on here?" She shrugged off his touch. "You have no *idea*, have you , Mulder." Finally she looked up at him with bitter eyes. "You left me. Again. Ditched me. Went into that dark place by yourself." She shuddered, remembering. "Again". She started walking. Away from him, anywhere. He didn't see her for two days. He found her when her mother finally relented in the face of a barrage of his desperate pleas. He strode over the last sand- dune and she was sitting hugging her knees, looking out to sea. The wind whipped fine grains of sand into his eyes; stopped his breath. "Hey." She turned to look at him, blue eyes narrowed against the cold sun. "Hey yourself." Gave him one of her slow smiles. Mulder sat down next to her, confused. This was not the reception he had expected. Waking on his couch the morning after Patterson's arrest he had looked at his apartment - festooned with the grotesque line-sketches - through opened eyes. Through Scully's eyes. Pulling the pictures from the wall he had begun to understand her fear for his mental state: crumpling them into the trash he had tried and tried to remember anything at all about their interaction in the previous days. And he could remember nothing except climbing into a car, and hearing her voice - quiet, resigned, hopeless: "Where are you going, Mulder." Barely even a question. He knew he had marginalised her. But he also knew that he had needed to. The nightmare of a madman's mind was somewhere you could only travel alone. He didn't want Scully to go to that dark place, but that hadn't been the point. It wasn't to protect her that he had shut her out, but because that was the way it worked - the way it worked for him, at least. He had to submerge himself totally into the profile - into the killer's mind. And that left no room for Scully, or anyone else. It had been one of the reasons he had left the Investigative Support Unit in the first place. But Scully needed to know that although she hadn't been able to follow him, her very existence had meant that he had been able to pull himself back to himself so quickly in the aftermath. It was a testament to the strength of their bond which she had not been there to see. Small clouds skittered across the sky, and the waves pounded onto the beach as they had done since time beyond remembrance. Scully watched Mulder sidelong as he struggled with his thoughts. This time, she was the one who had done the running off. She had known that she had to get away from Mulder, to think about what had just happened and what had been going on between them over the last months, when she found herself on the edge of breaking down in front of Skinner, the support team - Mulder himself. So she had taken herself to a unlit corner, leaned back cold and shaking, hugging herself, forcing herself to breath deeply. And then she had come to this place, where Captain Scully had brought them long summers past, where the cold wind cut through the confusion in her mind, and the buffetting sea reminded her how insignificant and frail the human species really is. She knew that her extreme reaction had been occasioned by the extreme stress of the case. But the coil had been wound inside her tighter and tighter over the months since Melissa's death. Grief, fear, unadmitted jealousy, more fear......each added a further twist. She had come to think that however much she loved Mulder - and she had known she loved him for the longest time - she didn't like him any more. But to see him descend into a cauldron of madness, to see him disintegrate in front of her eyes and not be able to reach him at all had been unbearable. Even Skinner had seemed afraid that this time Mulder had pushed himself in too deep. Mulder broke the silence. "I'm sorry, Scully." Scully picked up a handful of sand, let the fine grains trickle through her fingers, soothing, smooth, cool. "Sorry for what, Mulder? You have nothing to be sorry for on this case. You did what you had to do. You got the result. Even Patterson told me." "So why are you angry......why did you leave?" She turned and smiled at him again, but a small, sad smile. "I'm not mad at you, Mulder. I just...." She pursed her lips as she struggled for words. "Okay, I was mad at the time. But you frightened me, Mulder. And I was angry with myself, too." She turned her head away so she didn't have to look at him. It was so very hard to say these next words. "I thought - for a while - I thought it was you, Mulder. You had gotten so obsessed....I couldn't get though to you at all....and then your finger-prints were on the knife.....and I found you holding a gun on Patterson...." Her breathing had become shallow; she spoke quickly. "Oh, God, Mulder, a part of me really thought it was you..." He touched his hand to her arm, but she moved away. "Let me finish, Mulder." She took a deep breath, and continued "I've seen what obsession can do. I saw what it did to Jack Willis, after all. I saw how he was so immersed that he became the character of........" She felt Mulder shift restlessly next to her. "Okay, we won't go over that again. But there's no excuse....." Her voice faltered. "No excuse for what? Scully, I'm sorry if I frightened you. I truly am. I frightened myself. That's why I left the profiling unit.." Scully turned and stared at him. Understood. Reached out and touched him, this time. Her eyes filled with moisture but she didn't look away. "Not you, Mulder. There's no excuse for *me*. For *me*. I was angry and afraid because you shut me out.....and because you seemed so - so dissociated, and so far away. I couldn't reach anything of you at all....But you're my partner. I trust you with my life. So why couldn't I trust youto do what you had to do?" She stared out to the horizon. "God, you trust me.....when you walked in on me holding a gun on Skinner..." She shook her head. "Mulder, I'm sorry, and I don't know what to say to you to make it right between us again. So much seems to have gone wrong between us recently... but if I lost you, I'd be lost too." Her face retained its frozen calm, but the tracks of tears glistened on her cheeks. Not since that night in Minnesota when she had broken down in his arms had she allowed herself to be so vulnerable, so open before him. She reached up and touched his cheek. She had spent two days coming to her decision, and she needed to say it. And just maybe it would be what Mulder needed to hear, too. "I'd be lost without you. But I seem to spend my time holding my breath and watching your back...and I'm so tired of it, Mulder....." Suddenly she felt his coat round her shoulders, and he was pulling her towards him. She leaned into the warmth and strength of him. "I don't want you watching my back, Scully," he murmured into her hair. "I want you by my side. I just want you......" And he did want her, and he had kissed her hard on the mouth and told her how much, then led her back to the beach-house where she was staying . They had drunk red wine in front of an open fire, but they had caressed only gently, rather solemnly and shyly: agreed to take things very slowly with this new intimacy, before falling reluctantly into separate beds that night. Fox Mulder wanted to make love to Dana Scully, to commit himself finally to her - he was sure that he did. Or he had been sure. So he was sick to his heart at the powerful emotions which had flooded him when Skinner had told him to get to England and work with Phoebe Green. He recalled that night in the Boston hotel: her body pressed close to his, the taste of her mouth, the perfume she used.... remembered the way she knew just how to touch him to drive him wild with desire. God, even now just thinking of her and he was aroused. He took a hefty swig of the whisky. This couldn't be right. It couldn't be fair to Dana, that he should be consumed with desire for someone else. Mulder had found the past four months hard. He had been near-celibate for a long time, passion sublimated into obsessive work - necessary release swift and mechanical, often solitary. But acknowledging to himself his feelings for his partner that cold afternoon had re-awakened his libido. Recently, the touch of her hand on his shoulder, or even the way she pursed her luscious mouth was enough to make his body ache. In the years before he and Scully were partnered he would simply have gone out and got laid, without emotional involvement save vague post-coital guilt about not caring more. his mind flicked back briefly to such sorry encounters as had occurred. But that, of course, was no longer an option. Making love to Dana, though, would have such tremendous reverberations down both their professional and personal lives.... Mulder poured himself another shot of scotch, and stared into the amber liquid. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps if Dana and I were lovers, I wouldn't hunger for the other any more.. But when he tried to imagine losing himself in Dana's soft curves, his mind conjured a tangle of limbs and an ecstasy of release atop a certain gravestone on a foggy night in England. An impatient knocking on the door brought him out of his reverie and to his door. "Scully!" Mulder stepped back in surprise as she moved past him into his apartment, snapped on the light. Noted the bottle of whisky on the table, and the half-filled glass in his hand and pulled a face. . "Don't say a word, Mulder. Just give me the file....."She held out her hand and looked at him mulishly. When he made no move to do so, she continued, "Skinner called me after you left. He said I was to accompany you on this one after all. And he asked me how much you had told me about it." She paused. "I lied." She looked at him and held his gaze. "And now I want to know what the hell is going on, and why everyone is being so damned evasive about this case." She sat very still for a long time after reading all that was in the slim folder. Mulder took two cold beers out of the fridge, and came and sat down next to her. She took the one he handed to her, drank it down quickly, then leaned back and looked at him. Mulder finally broke the silence. "Are you going to be all right with this?" he asked her gently. "The question is, Mulder - are you? Are we?" >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> SO SHALL YOU REAP 2 by Stephanie Davies. StefXF@aol.com Wednesday 22nd May DAY ONE - AM ************************* They had traveled to Dulles separately. Scully reflected on the symbolism of this fact as she struggled to pick up her carry-on bag, her laptop, and her suitcase at the same time as the line to the check-in desk shuffled slowly forward. She had needed to go home and grab her things: Mulder had needed to swing past the office to pick up the hardware they would require to use their powerbooks in the UK. She felt a light tap on her shoulder, and turned. "I'm going through, Scully. I've....ah...for some reason, I'll be flying First." "Not the Bureau's doing, Mulder, I'm sure. *One* of your friends in England must have some influence," she replied, dryly. The queue shuffled forward again, and Scully found herself at the front. "Don't feel you have to wait for me Mulder..." she handed over her ticket and passport and was rewarded with the delightful news that her coach seat was right at the rear of the plane, in the middle of a row of three. When she turned back, Mulder had gone. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but we're real full tonight," the desk clerk sighed and shook his head at her request for a reassigned seat. "Great," Scully muttered, turning away. She was not a happy flier at the best of times. "I guess I should be grateful to get a seat at all..." *************************** 35000' above the Atlantic Ocean. Day One. Wednesday 6.30am GMT Vainly trying to find a more comfortable position in the cramped seat, Dana Scully reflected that she should at least be feeling some excitement at the prospect of visiting a country she had heard so much about. And notwithstanding that it was work, she was going with Fox Mulder, whom she loved, and who until the previous day she had been sure loved her although he had never told her so in words. She sighed. The case itself had some interesting aspects. It was early summer and the British Isles were bathed in an unexpected heatwave. But she knew quite well she would have been glad to hand this one over to someone else, and keep Mulder in his dingy basement office with her for the next few weeks. She leaned her head back and her eyes fluttered closed. . Unbidden, a picture of Mulder in his red speedos lying on an Hawaiian beach materialized in her imagination. Sighing, she reached again for the folder of statements and documents which Mulder had left with her. They were ostensibly going at the behest of Ambassador Richard Matheson: at his express invitation. But Scully knew from the file which she had read twice already that the suggestion had originated with DCI Phoebe Green of Scotland Yard's VIP Protection Squad, whom she had briefly met two years previously in the USA. she thought sourly, as she recalled their encounters. Matheson and his family had come to the UK a year ago on a two-year posting. He had been offered the position of US Ambassador to Britain shortly after Fox Mulder's last contact with him over the Talapus matter. She had wondered about that timing, and Mulder's mind had raced quickly to conspiracy, since Matheson had been whispered of as one of the likely contenders for the Democratic nomination in the millenium presidential race. But it seemed from the file that the explanation was both more mundane and more personally painful. One of his two boys was very sick with a rare form of lymphoblastic leukemia, and the center of excellence for this illness in the young was Great Ormond Street Hospital for Sick Children, in central London. If the child's condition could be ameliorated anywhere it was in this place. Being posted to London meant that Matheson could spend as much time as possible both with the rest of his family, and the sick little boy. The ambassadorial appointment was therefore by way of a very brief detour from the road to the White House, rather than a complete side-track. Dana flicked over the page and looked again at the photograph of the crashed car which had been taking Mrs Matheson and her son down to the country house in Somerset for the weekend. It had been a write-off: the driver was dead, and Mrs Matheson and Jon hadn't been found until next day, wandering in a little lane near Glastonbury Tor, fifteen miles from the crash site. Odd, certainly, though hardly a matter that required Mulder's expertise. But an accompanying photo, a fuzzy black-and- white aerial view of the field in which the wrecked car had been found, had provided what Dana Scully felt sure was the excuse for bringing Mulder over from Washington. The field was small by US standards, but was scattered with six perfectly formed circles where the crops had been flattened down. And according to the accompanying notes, one of the surrounding fields had exhibited a similar phenomenon, which had appeared on the night of the crash. Also according to the notes, local people had reported seeing unusual lights moving in the sky that night. And then there was Mrs Matheson's statements. Dana slapped the file shut, and slipped it back into her briefcase. Certainly enough to awaken Mulder's interest here, especially given that Matheson had been a kind of friend. But the fact remained that Fox Mulder had been called in at the suggestion of Inspector Phoebe Green, and Dana doubted bitterly that any other investigating officer would have paid so much attention to the crop circles and the wild statements of an hysterical woman in traumatic shock. She leaned back again. If she didn't get any sleep, she'd really be wiped by the time the plane landed. Her thoughts drifted back to the previous afternoon. She had been numb after reading the file. The shock of discovering that Phoebe Green was the instigator of Mulder's swift departure for England was then replaced by something akin to dread when she looked into Mulder's eyes and saw the uncertainty and the pain reflected there....and what looked like pity. "Are you going to be all right with this?" he had said to her softly, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. And she had reached out and brushed her fingers lightly down the side of his face. "The question is, Mulder, are you? Are we?" Then she had moved her hand to the back of his head, leaned into him and grazed her lips across his mouth, questioning, until he had pulled gently away from her and said, "Go home, Dana. Pack. It's going to be a long day tomorrow." And she had gathered the remnants of her dignity and gone. Recalling the moment she felt again the constriction in her chest as on first hearing his words and finding him unresponsive. "As we are now commencing our descent to London Heathrow, may I ask that you fasten your seatbelts and extinguish all cigarettes." Dana Scully's hands tightened on the arm-rests as the engine notes changed, the landing gear clunked into place, and the plane nosed down through the layer of early-morning cloud. ************************************ STATEMENT GIVEN BY ANNELISE MATHESON. Date: 15th April. My son Jonathan and I were traveling from central London to Holbrook Manor. It was Friday evening. I had decided to bring my son to the country for a weekend together with the rest of the family before more intensive medical treatment began.. My husband and my other son were already waiting at the house. We were being driven by one of the staff drivers - an American, but I don't know his name. It was dark. I think we'd been traveling for about an hour and a half, when the driver pointed out to us a strange light in the sky. It looked to me like a luminous orange sphere bobbing up and down. Jonathan was very excited, so the driver stopped the Range Rover at the side of the road, and we got out to have a look. This object bobbed above the trees. It was quite large, but I can't give specific measurements. Then it stopped, and remained stationary, and what looked like a small piece of the sphere detached itself and flew off to the right. The larger sphere continued to hover, and revolve in a clockwise direction. The small luminous ball swooped down over the adjacent fields in large circles, sometimes dipping so low that it seemed to disappear. The suddenly it flew up and rejoined the large orange object. This then moved smoothly towards us coming to an abrupt halt immediately above the car, where it remained stationary for what seemed like several minutes. I don't remember feeling frightened at this point, though I was holding Jonathan's hand very tight. I can't recall that it made any noise: I did hear dogs barking in the distance, and the sounds of restless cattle in the nearby fields. Suddenly a bright beam of light engulfed us from above: when I looked down at Jonathan, I couldn't believe it - I could see his bones. It was like looking at an X-ray plate. I could see the bones in his fingers and his arm, and in my arm and fingers too, where we were holding hands. And there was a peculiar noise at this point, too, a kind of hissing sound, like air being ejected. The beam of light vanished, and the sphere started to slowly move off. I still don't remember feeling afraid, until I looked at my son's face and all I could see were the bones of his skull. He had no eyes - I could clearly see his empty eye sockets. I seemed to be frozen: I couldn't move, or shout, for several minutes. A helicopter then appeared to the north of the luminous object, and a further two to the west and east. The sphere shot off south, blinking out at the first helicopter moved in toward it. The helicopter circled round a few times where the sphere had been and caught us in their powerful searchlights. Then the helicopters all moved off t the south, as if pursuing the object. This last part all happened much more quickly than it has taken me to tell it. We all then got back into the Range Rover, and continued down the country lane. Suddenly, as we rounded a bend, an intensely bright light appeared in the middle of the road. The driver swerved to avoid it, and the next thing I remember was coming round to find Jonathan and myself lying on the ground next to the car, which was in a ditch. I couldn't see the driver of the car anywhere. There were spacemen in white suits everywhere. Two of them took Jonathan and myself into an ambulance. I remember being given an injection, and nothing else until I woke up on a hillside, alone except for Jonathan. It was dusk. We wandered around until someone found us. I don't know where we were when we saw the strange objects in the sky, but I remember we had passed through the village of Long Aston. I know that when the car went off the road it ended up in a ditch, and not in the middle of a field. ******************* The American Ambassador's stretched Daimler was waiting in the 'no parking' area outside Heathrow terminal 4 to carry them the seventy miles to the scene of the incident. "I thought we were to be based in London?" queried Scully, turning to Mulder, who at that moment was preoccupied loading their luggage into the boot. "Ambassador Matheson is staying at Holbrook Manor with his family while our investigations continue....so that seems to be the sensible place for you to stay," Phoebe addressed Mulder. Her briefcase, coat and notes were scattered all over the back seat. "Agent Scully, if you would like to sit up front, John -" she gestured to the driver, " will fill you in on where the local police have got so far with this case, and you can get an idea of the layout of the area as we get closer." "Actually, I'd prefer to sit in the back - maybe catch a little sleep." Scully smiled tightly at the Englishwoman. Phoebe took Mulder's arm. " I need to discuss with Agent Mulder some problems with Mrs Matheson's statement before we get to the Manor. You'll see Stonehenge on the way down, Agent Scully, won't she, John?" The driver stood holding the door open for Scully. Mulder gently disengaged himself from Phoebe's grasp, saying quietly to her, "I think we do need to talk, Phoebe." Feeling outmaneuvered, Scully took the seat next to the driver. The glass screen which separated the front from the rear seats was an effective barrier to sound. Dana Scully was too proud to turn around to look, but when she pulled the sunshield down to check her hair in the little mirror , and just happened to glance back, she could see that Detective Inspector Green was sitting very close indeed to FBI Special Agent Mulder. She sighed heavily, then turned to introduce herself to the man next to her. "Hi, I'm Dana Scully, FBI special agent. We've been sent to follow up any US angles on this." The driver, a man of about forty five, Dana judged, replied tersely, "Inspector John Buchanan". "Inspector..." Scully was taken-aback, and it showed on her face. Buchanan smiled grimly at her reaction. "She," he nodded towards the rear, "pulls strings to get what she wants, and enjoys keeping us boys in our place". Scully saw that he glanced in his rear-view mirror, saw an expression of ill- concealed disgust cross his face. "Is she a friend of yours? She seems very *friendly* with your colleague." "I've met Detective Inspector Green before in the US," replied Dana, as lightly as she could manage, "but my partner knew year twelve years ago when he was a student at Oxford". "Poor sod," Buchanan said bitterly. . Dana Scully raised her eyebrows. Her own intense personal dislike of the woman notwithstanding, she was most surprised to hear Buchanan speaking in such an insulting way about one of his superiors to a stranger. He continued in the same vein, perhaps misinterpreting her reaction. "Anyone who gets involved with her needs sympathy - I've seen her in action. We used to, "he paused, "work together at Scotland Yard, but *I* ended up transferred out here. The only good thing about which was, I never thought to see her again. And it's Detective *Chief* Inspector Green now." Scully raised her eyebrows but did not reply. The landscape rolled by; the little fields of grain and pasture; the copses and spinneys., bathed in the morning sunlight. She closed her eyes - she was very tired, and she dozed for a while, unquiet. She woke with a start and realized that they had left the motorway, were traveling down a country road, and that Buchanan had spoken to her. "Just over this hill, and you'll see Stonehenge, Agent Scully." They crested the rise, and to her right she saw the stone circle which had stood since the time of the pyramids, for nearly five thousand years. She caught herself just in time as she turned to share the thought with Mulder. And Stonehenge was gone, a disappointment: small and insignificant-seeming as the cars and lorries thundered past.. Ruthlessly keeping her eyes averted from the rear-view mirror, Scully turned to Buchanan. She might as well try and make some use of the time. "Can you tell me where you are in the investigation? There wasn't much detail in our file" ****************** Fox Mulder spent a very uncomfortable two hours in the back of the Daimler. As the sky had darkened on Tuesday afternoon, and after Dana had left his apartment to pack - the distress he had caused her apparent on her face - he had thought very hard about this case, and why Phoebe had requested that he be assigned to it. Knowing her as he did, it was not a simple request for expertise - he knew that there would have to be an ulterior motive somewhere. He did not flatter himself, however, that *he* was the ulterior motive, as such. Their last painful encounter had convinced him that he could never be anything more to her than a pleasant way to while away a few hours, an amusing distraction. He wasn't even sure that she was capable of a deep attachment to anybody. As much as it had hurt, that moment in Massachusetts two years ago when he had caught her with the man she was charged with protecting had been a powerful reminder of the hell he had gone through ten years before, when he had first become involved with her. He shuddered to think of how all that might have turned out, if it hadn't been for Dana's persistence, her thoroughness in her search for the explanation, for the killer - and her refusal to allow him to shut her out. Quietly and stubbornly she had pursued the truth, in the face of Phoebe's arrogance and his weakness - and had saved them all. In more ways than one. But that encounter had also demonstrated to him that after ten years, and in the face of his intellectual knowledge that to get involved again with Phoebe Green was possibly the most damaging thing that he could do to his psyche, he felt powerless to resist when confronted by her physical presence, and her determination to entice him. he told himself. She was poison to him, yet he willingly drank from the cup she offered. But Dana would be with him again. If he was ever going to feel free of Phoebe's siren call, his best chance was with Dana Scully by his side - he knew that. But if he failed - it would hurt her so much more if she were forced to witness it. However, the choice had been taken out of his hands. Now to make the best of it. Whatever Phoebe really wanted would become clear soon enough; the case itself was intriguing and offered the chance to help a man whom he admired. And Dana had never been to England. It was very different from Hawaii, but . A baptism of fire it would be. And he hated fire. He sat back in the leather seat of the Daimler, pretending to be asleep and thinking over again the conclusions he had reached the evening before, and the preparations he had made. He'd had to admire Phoebe's dexterity in getting him in the back with her and sticking Dana in the front. And he'd seen Dana take that peek at them in the vanity mirror. Once, that was all. Phoebe had noticed it, too, and her mouth had twitched in amusement: she had moved closer to Mulder deliberately. But she hadn't been so amused when Mulder had refused to discuss anything other than the case file, and when she wouldn't talk about that, had pretended to fall asleep. She knew he wasn't asleep; he knew she knew - it was part of the game. And when the car drew to a halt, and he stretched ostentatiously and pretended to wake up - well, And she was even less entertained to be told that contrary to her plans, Mulder and Scully were not going to stay at Holcombe Manor with the Ambassador - and Phoebe herself -, but had been booked into a suite at The Lygon Arms. ____________________________________ Extract from:- Hamilton's Guide to England and Wales p236 Stoke Asham. As downloaded and read by Fox Mulder at 3.30am GMT Tuesday 2nd May, 35000' above the Atlantic Ocean.. A small market town in Somerset, Stoke Asham is a popular stopping point for those on the trail of King Arthur, the legendary figure of Ancient Britain. Situated within easy distance of London (2hrs by car) the town is one of the several which claims to be the site of Camelot, the location of the fabled Round Table of Knights of honor. Stoke Asham has a better claim than most, as it is sited at the foot of the famous Cadbury Hill and castle ruins. A small museum houses many items if interest to the local historian and casual visitor. (10am to 5pm, Mon - Sat) The town also has a small racecourse which holds meetings throughout the year (tel:01676 45798). Accommodation: The Lygon Arms (5*) This famous building, whose ivy-clad exterior is familiar to many visitors, well deserves its reputation as one of the country's premier hotels. Formerly a coaching inn, the building was tastefully extended in the 1930's by the architect David Plymouth-Wells, and now houses one of the finest collections of art deco artifacts open to the general public. The 52 rooms (all with private facilities) and 7 suites are decorated either in traditional regency style, or art deco. No children under 12. CC . Rates: ##### Days out:- Cadbury Hill; Glastonbury & Tor: Wells Cathedral; Bath (Pump Rooms & Cathedral); Stonehenge; Fleet Air Arm Museum, Yeovilton. ___________________________ It was mid-morning by the time the car pulled up in front of the police station in the little market town of Stoke Asham, the closest center of population to Holbrook Manor. Scully was still pissed with Mulder . He had ditched her on the plane - okay, she knew that was unfair. It wasn't his fault that he'd been given a first-class ticket. Or that there were no spare seats available together in coach - she knew he had asked the Stewardess. He had even tried bribing the elderly woman in the seat next to Scully, by offering to exchange his seat for hers, but she had refused, saying "I'm settled here nicely, thank you, young man, and here I'm staying." Nor was it his fault that the flight had been rather turbulent and the passengers had been required to stay in their seats for most of the time. But being stuck up front with the dour Inspector Buchanan had done nothing to improve Scully's mood. So she noted with some satisfaction that as she climbed from the car DCI Green seemed to be sulking. Mulder appeared at her side as she hauled their luggage from the boot. "Hey, how's it going?" he smiled down at her. He noticed she looked very tired; knew that she rarely slept on planes. "Let's get settled in over there," he gestured across the street, " and get some lunch." "Mulder, it may be lunchtime here, but my body's still operating on DC time. Strong coffee is what I need." She looked across at the hotel. "I kind of assumed from what Buchanan was saying that we'd be staying at Holbrook Manor....." Mulder gave her a sideways look. "That's what Phoebe arranged...it's where she's staying. Uh....I didn't think it'd be such a great idea though....and here, we're near the resources of the local police - and I think we're going to need a lot of help from them." thought Dana with some satisfaction, as she picked up her bags. Mulder noticed the slight smile which briefly crossed her face, but made no comment. "And how, exactly, do you intend to explain *this* to Skinner when he has to sign our expenses? " They had been shown up to a suite, which comprised a bedroom, bathroom and separate living room . The furniture was exquisite: the bed, a draped four-poster with cream linen, the pale walls, carpets and soft furnishings in contrast to the dark wood. Fox Mulder was bouncing on the edge of the bed. He smiled softly at her. "Seems OK!" "Mulder-r...." She smiled back, but he saw the questions in her eyes. "It's not Hawaii....but Skinner doesn't need to know. As far as he's concerned we're staying at the Ambassador's residence. I wanted to take you somewhere nice - this is the best I can do at the moment." "Nice doesn't begin to describe it." She came and sat next to him on the bed, touched his arm briefly. Mulder turned his head to her, and there was such - tenderness - there that she had to look away from his gaze, afraid she would lose herself again. She would find it hard to endure the sting of another rebuff, however carefully delivered, but when he looked at her like that she just wanted to fall into his eyes. She cleared her throat and stood up. "You don't have to do this, Mulder. " In reply to this, he led her to the door which separated the bedroom from the living area. "Out there, we're Special Agents Mulder and Scully, and we've come here to work. But in here," he gestured to the bed, "we're Dana and Fox. We need this, Dana. I need it." "And I need a shower, Mulder. Go and organize some coffee and let me get changed." "Okay." Mulder smiled softly at her, touched her cheek. "I'll be back in ten." Scully stripped off her clothes quickly, and turned the shower as hot as she could get it to run. Easing the stiffness of her muscles under the hot needles, she wondered exactly why he had booked them into this hotel. She knew what he had been trying to tell her, trying to do. To make up in some small way for their wrecked vacation. To give them a chance to be together away from the Bureau's gossip any prying eyes. But she wondered about the reasons there might be which he wouldn't even acknowledge to himself. She was sure she had detected a hint of desperation in his voice. .Deep within Dana's soul a small spark of doubt was fanned into being. Not to be alone with Phoebe? Was she wanted for herself - or merely as a shield against the Englishwoman's blinding light. Shaking her head, Dana pulled herself from this introspection. It was time for work - and the sooner the case could be dealt with, the sooner they could leave. ******************** "Damn, damn, damn!" Phoebe Green slammed the car in second gear and braked hard as she careened round a blind corner on the country road which led back to Holbrook Manor She felt the back wheels of the car slip slightly, then accelerated away in a spray of gravel, her hands gripping the wheel tightly. It was *not* going according to plan. She was astonished by her failure to persuade Fox Mulder to use the Lodge as a base for his enquiries. She felt her eyes prick with tears. "Christ, this is ridiculous." It had seemed such a clever idea, so opportunely presented that she hadn't been able to resist it, to request that Mulder lend his expertise to this case. A senior member of Scotland Yard's VIP Protection Unit, she had been assigned to Ambassador Matheson's household to oversee his personal security nearly a year ago when he and his family had first arrived in the country. Matheson had been very keen when she suggested that her friend Fox Mulder had some experience which might just prove helpful in this case: she herself had been surprised to find out they were old acquaintances. "What do you mean, he won't be staying at the Manor?" Matheson had been icy when she had informed him minutes earlier that Mulder and Agent Scully had booked into the Lygon Arms. "I thought you said you were friends, Phoebe. I need his full co-operation in this matter, and if there's any problem..." "No.." Her assured manner had convinced him. She thought. "No problem, Richard. He'll be out there this afternoon. I'm coming back now to make sure everything's ready." And she had rung off before he had a chance to say any more. She reached over and pulled a Kleenex out of the glove- compartment, then patted the makeup round her eyes very carefully. The action brought vividly to her mind the first time she had met Matheson. She had come to her new assignment straight from a painful confrontation with Malcolm Marsden, the government minister she had been protecting when she had last seen Fox Mulder. She and Marsden had enjoyed what until that point she had thought of as a perfect relationship. They both knew where they stood: there was no chance of permanent commitment on either side, but the sex was wonderful, and, for Phoebe, the thrill of the double life she led - professional and business-like with Marsden in public and lascivious in the snatched moments together - added real spice to the relationship. And she loved her life, close to the heart of real power, feeling part of the subtle shiftings and maneuverings that shaped the world. So it had come as a shock to her to be called into the ACC and told she was being reassigned at the request of Sir Malcolm. The burning shame she had felt at that moment, standing in front of her boss, she would never forget. She had too much pride to ask the ACC for any explanation, but on leaving his office had rushed at once round to the House of Commons and into Marsden's chambers. "How dare you.." she hissed. "How dare you have me pulled off my assignment..." Marsden got up and locked the door. Phoebe moved close to him and tilted her head up to look at him - he was a tall man. But instead of the expected kiss, Marsden grabbed her hair and yanked her head back so that her neck was twisted painfully. "My wife has found out. She gave me a choice - you or her and the children. Losing my family would mean losing my career. Any word of our little liaison would mean losing my career. I do not intend to lose my career because of a meaningless fling with an upper-class tart like you, my dear." >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Subject: So Shall You Reap 3 >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> His breath was hot on her face. "Now, we've had a nice time together. Lets kiss and say good-bye." His eyes glittered, and he gave her hair a last fierce pull, then let go suddenly. "You bastard," she seethed, rubbing her neck. "Why like this? It goes in my file as a black mark." She watched him, appraising. He had surprised her, this one. She hadn't thought him capable of such - spirit. "That's the way my wife wanted it." She was going to leave here with her dignity intact. She walked to the door and unlocked it, then moved back to Marsden. Reaching up, she straightened his tie, brushed his shoulders down, and stepped back. She smiled at him. A dangerous smile - her killer Cleopatra smile. "It's been fun, Malcolm." Then, as his face relaxed into complacence, she reached down, grabbed his crotch and twisted his testicles so tightly that he cried out in pain, slumping back against the desk. "I'll go quietly, Sir Malcolm" she said. "But I'm not having *my* career on the line either. I'm going to be very disappointed if I'm not *DCI* Green by Christmas, and when I'm disappointed, sometimes I start talking to the wrong people....." "You bitch.." he gasped out. "Yes, it's what I'm good at," she said, closing the door softly behind her. But when she had got back to her car she had sat and cried. Cried very carefully, so her eye-makeup wouldn't run. She grinned slightly through her tears. Well, she was trying, anyway. Then had she retrieved a tissue from the glove compartment, patted the tears dry, taken a deep breath, and driven straight to the US Embassy in Grosvenor Square where Ambassador Matheson was waiting to meet her. Damn Fox Mulder for making her look a fool in front of Matheson. She's make him sorry for that, and have a bit of fun too. And how dare he bring that ice-bitch partner of his with him! There were plenty of ways to get Mulder ...... interested again. She pulled the car into the side of the road, pulled out her mobile phone, and placed a call to the Centre for Crop Circle Research. ..........**********..........*********.......... SO SHALL YOU REAP. by Stephanie Davies. StefXF@aol.com ************************* Disclaimers etc in Prologue The story is set over a period of seven days in May 1996. Comments, flames etc willingly accepted and replied to. DAY ONE: PM ************************* England. Day One - Afternoon. A rental car had been arranged and was waiting for them. With Scully reading the map and Mulder driving, they made their way along the country lanes to Holcomb Manor. "Inspector Buchanan gave me some interesting background on the crop circle thing, and the name of a useful contact," Scully informed him. "You seemed to be having a very intense conversation," said Mulder mildly. "Do you want to compare notes, or would your conversation with *Inspector Green* make me blush?" "She didn't tell me much we didn't already know." . Showing their ID's to a security guard they drove through iron gates and up a long gravel pathway, Holbrook Manor appearing before them as they rounded an avenue of trees. It was a large neo-classical building, with two wings, and a porticoed entrance. Phoebe Green was standing on the front steps, and watched as Mulder parked the rented Mondeo next to a very nice ivory 1972 Morgan. "Still got the same car, I see," Mulder observed to her. "Yes, isn't she still lovely - a classic now, of course. Many fond memories of adventures in my little car," she replied, with a knowing look at Mulder. Phoebe took his arm possessively and led him into the house, leaving Scully to follow. Scully made a mental note to find out in detail about the staff who kept a place as large as this running smoothly - after the fiasco in Massachusetts she would make sure the domestic staff were fully checked-out this time..... Ambassador Richard Matheson was awaiting them in the library. Scully stood back and watched as he shook Mulder's hand warmly. "Fox, glad you're able to come and help us out. I understand you and DCI Green are old friends." It was a statement, not a question. Scully had seen Matheson on television, but had never met him before. For Mulder's sake she would be polite to the man: because it was her job she would do her very best to find out what had happened to his wife - but she could not forgive him for his failure to respond to her desperate attempts to contact him and seek his aid when Mulder had been stuck on that train in Iowa. Mulder might trust him - as much as he trusted anyone - but Scully was sure this man had his own agenda. His was, first and foremost, a politician. "My partner, Special Agent Dana Scully." Dana stepped forward, her gaze cool and steady: the Ambassador's handshake was firm. "I've followed with interest your - investigations - with Fox , and I'm delighted to have the opportunity to meet you at last. "...but his bright brown eyes seemed sincere. He was a man of above average height, with greying hair; tanned and fit. If this was an example of his expertise in pressing the flesh, she concluded, he would make a good candidate. If she hadn't known better, she might have thought he was really interested in her. Matheson continued, "Phoebe - DCI Green will show you to my wife's rooms. I am most anxious that this matter be - ah - concluded satisfactorily as soon as possible. Any way I can help, let me know." Scully had read Mrs Matheson's statement several times on the plane. She knew that the little boy was back in the London Hospital, very sick. She had half-expected that the woman would be there with her son. Phoebe led them through a maze of corridors to a room on the other side of the house, explaining - to Mulder, Scully noticed with a wry smile - that Mrs Matheson's rooms and the children's were in this separate wing so that they were well away from all the official comings and goings. Annelise Matheson was clearly nervous. She was a small, well-rounded, very pale woman who was, Scully judged, in her early forties. Somehow she couldn't quite see Mrs Matheson as the First Lady. "Annie," Phoebe Green spoke to her softly, almost as if she were a child, "these are the people Dick wants you to talk to." The blinds were pulled down, and the air in the room was thick. Mrs Matheson stubbed out the cigarette she was smoking in an overflowing ashtray. "I don't want to go through all this again......I have a headache...." She looked as if she were about to cry. "Dick wants you to help them. It's important to him, Annie, you know it is....." Phoebe was interrupted by her pager, and left the room to take a telephone call. Mulder began. "Mrs Matheson, was there anything unusual about the journey before you stopped to look at the lights in the sky?" Scully listened as Mulder led the reluctant woman carefully and thoroughly through the statement she had made to the police, clarifying here, expanding there - questioning with patience and respect. She seemed to relax a little under his gentle probing: they had left a little later than usual, was all. She leaned forward, on the edge of her seat, and looked into Mulder's eyes, seeking understanding. The spacemen in white suits - well, they were dressed from head to toe in white, and moving across the field and on the nearby hillside; they wore thick, dark gloves and boots, and they carried instruments. "What kind of instruments, Mrs Matheson?" No-one had believed her story enough to ask her questions of this kind before. She lit another cigarette. "Like the things people use on beaches - you know, to find treasure. Metal detectors. They were picking things up, and putting them in big, containers - not glass, I don't think, but like glass." Dana Scully spoke. Mrs Matheson started at her voice: she seemed to have forgotten Scully was there. "I'm a medical doctor, ma'am. Can you tell me anything about the ambulance, about what was said and what happened to you and your son. As you know, the police haven't been able to track down any ambulance crew ..." "You don't believe me, do you," Mrs Matheson interrupted, turning a fierce gaze on Scully. "He does....I can see it in his eyes. But you....," she gestured dismissively, "you're like all the rest....just want to shut me up, shut me away in some hospital and never let me see my children again...." Tears pooled in the woman's eyes, and her voice became shrill.. "Why would I make up something like this?...." "Mrs Matheson," Dana said, confused, "no-one is trying to take your children away". She glanced across at Mulder, and frowned. "We're trying to find out what happened...." "I don't want to talk to you anymore....I don't care what Richard says. Or Inspector Green. Only him," She pointed at Mulder. "Go on....get out!" she wailed . "Get out before I have you thrown out, you whore...." "Annelise". The Ambassador's voice, unexpected, cut across her hysteria. He had entered the room with Phoebe Green toward the end of his wife's outburst. Turning to Scully he said, "I think it would be best if you were both to leave now. My wife clearly needs to rest. She will talk to you again later if you feel it's necessary to ask further questions." And quite firmly, with his hand in the small of her back, he ushered Scully out of the room, and held the door open for Mulder to follow. Looking back, Scully saw the look of triumph on Phoebe Green's face. "I'm sure Mrs Matheson will talk with *Agent Mulder* later on, when she's ...calmer," Phoebe said, silkily, as she shut the door in their faces. ******************************* Dana Scully leaned back in her chair and stretched, then massaged the muscles at the base of her neck with her fingers to try and get rid of the ache. She had been ploughing through a mountain of paperwork for hours - everything on record about the incident at Stoke Easton police station: all the witness statements, weather reports, airplane movement reports and details of enquiries made to locate the ambulance which Annelise Matheson said had transported her away from the site of the car crash. Mulder had remained behind at the Ambassador's residence to go through personnel details of everyone who was, or had been, employed at the house, plus the record of the unfortunate driver who had died - and maybe, with luck, to speak to Mrs Matheson again.. Dana had returned in their rental car. Since her presence had seemed to antagonize the woman, she had reasoned that her time would better be spent here. She was angry...somehow, she had lost control of the situation with Annelise Matheson, and looking back on it, she couldn't see how it had got so out of hand. The woman's demeanour had changed so suddenly....... Scully sighed, and hoped that Mulder would have better luck without her. There was plenty to do here. She'd been trying all afternoon to contact the pathologist who had conducted the autopsy on the dead driver to get a copy of his report, which hadn't yet been filed with the Coroner. She opened up her powerbook and began listing the areas where the information was scant, or where there were queries or inconsistencies. She was puzzled that there were no reports of medical tests on either Mrs Matheson or her son Jonathan. Mrs Matheson had apparently been insistent from the moment she was first found that she had been administered a drug by injection after the crash and Scully was astonished that no medical tests at all had been run, and that the only medical attention that she had received on record was to be taken to the local District hospital and checked for signs of exposure. As there were no such signs she had been released immediately and returned to the lodge within hours of her rescue. "That's weird in itself.....if she'd been out overnight and all the next day, with no food or drink...." Her son of course had not fared so well: he had been in an exceedingly weak condition when they were found and an air ambulance had flown him back to London, to GOS and the consultants who were familiar with his condition. There were however no medical or toxicological reports for him in the files held locally, and Scully decided that she would need to travel to London and talk to his doctors there. If indeed an unknown drug had been administered to Mrs Matheson and her son such as to cause them to be rendered senseless for nearly 24 hours this would be an important indicator that something very strange indeed was going on here. Tests which may have been done on the boy would be the only way of obtaining this information at this stage; Scully shook her head in disbelief that such tests had not been performed on Mrs Matheson when she was found, although she appreciated the fact that the local police force and hospital staff had not taken seriously the story she had told of her missing hours. "Hey Scully!" Dana looked round to see Mulder standing in the doorway. "You coming to get something to eat?". Scully looked at her watch: it was 9.15pm "I've still got at least a couple of hours of work to do here. You want to stay and split these with me - then we can eat?" She smiled up at him. Despite his five-o'clock shadow and the tiredness evident around his eyes, he still looked good. Mulder's expression was rueful. "Sorry, Scully - Phoebe's arranged for me to meet some of the crop-circle people in a local pub for a little off- the- record chat." The door was pushed open further, and Phoebe Green entered the room. "Come on Agent Scully!" "Don't be a party pooper - I bet you've never even *been* to a real English pub!" Somewhere along the line Phoebe Green had managed to change into a casual outfit of jodhpurs, boots and a fine knit cream wool sweater, topped with a distinctive Barbour gilet. Dana felt grimy and crumpled in her business suit. Mulder stepped into the room, his eyes warm. "Come on - we can finish in the morning. It's been a long day." He held out his hand to Dana. "Time for some R & R!" Scully let out a little sigh. "Okay," she nodded, and noted the way Mulder's posture visibly relaxed. The phone rang as she was turning out the lights. Phoebe Green answered it. "It's Talbot, the pathologist." She handed the receiver to Scully. After a few words, Dana turned to Mulder, regret evident in her expression. With her hand over the mouthpiece she said quickly, "He's faxing me the report - I catch up with you in a while, if I can," and waved them off. It was only quarter of an hour later, when she'd finished going through the fax with Talbot, that she realized she had no idea which pub they'd gone to. < Smart move, Dana.> She turned back to the pile of folders, and powered up her Notebook once more. ******************************** They left Phoebe's car parked at the police station and walked the ten minutes to the pub through the balmy darkened evening. as Phoebe took his arm. He gently disengaged himself from her grasp. "How did you come across these guys, Phoebe? I didn't think you'd taken this crop circle thing seriously enough to have these kind of contacts." "Ah, Agent Mulder, you should know that I'm very thorough, and I always do my research. " Something in the tone of her voice made Mulder wary, but she continued, "I may not believe in little green men drawing patterns in the Somerset fields, but something made the marks in the corn, and something happened to Annelise Matheson and her son. At the very least they were both missing for nearly 24 hours, and after three weeks we've still got no idea where they were in those hours or how they got to the place where they were found." The White Lion was situated on the outskirts of Stoke Easton. Its customers came from nearby villages and farms as well from the little town itself. It had a reputation as a 'real ale' pub, and so also attracted visitors from up to an hour's drive away who came to sample its range of over thirty traditionally brewed English beers. It also happened to be located immediately opposite the building which housed the Society for Crop Circle Research. And it didn't serve food. As they pushed open the door and entered the smoke haze, Phoebe whispered "We took statements from some of these blokes, but I think they'll be more open in their opinions on what was found in the field in an informal chat. Some of them are a bit prickly, shall we say. And George - George Hedly - won't be here tonight, but I understand you're going to see him tomorrow anyway." Mulder was introduced to three men sitting in a corner. A fourth had leapt to his feet at the sight of Phoebe and had rushed off to buy a round of drinks. Mulder had never been able to analyze what it was about her that made her so effortlessly captivating, but the young man returning from the bar with a tray of drinks was clearly in her thrall. The lad didn't take his eyes off her face for the whole duration of her stay. Mulder had never been particularly fond of English beer, but observing the silent reverence with which these men took the first sip of the drinks now before them, he knew that appreciation and admiration for the brew he was drinking was expected. In fact, as he had anticipated, it was warm and flat and had a bitter, treacly taste. He took a long draught, and put his glass on the table, then looked up to find three pairs of expectant eyes watching him. "I haven't tasted anything like that in a long time," he stated truthfully. He caught the hint of amusement in Phoebe's eyes. She knew quite well his dislike of this stuff; knew also that he's have to drink it and maybe another if he wanted to get anything useful out of these men. If there were a Cereological equivalent of the Lone Gunmen, Mulder decided that three men in front of him would certainly qualify. They regaled him with stories of how darker forces had been at work in 1992 creating an explosion of media interest in the huge numbers of crop circles which appeared that summer. Then, in a conspiracy reaching to the heart of government, it was revealed to a breathless public that the crop circles were faked. "They played us for suckers." said one of the men, bitterly. "And some of us were taken in." "Aye, yer can't get nobody to take us seriously no more. I remember them days, 1992...we 'ad 'em all down 'ere - journalists hidin' in hedges, tv reporters up trees with their cameras and night vision lenses all chasin' eachothers tails..." "Now yer couldn't get a journalist or tv crew down 'ere if Elvis hisself were dancin' naked in field each night readin' bits've Holy Bible." "You'll excuse us Mr Mulder if we sound bitter. It wears you down, year after year tryin' to get the willfully blind to see the truth." Mulder nodded, sympathetically. "Did anyone actually see first hand any of the circles in the field where the car was found?" Three men exchanged knowing glances. "By the time we knew summat was up yer couldn't get near the place for p'lice cars and army 'elicopters..." They were startled by an interruption from the young man who had spent the whole evening staring at Phoebe. "I did see 'um," he said, louder than he had intended , and then blushed as they all looked at him. "Garn, you'n just be showin' off!" "I did, though! My brother, he works for Willium Roberts who that field belongs to. He phoned me up right early that mornin' and told me to get mesself down there, 'cos someth'n was up. When I got down there there weren't but a few policemen. Me and Bob we 'ad a good look.....round the edges of th' field, tho' not in'th'middle." The young man swallowed nervously, unused to being the centre of attention. "Funny you never told us this before, then!" "When all them p'lice cars and 'elicopters arrived Bob said us'd be in trouble if his boss found out, so I ain't told nobody. Anyhow, it didn't seem to be important. Them weren't *real* crop circles anyway." Mulder leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. "You can be sure about that?" The young man snorted in derision. "I know a fake when I see it, and these weren't even good fakes - all rough shapes and corn was all broken and laying different ways. They might've looked all right from an airplane, but close up they was rubbish - wouldn't've fooled a baby. Except," he paused dramatically, having relaxed into the telling of his story, "Except - that there were one in the next field that were different, only by the time we got there to have a look, like, Bob saw the 'elicopters and said we 'ad to leave." One of the other men prompted, "Well, what d'yer mean it were different?" "We didn't get a right good look, as I said, but it were bigger, it were like the really good ones - smooth, an' the grain were flat, and all layin' in the same way like a wave'd gone round - and the stalks didn't seem to be snapped nowhere, just bent. You know how it's kind of.....woven ,it looks....well I thought it were like that, but I couldn't swear to it. It were in the middle of this field with all these damn silly little rings around it - but like I told you, we buggered off as soon as all them military types started to arrive! Tell you what, though.." He had his audience now. "Bob told me something strange. After'em'd took car out've the field, two blokes from the air base turned up on Farmer Roberts' doorstep'n give him fifty thousand pound to 'arvest them two fields immediately!" "Fifty thousand pound? To harvest two fields? And it weren't ready for harvestin'!" The other men muttered their astonishment loudly. "It may not've been ready, but he didn't care did he? Got his fifty thousand in the bank and stuff the weather!" Mulder interrupted , "Did they give him any reason for this?" "Well, Bob said they told Roberts they didn't want no journalists around makin' a fuss." "Didn't do no good then, 'coz it were in't papers next day. Everyone knew about it. They didn't try much to keep it quiet!" "They 'ad that photo in the paper!" Phoebe leaned forward across the table and touched the young man's hand. "That was very interesting ... will you carry the drinks while I buy another round?" The boy flushed deep red, and followed her to the bar. "He's in there all right then!" "Don't you be so danged silly. High-class piece like that won't be interested in our Robin - he's still wet behind the ears!" Mulder shifted uncomfortably at this turn in the conversation. He felt in his coat pocket for his cellphone to call Scully, then recalled he was in England. Even if he had it with him, it wouldn't work here - and they hadn't yet picked up their loaned cellphones from the Stoke Easton police. Phoebe returned to the table trailed by the young man carrying the glasses. She turned to Mulder. "Agent Mulder, you really must try the most famous of the ales they have here." Mulder gave her an evil look as she placed in front of him a pint glass of what looked an even darker, stronger and more sinister potion than before. He wondered how long it would be before he could decently make his excuses and leave. He needed to clear his head, and make notes of the information garnered in the evening. His mind drifted away from the esoteric conversation which was now taking place concerning the various points of contrast between the Great Circle of Tilsbury and the Wapshott Hieroglyph. He watched Phoebe Green as she flirted with the young, strong farm-lad. Her enchantment over the lad was total, and Mulder wondered what the hell she was playing at - there was something compulsive, heightened, that he didn't understand about her behaviour. "Last orders please!" called a voice from the bar. It was eleven o'clock. Where was Scully? He remembered they hadn't actually told her where they were going - hell, he hadn't known himself. She was going to be royally pissed. "Where can I make a phone call?" he enquired of his companions. The phone-box was outside, in the pub car-park. It stank of grime and urine. There was no telephone directory; a sullen operator eventually came up with the number for the hotel and he fumbled in his pockets only to find he didn't have the right coins to make the call. he thought fiercely, slamming the door of the booth shut behind him. Phoebe was waiting for him in the darkness. Her fingertips lightly brushed his arm. "Nice tie, Mulder." She moved closer, until her hips were pressed into his groin, keeping hold of the tie, effectively holding him like a dog on a lead. "You used to be more subtle, Phoebe." He put his hands on her shoulders, tried to pull back, but she held tight to his tie, ground her hips into his, and with her free hand pulled his head forward and kissed him deeply. The scent of her, her electric touch, the alcohol buzzing in his head, her hungry mouth....he felt himself respond to her.... And she stopped, swayed back from him, ran both her hands down inside his suit jacket, down, and finding him hot and hard, pressed and teased for a brief second and....laughed in his face. "Soon, Agent Mulder, soon..." The pub door opened, and their companions stepped out into the night. Phoebe turned to the young farm-hand, Robin, slipped her arm into his, and whispered something in his ear. As the two of them walked off together, Phoebe Green called back, "Goodnight, Agent Mulder....sweet dreams!" ****** ************************************* Even Phoebe Green, thought Dana, as she relaxed back into a bathtub of warm exotic scented bubbles, even she couldn't have planned *that* particular confusion to get Mulder by herself. When he hadn't called to let her know where they were she had briefly considered a round-trip of the local inns to find him. But then she had stopped at the front desk on her way out for some guidance on where to begin, and the friendly desk sergeant had pointed out that there were over twenty pubs in the vicinity....so she had decided to return to the hotel, and get ready for.....bed. She lay back into the bubbles and felt the tension of the past few days begin to dissipate. She felt good. She'd finished the work she'd set herself that evening. Tomorrow she and Mulder could really start into the case. The sensual aroma of vanilla surrounded her, and she reached out for the glass of white wine she had poured herself from the bottle which had been cooling in the minibar. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. Mulder would be back soon, and she would be clean and warm and languorously waiting for him.... she would tease him a little about this evening...they would finish the wine together, and then....well, there *was* only the one bed. Setting her empty glass down, Dana soaped herself all over, then washed off the scented lather with her fingertips. She shivered slightly as she imagined soon *his* strong sensitive fingers touching those same places, running over her skin...her eyes closed, as sweet anticipation of the fulfillment of her desire began to build achingly. Soon Fox, come back soon. She had waited so long for this night. She dried her hair and brushed it till it was a soft coppery cloud around her face. Wrapped only in the bathtowel, she took out of her suitcase a small package enclosed in tissue paper. Her packing for this trip had been hasty, but she had not forgotten this. With hands which trembled ever so slightly, she unfolded the crinkling paper revealing an ivory silk Victorian night-gown, with low cut neck and long sleeves gathered at the wrists. There was a history here. she smiled to herself as she slipped the delicate garment down over her shoulders, and loosened the ribbons on the neck so that it fell down around her shoulders to rest on her breasts. She dimmed all the lights in the bedroom and fetched herself another glass of wine. Then she lay back against the soft pillows on the antique bed to wait for Fox Mulder. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Subject: So Shall You Reap 4 >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> By the time he had arrived back at the hotel, Mulder had composed himself a little, but his hand shook slightly as he unlocked the door to the room. He felt nauseous with self- loathing. The outer room of the suite was in darkness; a soft light gleamed through the barely-open bedroom door. All was quiet. He let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding - Scully must be asleep; it was late, and she'd had a long day. He knew for sure that he could not sleep with her - or even next to her - tonight. He would have to tell her what had happened, what he had felt, he knew that. But he wouldn't wake her now. Carefully, quietly, Mulder transferred the piles of folders from the couch to the table. He looked around for a cupboard which might hold extra bedding but could find none, so gathered up the cushions from the two easy chairs to use as pillows. Stripping off down to his underwear he folded his clothes onto the back of a chair. But before he could lie down and attempt to rest he realized he needed to use the bathroom. Mulder opened the door to the bedroom noiselessly, but his eyes were inescapably drawn to the figure on the bed. Dana Scully lay curled up atop the covers of the four-poster. Her glorious hair fanned out around her on the cream linen sheets. She was pale and smooth and cool, except for her lips, moist, red and slightly open. She sighed and shifted her position slightly, so the ivory nightgown slipped further down her shoulder, exposing more of her soft, pale breasts. Mulder saw the wineglass on the nightstand; saw the half-full bottle and extra glass had been placed on the other side of the bed, his side of the bed - and understood. She had been waiting there for him. He moved towards the bed and looked down at the sleeping woman. She was so beautiful - a rush of tenderness almost stopped his breath - and she had been waiting for him. Despite his withdrawal from her over recent days and his failure to respond to her tentative kiss, she had been willing to put her feelings on the line for him one more time. He moved a stray lock of hair off her forehead with a gentle finger, then bent down and touched his lips lightly to hers. Then he lay on the couch in the darkness and raged at his weakness, for the shudder of desire and wanting that had passed through him at Phoebe's touch, for the tainting of the pure, clear love he had carried inside him for Dana Scully, until he fell into a fitful and exhausted sleep. Much later, he was aware of a cool hand on his shoulder, and a low voice in his ear, of someone taking his hand, and leading him to a soft bed, and laying him down. Then a gentle kiss, and a familiar scent enfolding him as he drifted into a peaceful slumber.