Disclaimer in part 1

M1 North
9:17 AM

Another sleepless night, another awkward breakfast. Mulder stared out the
window of Spencer's Jag at the driving rain and passing landscape. Today's
jaunt would take them to Oxford, scene of the first mysterious death.
Coincidentally, it was also a place full of memories of Phoebe. He'd had
enough of England and its bloody tea, its bloody rain and its bloody women
trashing his heart. Well, Scully wasn't technically English, but her family
had come from Ireland and at this point he was willing to go with it. "Quite
a cut there, Agent Mulder," Spencer commented. "Your partner do that to you?"

Mulder could see the man's twinkling eyes in the rearview mirror. He'd had
about enough of that dry English wit too. "I had an altercation with a
cobblestone when I was running last night. Scully here fixed me up."

"Ah," the older man said, noticing the auburn-haired agent bristle at
Mulder's mention of her name. He had to admit that professionally the two
made a hell of a team. Her logic perfectly balanced his more wild
speculation. But he wondered how long this lover's spat would continue. As of
yet he and Jane had detected no more telltale marks like the one that had
adorned Mulder's neck just below his collar shortly after their arrival.
Spencer had to admit to a certain perverse pleasure imagining the seemingly
pragmatic Dr. Scully driven to create such a mark. Still, he was glad he and
Jane had no such sexual politics to contend with. He also wondered if such
conduct was permitted by the FBI. Somehow he doubted it. And then it all
became clear! The other night's "activities" had been a first! He chuckled
under his breath, looking forward to sharing his conjecture with Jane.
 

Oxford University
11:45 AM

Mulder looked slowly around at the commons. In typical English fashion the
weather had cleared and the mid-day sun streaked down from the sky casting
shadows on the old buildings of the university... it seemed so familiar and
yet so foreign at the same time. It was here that he had come to escape the
intolerable pain of his family. It was here he had come to put the unbearable
memories of his sister's abduction behind him. It was here he had met Phoebe.
He looked across the road at *the* pub, the one where she'd dumped him, where
she'd systematically decimated the little world he'd so carefully
reconstructed with her as its axis, and winced, remembering her cold words of
farewell. He'd spent days locked in his room, not eating or sleeping,
listening only to The Clash and Joy Division over and over, sprawled out on
his bed waiting to die. When he finally determined that he was going to
survive despite his best efforts to the contrary, he'd emerged ten pounds
thinner and eons wiser. After his sister's disappearance he'd been slow to
trust, but it was after Phoebe that he'd become downright paranoid.

It was a miracle Scully had ever gotten inside his barriers and now it looked
like she'd be leaving him too, just like Phoebe. The pain was palpable and he
took a deep breath in an attempt to quell it. He looked over at her. She was
talking softly with Jane, who was pointing out a rowing crew on the Thames.
"I could be arrested for the thoughts I get in this head of mine when I see
young blokes like that in shorts," Jane was laughing. Scully smiled and then
looked over at him. He could read the question in her eyes...are you okay? He
nodded and looked away. She was nothing like Phoebe. How could he have even
thought that? Just more irrefutable proof why Scully was wise to steer clear
of the likes of him. She was his partner and his best friend. His feelings
for her beyond that were inappropriate and he'd just have to find a way to
deal with them... and hope she'd stay.

"Well," Spencer was saying. "We're not scheduled to meet with Oxford CID for
an hour. How about we get lunch at the pub across the street?"

Scully and Jane nodded their agreement before Mulder had the chance to
object. He lingered a moment as the others started out. Scully turned around
and then walked back to him. She reached out to touch his arm, but stopped
herself. "Mulder," she said softly. "Are you coming?"

He shook himself out of his stupor. "Uh, yeah. Let's go."

     *    *    *

Once settled inside the pub, not at *the* table, thank God, Mulder had the
chance to look around. The place hadn't changed at all. The same guy even
manned the bar, his hair a little grayer, his face a little longer. His eyes
kept returning to *the* table, like a scab he couldn't help picking, opening
the wounds to the agony of a 21-year-old's unrequited love. Strangely enough
it didn't feel all that different at 36. "Mulder?" Scully's voice brought him
back to the present.

"Huh?" he asked.

"Jane asked if you used to hang out here as a student," Scully said.

"My niece tells me it's quite the happening place on Friday nights," Jane
added.

"Uh, yeah. I used to study here," Mulder said, hoping Scully wouldn't pick up
on the pain he was feeling.

"Study? You? Yeah, right," she teased, leaning over with her shoulder to give
him a friendly push. Then she turned to Spencer, "So, tell me about this
ploughman's lunch..."

Mulder looked at his partner, his best friend, eternally grateful to her for
turning the attention away from him.
 
 

Oxford CID
2:30 PM

"So, you're certain that no one besides the young men reported seeing
anything out of the ordinary?" Scully asked the constable for the third time.
Looking into the man's sleepy blue eyes, she couldn't shake the feeling that
he wasn't telling them the entire truth. Jane had warned them over lunch that
there might be some resistance from local law enforcement. Seems they didn't
appreciate Scotland Yard swooping in from London and sticking their noses
into local business. Scully and Mulder had nodded sympathetically, knowing
the feeling. Still, that didn't stop it from being frustrating. "Constable?"
she repeated when the man didn't reply.

The officer swallowed and stated the facts yet again. Scully closed her eyes
in frustration. She'd heard it twice before. "Peter Milner. Age 20. Studying
at Queen's College. No parents. One brother, his twin, identical according to
the report, currently traveling in India--"

"We'd like to speak to the other boys," Spencer interrupted the recitation.

The constable turned his dull eyes to the detective. "We'll set something up
for first thing tomorrow morning."

Spencer pursed his lips, biting back his frustration. "That would be fine. In
the mean time, we'd appreciate directions to the site of the incident,
please," he said, his voice clipped.

"Certainly," the constable replied reaching for pen and paper. Scully
fantasized about snatching the writing utensil from the man and jamming it
through his hand, but before she could make her dream a reality, the officer
handed Spencer the directions.

"Thank you, constable," Smith said, sarcasm dripping. "You've been ever so
helpful."

As the foursome left, Mulder leaned close and whispered to Scully, "I'll be
sure to send him a bundt cake on behalf of Detective Sergeant Smith."

Scully stifled a laugh and rejoiced at this small glimmer of hope that their
partnership could be saved. Now she just had to figure out how.
 
 

Crime Scene
Oxfordshire
3:30 PM

A late afternoon rain storm was gently blanketing the crime scene when the
intrepid investigators arrived, so they climbed slowly and reluctantly from
the warm confines of the car, shielding themselves with umbrellas and
buttoned coats. Mulder led the way and lifted the yellow tape still marring
the clearing and slid gracefully under it, holding it up for the others.
"Students like to come here to party, after hours," he said, looking around
slowly, his mind obviously traveling in the past.

"Sounds like you speak from experience, Agent Mulder," Smith teased, as she
made her way under the tape.

Mulder smiled briefly. "I take the Fifth on that," he said, then added
quickly. "As in the Fifth Amendment to the US Constitution, so as not to
incriminate myself."

Smith laughed. "I'm fully aware of what 'taking the Fifth' means. We did get
LA Law over here, didn't we?" She turned to Scully, who was close behind.
"And perhaps, Dana, at some later date, after we've managed to ditch our male
counterparts, we can discuss Harry Hamlin's briefs."

Scully grinned, but kept her eyes fixed on her partner as he reached the top
of a small hill a few feet away. She saw him stop short and stiffen visibly,
a dead give away that he'd discovered something.

"And Mulder and I will be sure to discuss the social relevance of Baywatch,"
Spencer tossed out. "Never know when you might need those important life
saving tips, eh, Mulder?"

"Huh? Uh, sure," the agent replied vaguely from where he was bent down
examining whatever it was he'd uncovered. "Hey Scully, check this out."

Scully was already on her way. When she reached her partner she was amazed to
see him examining a perfectly formed circle of flattened grass perhaps six
feet wide. "Just what am I looking at?" she asked as she felt Smith and
Spencer arrive behind her.

"I'd say it's a small crop circle," Mulder replied, examining the area
closely.

"The crop circles have been proven a hoax, haven't they?" Smith asked. "Those
two crazy blokes admitted to it."

Mulder shook his head and stood, moving around the other side of the circle.
"They couldn't have possibly been responsible for all of them."

"Mulder, I'm sure there's a scientific explanation," Scully said.

"Such as?" he questioned.

"I don't know... descending atmospheric vortices for one," Scully countered.

Mulder shook his head again and dug a sunflower seed from the pocket of his
coat. "The pattern is too precise to be a random atmospheric anomaly. Note
how the grass is bent, but not broken," Mulder paused, bending down again to
pull on a strand. "And it's continuing to grow at an angle."

"Normally, a plant would return to it's upright position," Spencer said,
conceding the point, but Mulder and Scully were completely enthralled in
their debate and didn't even seem to hear him.

Spencer looked to Smith and raised his eyebrows, both barely managed to hold
back the laughter inspired by the verbal tennis match between these American
partners.

"Okay, how about a small tornado," Scully ventured.

Mulder laughed out loud at that one as he began scouting the area for any
other circles. "Who ever heard of a stationary tornado, Scully?"

Scully pursed her lips. He had her there. "Well, I don't know, Mulder. I just
think there has to be a less fantastic explanation than space craft from
outer space."

Mulder turned and faced her. "Okay, I'm willing to listen to any that you can
suggest."

"Why don't we take this discussion somewhere out of the rain and where we can
get a nice cup of tea," Spencer interjected.

"Brilliant idea, Nigel," Smith chimed in.

Mulder and Scully remained facing each other, eyes locked, challenging the
other to give. "Sure," Mulder finally replied. "Just as soon as I get some
photographs." With that he headed for the car in search of the camera.
 

Banks of the Thames
1:05 AM

Scully sat on a bench at the edge of the Thames waiting for him. She'd seen
him leave on a run just after midnight and knew he'd make his way along the
river. She could almost see the route he'd take in her mind, he'd told her
about it often enough. And so here she was, lying in wait for him. It was
time for the air between them to be cleared once and for all. She pulled her
legs up and rested her chin between her knees. In the distance she could see
him coming...

Mulder's legs ached from running. Just being in Oxford again was more painful
than he'd expected. It wasn't the memories of Phoebe that were getting to
him, it was the memory of what life had been like before Scully. It was the
thought that his feelings for her would ruin what they had together. He was
terrified that he'd destroyed everything. That as soon as they returned to DC
she'd ask for a transfer. He didn't know how he'd bear it. Dana Katherine
Scully was, without a doubt, the best friend he'd ever had. He'd known it the
moment she'd stood laughing with him in the rain in that Oregon cemetery on
their very first case. She was heads. He was tails. She was yin to his yang.
He didn't know if he could go on without her. He didn't want to find out. But
he was afraid he'd created an impossible situation for her. He'd declared his
love, a love that was one-sided. Even if he never spoke of it again, would
she be able to work with him? To trust him again? He noticed a lone figure
sitting on a nearby bench and recognized the slope of her shoulders, the
angle of her head instantly. He stopped in front of her, resting his hands on
his knees and attempting to catch his breath. "Hey, Scully," he said, unable
to think of anything more original. She smiled and pulled a water bottle off
the bench and handed it to him. He took it gratefully and drank deeply.

"Sit with me a while," Scully said. He nodded and sat down, but not too close
she noted with relief. They were silent for a moment, watching the reflection
of the moon bounce off the water. And then they said each other's names at
the same instant.

"You go first," Scully said, smiling awkwardly.

"No, you," Mulder insisted.

"I... uh... God, this is hard."

"Scully, it's just me," he said softly.

With that she looked him in the eye and said, "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." Then he looked down at his feet. "I'm
sorry I behaved inappropriately and unprofessionally."

"Mulder, you weren't alone in your actions." Mulder looked up at her, waiting
for her to finish. "It's just... if things were different..." she paused,
struggling for words. "This is just the type of thing they could use to close
down the X-Files. We can't risk it. I *won't* risk it. We have to find the
truth. For your dad, for Missy, for Samantha... and for ourselves."

"You're not going to ask for a transfer?" he asked.

"No. Not unless you want me to."

"I don't."

"Partners, then?" she asked, extending her hand.

"And best friends," he replied, shaking her hand. The smile that lit up her
face was almost enough to kill the pain he felt knowing he'd never kiss those
beautiful lips again. Almost.
 
 
 
 

From Ginef@aol.com Sat Mar 22 23:17:44 1997
Subject: NEW: The Field Where Max Fenig Arrived (7/10)
From: Ginef@aol.com
--------

Disclaimer in part 1

St. Giles Cafe
11:00 AM

Mulder, lost in thought, moved his coffee cup around on the paper placemat in
front of him, leaving a series of coffee ring stains in its wake. It was only
after observing him for a few minutes that Scully realized he was creating a
common crop circle pattern and wondered if he was even conscious of his
actions. She dismissed the thought almost as soon as it entered her brain,
Mulder always knew what he was doing. She sighed and took a sip of her coffee
and marveled at how good it tasted. First decent cup she'd had since she'd
arrived in England. She allowed her eyes to scan the others at the table, all
sullen and engrossed in their own thoughts and cup of Joe. When they'd
arrived at Oxford CID that morning, they were greeted with the news that the
boys involved in the incident had declined to speak to them on the advice of
their legal council. So, they'd retired here to plan their next move.

"Mind if I join you?" a voice said softly at Scully's right. She looked up to
find a young man in standard student garb-- jeans and flannel shirt, his
chestnut-colored hair falling haphazardly over his sad, dark eyes.

Before Scully could answer, her partner replied. "Why don't you pull up a
chair. Can we get you a coffee?"

The young man dumped his heavy backpack to the floor and hauled a chair over
from a nearby table. "Coffee would be splendid," he said, his eyes darting
around nervously.

Mulder signaled the server for another cup and turned his attention back to
the newcomer. "You were there, weren't you?"

The young student's eyes widened in surprise a moment, but then he nodded.
"I'm not supposed to be talking to you. If my parents find out--" he stopped.
"But Peter was my best mate, wasn't he...," his voice trailed off.

Smith pulled out her cigarettes and set about lighting one, the young man
watched like a heroin addict one day short of a fix. "Mind if I bum a fag off
you?" he finally asked.

The sergeant smiled and slid the pack and matches across the table to him. He
fumbled for one quickly and lit it up. "Thanks," he said, after inhaling
deeply. "I'm supposed to have quit, but what's the point, really?" He took
another drag before speaking again. "Can we keep this off the record?"

Mulder and Scully looked to Spencer. It was his call. He hesitated a moment
and acquiesced. "What's your name, son?" he asked.

The server arrived with the coffee and they fell silent as she refilled
everyone's cup. When she left, the man replied, "Geoff Asprey."

"What can you tell us?" Scully asked softly.

Geoff stirred sugar into his coffee, splashing an alarming amount over the
side. "Not much, I'm afraid. It was almost as if..." he paused and his
cigarette slipped from his fingers. He quickly snatched it up. "I know this
sounds mad, but it's as if time stopped."

Scully could sense Mulder straighten up on that comment. He leaned across the
table to the man and said, "How much time did you lose?"

"Six minutes."

"How can you be sure," Smith cut in before Mulder had a chance to voice
another question.

Geoff held up his arm, displaying an Eddie Bauer watch. "I received this for
my birthday a couple of days before it happened," he explained. "I was rather
fond of the light function." He pushed a small knob on the side of the watch,
ashes flittering down his arm, and the face was bathed in a soft green light.
"I checked the time, it was 23:14, just before the... light came. Next thing
I knew it was 23:20," he paused again and swallowed nervously. "And Peter and
Max were gone."
 

     *    *    *

That afternoon found the investigators slowly making their way back toward
London, each quietly reflecting on what Geoff Asprey had told them. Talking
to the young man had been a lucky break. He'd stayed just under an hour and
smoked nearly three quarters of a pack of cigarettes while filling in many of
the sketchy details of the incident, including how the group had befriended
Max over a game of darts. He even had a few ideas on where Peter's brother
was in India. Smith had volunteered to investigate that further through a
contact she had at the Embassy in New Delhi.

Traffic was crawling and Scully could feel Mulder's barely checked nervous
energy. He was anxious to get to the central library to research recent UFO
and crop circle activity, hoping he'd be able to discern a pattern and
possibly locate Max. As traffic came to a stop again she was half afraid that
Mulder was going to climb out of the car and walk the rest of the way. She
had to admit, she was tempted to join him. They'd probably make better time.
Scully fingered the envelope in her hands. She was looking forward to
studying the complete autopsy report on Peter Milner which they'd managed to
acquire from the medical examiner in Oxford. She glanced out the window. It
was going to rain.

As the car began moving sluggishly forward again, their collective musings
were interrupted by the shrill ring of a cell phone. Everyone reached for his
or hers and the winner was... "Spencer." He listened quietly a moment and
then spoke sharply, "You must be joking. We're in the middle of a murder
investigation...," more silence followed and finally,  "Yes, sir. Good-bye."
He disconnected and turned to Smith. "We've been called by the defense to
testify in the Nichols murder case."

"What?" Smith replied, her tone no less irritated. "They can sod off."

""fraid we don't have a choice," Spencer sighed.

Smith blew out a heavy breath of frustration. "When?"

"Tomorrow."

"Are they mad?" she exclaimed, her voice going unnaturally high at the end.

"It would appear so, but we've been ordered to attend with the assurance
it'll only be one day." He turned his eyes to his passengers in the back via
the rearview mirror. "And I'm afraid that leaves you high and dry tomorrow.
We can't have you investigating without us, I'm afraid."

"Of course not," Scully replied.

"I'm sure we can find a way to amuse ourselves... we can do a bit of research
or something," Mulder assured the detective. Scully eyed her partner and knew
they were in for trouble.
 
 

Grosvenor Hotel
2:30 AM

"Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St. Clement's..." Scully was running
through darkened streets, lost and alone in the fog, her feet pounding along
to the rhythm of the nursery rhyme Mulder had taught her. "... you owe me
five farthings, say the bells of St. Martin's..." "Mulder?" she called, her
heart thundering in her chest, even louder than the whipping wind biting into
her skin and the church bells echoing through her head. "... when will you
pay me, say the bells of Old Baily..." With a sudden flash of light she was
inside a dank church, heavy with the stench of rotting bodies. She moved
slowly, taking care not to tread on the graves of those buried beneath the
floor.  "... when I grow rich, say the bells of Shoreditch..."  "Mulder?" she
called again. "... when will that be, say the bells of Stepney..." She
stopped in front of a stone so large she couldn't hope to skirt around it and
was compelled to look down at the name adorning it. Her heart seized at the
sight and she turned to run, but found herself rooted in the spot as a
partially decayed arm shot up through the floor, ancient stone shattering
like a glass geyser. Duane Barry staked his claim on her ankle and pulled her
toward death with more strength than the cancer ravaging her body. "... I'm
sure I don't know, says the great bell of Bow..." Air rushed out of her lungs
with a whoosh as she landed without ceremony on her stomach. "... here comes
a candle, to light you to bed..." She clawed blindly at what remained of the
frigid stone floor and tried to kick her foot free. "... and here come the
chopper to chop off your head..." She felt her nails being pulled out,
tearing, breaking, as she struggled desperately, her blood flowing freely.
"... chip chop... chip chop..." Barry's maniacal laughter served as a bizarre
accompanist to her anguished screams as he pulled her under. "Mulder, I need
your help," she managed to cry one last time through dust-filled lungs. "...
and now you are dead..." (5)

     *    *    *

In the next room, Mulder's eyes flew open when he heard Scully's cries. He
sprang out of bed, searching for his gun before he realized it wasn't there
and ran through the common area before busting into her room. His head sagged
in relief when he saw her alone in bed, in the throes of a nightmare. He went
to her and reached out to touch her shoulder. "Scully, I'm here," he said
softly. "It's okay. I'm here." Scully sprang up as if returning from
somewhere dark and deep, gasping for air and pulled him into a tight embrace.
 

He held her close, stroking her hair even though having her this near was
killing him. "You're okay," he repeated. "I'm here. I'll always be here."

Scully breathed deeply and willed her heart to slow as she tried to piece
together the scattered threads of the dream. "Do you remember anything?"
Mulder whispered, as he continued to caress the back of her head.

Scully shook her head, not trusting her voice as she inhaled the smell of
Mulder's neck where it met his shoulders. He'd been out for a run and hadn't
showered yet. She could taste the salt of his sweat on her lips. So real, so
sweet... and so very alive. She inhaled again. His scent was an intoxicant to
her, more powerful than opium. She was so tired of fighting it, fighting him,
fighting herself. What if her time was running out? What if this was her last
chance? Almost against her will, Scully's lips began moving, exploring the
flesh of his neck. She slowly kissed her way up his throat until her lips
encountered his ear. She traced its rim lightly with her tongue. "Ah, Scully,
please don't do this to me," he moaned, unable to deny her. Scully's mouth
continued its campaign across his jaw, stopping to explore his unshaven
cheek. She gently kissed the mole she found there. Her hands joined in the
exploration, finding their way to his shoulders and pushing him onto his
back. Her finger ran around the scar where she'd shot him and was joined a
moment later by her lips. Mulder laid there, somewhere between ecstasy and
despair as Scully continued her ruthless pilgrimage down his body and across
his soul. "Scully, stop," he said, abruptly sitting up and pushing her away,
his voice shaky.

"Mul--"

"We agreed on friendship. I can't... I need...," he started then stopped as
he ran his hand through his hair. Scully sat up, moving near, but not
touching him and waited for him to continue. He stared at his hands. "That
night after Tennessee... when I thought I'd lost everything, I came to see
you because," he paused for a long moment, returning his eyes to hers,
"because I had my gun to my head, Scully. I wanted to end it, the pain, the
not knowing, all of it, so badly and the only thing that stopped me from
pulling the trigger was you," he finished in a whisper, gently running his
fingers over her cheekbone.

Scully blinked fiercely and pulled back from his touch like she'd been
shocked. Her mouth moved, but formed no words. She couldn't breathe, a weight
as heavy as a truck descending on her chest. How dare he even consider
leaving her behind? How dare he consider ending his life voluntarily when
hers was being snatched away against her will. That this had occurred before
her diagnosis did nothing to soften her anger. She got up and ran into the
bathroom only to return a moment later. She threw her pink Daisy razor at
him. "Go ahead, finish the job," she hissed.

Mulder stared up at her, unmoving. "Go on," she ordered, picking the
untouched razor up off his lap and breaking away the protective plastic
casing, not caring about the damage she was doing to her fingers and thumb in
the process. When she was finished, she forced the exposed blade into his
right hand. She grabbed his left hand and flipped it over exposing the
smooth, unmarked flesh on the inside of his wrist. She slapped it a few times
in quick succession, leaving a splattering of her blood on his pale skin and
bringing his veins to the surface. "Be sure to make the cuts vertical and
deep."

He continued to look up at her, unable to speak. His eyes misted with tears
before he looked from his blood-smeared wrist to the weapon she'd placed in
his hand. For a moment Scully hoped even as she feared he might actually do
it, but instead he flung the blade away and grabbed her by the shoulders and
shook her fiercely. "Why," he demanded.

"I can't be your only reason to live," she said. "It's too much
responsibility."

"Scully, you've been my reason for years."

She shook her head. "Samantha," she muttered, even as her mind swam with
images of Mulder, dead on his couch by his own hand. She shuddered. She would
have died with him, spiritually if not physically. God,  she loved him,
despite her most ardent intentions to the contrary.

"Samantha isn't enough." Scully closed her eyes, trying to hold back the
tears threatening to escape. Mulder tightened his grip on her shoulders. "I'm
sorry, Scully, but I love you. Despite my best efforts not to. Against my
will."

Scully laughed shortly, hysterically, a single soldier against a foreign
army. All that was left was to wave the white flag. She leaned her head into
the space under his chin. " 'I do suffer love indeed, for I love thee against
my will,'" she quoted.

Mulder held her tight and felt a small smile pull at his lips. " 'In spite of
your heart, I think: alas, poor heart! If you spite it for my sake, I will
spite it for yours.'" Scully could feel his words vibrating through her hair.
He paused and lifted her chin with his forefinger until her eyes met his. "
'For I will never love that which my friend hates.'"

Scully returned his smile before she kissed him.
 

     *    *    *
 

Later, Scully rested her head on his chest and gently fingered the hair that
grew there. He was softly stroking the skin of her shoulder. " 'And I pray
thee now, tell me for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love
with me?" (6)

"Love? Who said anything about love?" Scully giggled.

Mulder flipped her over and pinned her the bed, laughing. "Tell me," he
demanded.

"Your bad jokes and tacky ties."

"Not that. The other," he ordered. "And my ties are not tacky."

"I love you, Mulder," she said softly.

"Tell me again."

She tilted her head up and brushed his lips with hers. "I love you."

He rolled on to his back, pulling her with him and squeezed her tight, still
unable to believe it. "Again," he whispered.

"I love you, Mulder," she whispered back and then they both drifted into
sleep.
 

     *    *    *

The next morning Scully reached out for Mulder only to find an empty spot
next to her. She slowly opened her eyes and lifted her head. "Mulder?" she
called out. His head popped in from the next room.

"Morning," he said, as he stepped all the way in and returned to the bed. He
was clad only in a towel, his wet hair curling to his head. Scully eyed him
and knew what she wanted for breakfast. She reached her hand out to him and
when he took it she pulled him down on top of her. She ran her fingers
through his damp hair and continued down his back. Mulder gave her one of his
evil smiles and said, "Ah, no time for that Agent Scully. We have to get on
the road."

"The road! This is our day off. I'm not getting out of this bed."

"We're going to Stonehenge..."

"... which you believe was built by aliens, I suppose," she said sighing and
trying to suppress a smile.

"Would you expect anything less," he asked.

"Certainly not, Agent Mulder."

He smiled and gave her a quick peck on the lips. "Hurry up, I want to stop by
Silbury Hill and Avebury on the way," he added and then noticed that her
hands were exploring places that would indeed make him forget Stonehenge and
everything else in England for that matter.
 

     *    *    *

Two hours later they were on the M3 heading southwest toward Salisbury.
Scully sat nervously in the passenger seat, not able to shake the feeling
that she was in the driver's seat and that she had no steering wheel. Mulder
had offered not to be "the big macho man" and to let her drive, but she was
all too happy to sit this one out. "God, I think I like riding in the back
better," she said, closing her eyes.

Mulder laughed and spit another sunflower seed shell out the window. "You get
used to it." Scully looked out the window at the emerald fields and thought,
yeah, I could get used to it. The green, the clean air, no Bureau, no
Cigarette Man breathing down their necks, Mulder so relaxed and happy...

As if he could read her mind, Mulder reached over and took her hand. "It'll
be fine, you know."

"How? As soon as they find out, that's it. They'll separate us. Maybe even
send one of us out to a field office."

"They won't find out."

Scully nodded, but wasn't entirely reassured. "This little outing. Does it
have anything to do with the case?"

Mulder popped another sunflower seed into his mouth and spit the shell out
before replying, "I have a hunch."

Scully rolled her eyes. "So, relax and hold on for the ride?"

Mulder laughed. "Yeah, something like that."
 
 
 
 

From Ginef@aol.com Sat Mar 22 23:18:11 1997
Subject: NEW: The Field Where Max Fenig Arrived (8/10)
From: Ginef@aol.com
--------

Disclaimer in part 1

Avebury
3:30 PM

Even Scully had to admit, as she stood in its midst, that there was something
almost supernatural about the stone circle at Avebury. Though not as
impressive in size as the one they'd seen earlier that day at Stonehenge,
this circle was much wider-- encompassing nearly half the town-- and more
intricate. It was also far more accessible. Mulder had been keenly
disappointed that the public was no longer allowed anywhere near the
formation at Stonehenge, instead being forced to take in the spectacle from a
safe distance. In typical Mulder fashion he'd laughed it off, blaming the
travesty on that pesky Griswold family and their "European vacation". Scully
grinned at the memory. God, how she loved his sense of humor. She'd never
known anyone who could lighten a mood like him. It had seen them through on
more than one occasion (even in their darkest hour) and she suspected it
would do so in the future. Dana Scully wasn't one to kid herself. She knew
this new relationship with Mulder would not be without its pitfalls. She'd
entered into a union with a man so damaged that he'd made angst an art form.
There was no doubt  that his guilt and insecurities would compete for leading
roles. She just hoped they wouldn't be their undoing. She shook the thought
from her head and continued her slow perusal of the circle, stopping in front
of a large overturned stone. She reached out and ran her fingers over it
idly. How long had this stone been here? And how long would it be after she
was gone? She'd never thought much about time before, now she thought about
it constantly. It was always there in the back of her mind. How much time did
she have before the cancer in her sinus cavity pushed its way into her brain,
putting an end to her life, her work, and her time with Mulder? Would they
find a cure, a miracle in time? If she could be saved, she believed it could
be accomplished by the two of them. She'd never had faith in anything like
she did in their partnership, like she did in him. She turned her head and
watched the people of this tiny village coming and going, busy living. She
didn't want to die. She wanted a chance at what they had. Her eyes closed
against the tears threatening to fall.

She was pulled abruptly from her thoughts by Mulder leaning against the stone
in front of her. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a half grin.
"Barber Surgeon Stone," he said, gesturing his head to indicate the rock
holding him up at the moment. "So named for the poor medieval barber who got
squashed underneath it. Flatter than a pancake and more effective than the
abdominizer."

Scully laughed. "I bet. Maybe I should try it."

"Don't you dare," Mulder said, as he reached out tentatively looping an arm
around her waist and pulling her to him. "You're perfect just the way you
are."

"Flattery will get you lucky, Mulder," Scully replied, as she tested the new
waters of their relationship by reaching out to brush her fingers over that
maddenly seductive mole on his cheek.

Mulder smiled again and took her hand from his face, kissing her palm. "Your
hands are cold. How about we head over to that pub for a cup of tea? Or," he
leered, pulling her closer, "we could always try another method to warm you
up."

"Umm... Sounds like heaven," she replied, planting a light kiss on his lips,
"but I think we better settle for the tea."
 

     *    *    *

The Red Lion pub was quite crowded for a weekday afternoon, but Scully wasn't
complaining as she wrapped her hands around her cup of tea and took in the
unusual mix of patrons. Most of them were farmers she suspected, with a few
of the good townsfolk thrown in. The thing that struck her most was how
everyone seemed to know everyone else. It was almost as if they'd stepped
into the middle of a private family gathering with everyone huddled in among
the crowded tables and low-beamed ceiling, shutting out the dangers and
strangers of the world. "Were you happy here?" she asked, out of the blue.

Mulder, who'd been busy casing the room, turned his eyes to her. "No," he
admitted, knowing with that weird sixth sense they shared that she meant when
he'd been at school in England. "I don't think I could have been happy
anywhere..." he stopped and refilled their cups from the teapot on the table.
"I was running, and this was as far away as I could get."

She nodded and stirred more sugar into her cup. She knew all about running.
She felt like she'd been doing it her whole life, and sprinting since Leonard
Betts had said those awful words to her. The words she'd known instantly to
be true. But last night, when she'd kissed Mulder, she'd finally stopped. She
reached over and took his hand. "I don't want to die, Mulder. Especially not
now, but I may not have a choice in the matter--" she said softly.

Mulder's hand tightened on hers. "I refuse to accept that. We'll find a way."

Scully brought his fingers to her lips and kissed them softly and stared at
the table as she went on. "I just need some assurance that if... if something
happens to me, that you'll be okay. That you'll find a way to continue," she
said softly, raising her eyes to his and was heartbroken to see a misting of
tears.

"I... I can't promise you that, Scully," he said, his voice catching,
dropping his hands to the table before she could feel them shaking.

Scully covered his hands with hers. "I'll be counting on you to find the
answers for our sisters, your father and," she whispered so softly he could
barely hear her (although he felt her words all the way to his bones), "...
for me."

That he could promise, he thought as the muscle in his jaw tightened. If
something happened to her, he would not only find the answers, but extract
revenge on those responsible. He'd hunt down the cigarette man again and
nothing-- nothing-- would stop him from putting a bullet through the
bastard's skull this time.

Scully watched his eyes harden into a pale, steel gray. "I mean justice,
Mulder, not vengeance," she said.

The harsh look on Mulder's face softened and he took both of her hands in
his, eyes holding hers in silent communion.

"Can I get you another pot of tea?" the server's words nearly scaring them
out of their skins.

Mulder tore his eyes from his partner's. "Please and some tea cakes as well,
I think," he replied. "Would you mind taking a look at this picture," he
added, pulling a photo of Max from his pocket.

The young woman brushed her long blonde hair behind her ear and took the
photo.

"Have you seen this man around here?" Mulder asked and Scully couldn't help
smiling. So that was his "feeling."

The server stared intently at the photo a moment before replying. "You
coppers?"

"No," Mulder replied, since they weren't officially supposed to be working on
the case today. "Just friends of his. He's gone missing and we're worried
about him."

The young woman nodded, still staring at the picture. "I haven't, but I can
pass it round the pub if you like, see if anyone else has."

"That would be great. Thanks," Mulder said as she left. He returned his
attention to Scully, who was gathering up her purse.

"Just going to make a quick trip to the loo," she said, smiling slightly as
she used the colloquialism. "Be right back," she added as she saw the concern
on Mulder's face.

     *    *    *

When she returned less than five minutes later, Mulder was sharing the table
with what appeared to be a farmer, not that she would want to make that
assumption based on his attire of overalls and work boots. But then again, if
the shoe fits, she thought as her partner introduced her, "Dana, this is John
Smith. He owns a farm near here. He's seen Max."

Scully extended her hand, which Smith shook as she wondered just how many
'Smiths' lived in England anyway. "Nice to meet you, sir," she said, as she
took her seat.

The man nodded and continued his story.  "Would have been late November or
early December, wouldn't it," he said. "Chased him out of my barn, I did.
Bugger was trying to milk one of my cows!"

"And you haven't seen him since?" Mulder asked.

"No, sir, I haven't. I warned me mates here, of course, to be on the lookout
for him."

"And no one else has seen him?" Scully asked.

The farmer shook his head. "Not that I heard," he said, waving his hands
around to indicate the pub, "and I would have heard."

     *    *    *

After a quick look around Smith's farm and a driving tour of the surrounding
fields, they had made their way back to London to find a message from Spencer
waiting for them. Apparently, Paul Milner had returned from India and would
be coming up to London the next day in order to speak to them. With a little
time on their hands, Mulder and Scully had opted for a quiet dinner and were
now enjoying a stroll along the banks of the Thames. Mulder reached down and
gingerly took her hand. She looked at him sheepishly and gave him a little
half smile. For both of them this recent permission to act upon urges
formerly squashed was heady business. And it was so nice to be out in public
like a normal couple. They both knew once they returned to Washington they
would never be afforded such a luxury. "Mulder, it's beautiful here," Scully
said, pulling her hand from his and walking over to the stone railing. She
stood, her back to him, looking out over the river at the party boats going
by. Mulder came up behind her, encasing her in his arms.

"No more beautiful than you," he whispered into her ear. Scully felt a tingle
run down her spine. She'd never realized that he could be so sweet, so
romantic. He gently brushed back the hair on her neck and began to kiss the
silky skin behind her ear. Scully closed her eyes and leaned her head back
onto his chest, moaning softly. He slowly broadened the scope and intensity
of his kisses until Scully felt her knees weaken as his teeth grazed the back
of her neck. She reached her hand down and gripped the front of his thigh and
began rubbing the strong muscles she found there. She heard Mulder's breath
catch in his throat and then continue on unevenly. "Oh, Scully," he sighed as
he turned her around. She looked up into his glazed eyes and smiled. He
placed his hands on her waist and easily sat her up on the railing, bringing
her almost to eye level. Scully draped her hands around his neck and pulled
him into a kiss. His mouth was hot and inviting, tasting like the red wine
they'd shared at dinner. He pressed his body closer to hers and she could
feel that she wasn't the only one thinking about breaking public decency
laws. She snaked one hand up underneath his shirt and jacket, digging the
pads of her fingers into his back as he pulled her even closer.

Someone cleared his throat behind them. Scully and Mulder froze, mid-kiss.
Scully opened her eyes to discover a police officer standing behind them, his
head cocked to one side. "I think perhaps you should take this home before
I'm forced to arrest you," he said.

Mulder released his grip on Scully's waist and moved back a bit. "Uh, yes,
sir," he said, his voice a little ragged. Scully was pleased to see that his
cheeks were as red as hers.

"All right, then," the officer said and moved on. Scully and Mulder burst
into laughter and collapsed into a hug.

"I think that's what Skinner would call conduct unbecoming federal agents,"
Mulder said, then taking her hand he added, "Let's go back to the hotel
before I do something to get us thrown in the slammer."

Scully jumped down and said, "Let's take a cab."

Mulder smiled. "I knew there was a reason I loved you."

Once safely in said cab, Scully found that she couldn't keep her lips or
hands to herself. Pretty amazing for someone who didn't even believe in
public displays of affection. But here she was shamelessly making out with
her partner as the lights of London sped by. She could feel the skin on her
chin being rubbed raw by the late evening stubble on Mulder's face. Under his
touch every sensation seemed to be magnified by ten. She felt his full lips
brush by her ear and his raspy voice whisper, "Scully, God, what you do to
me."

Somehow they managed to get to the hotel, pay the poor driver and make it
through the lobby to the safety of the elevator. When the doors closed and
they were alone, Mulder kissed her savagely. Scully bumped her head against
the wall and clung to his shoulders. His fingers went to her cardigan and
started undoing the buttons. She couldn't believe she was letting him do that
but she felt like if she didn't feel his hands on her skin immediately, she'd
die. His lips moved to her collarbone and were about to slide lower when the
elevator finally stopped at their floor. Mulder grabbed her hand and ran with
her down the hall to his room. He managed to drop the key on the floor twice
before he got the door open and pulled her inside. He immediately pinned her
to the back of the door with his body while continuing to undo her sweater.
Coats were quickly discarded, tossed with abandon to the floor. His teeth
knocked against hers when he went to kiss her and he used her hair to tilt
her head back so that he could do so even more deeply. Scully worked her
hands up under his shirt, breaking their kiss long enough to get it over his
head. She ran her hands down over his broad shoulders marveling at the power
of her desire. Mulder was trying to finish unbuttoning her sweater and
succeeded only in ripping one of the buttons off. They heard it ping as it
hit the wall on the other side of the room. "Oops," he said.

Scully laughed. "It's okay, not one of my favorites." Mulder yanked the
garment off her shoulders and tossed it on the floor. He kissed her shoulder
and ran his hands up her back looking for the hook to her bra.  "It's in the
front," she whispered into his ear. Mulder's kisses continued until he
reached the front of her neck. Scully went to work on the buttons on his
jeans as Mulder slipped off his Rockports. She slid her hands down his back
and pushed the offending Levis until they fell around his ankles. Mulder
pulled her close again, lost his balance and fell, bringing Scully with him.
Together they crashed through a small table. Scully lifted her head to survey
the damage.  "How are we going to handle that on the expense report," she
asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Mulder reached up and pulled her back to him, his fingers threading through
her hair. "I don't care," he said before kissing her.
 

4:30 AM

Moonlight was pouring through the window when Mulder jerked awake from where
he slept across Scully's back. He looked at his partner, taking in her soft
red hair and feeling her back rising and falling as she breathed. It was a
miracle. This incredible woman loved him. She wanted to be with him. Wanted
to share her life, her bed, her soul... with him!  What the hell was wrong
with her? He almost laughed out loud as he rolled over onto his back and
covered his eyes with his arm, hoping to hold back the gut wrenching
knowledge that there was no way he could possibly live up to the trust she'd
given him. He was destined to fail her. Destined to let her down. Somehow.
Some way. As her partner and friend he'd been able to hide the worst of his
battered soul from her.  He'd been able to keep her at arm's length, sarcasm
or desertion, whether it be physically or emotionally, being his weapons of
choice. But now... he didn't know if he had the strength to push her away
when she got too close. His heart, his soul were open to her like a
department store where she had a credit card with an unlimited balance.
Anything she wanted was hers for the taking. And that scared the shit out of
him. He had to get away from her. Find a way to protect her from himself.
Slowly he got up out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt. He
silently found his shoes and socks, put them on and went for his Walkman. He
absentmindedly grabbed a tape out of his bag and headed out the door, closing
it quietly behind him.

Scully woke when she heard the latch of the door catch and immediately
reached for her gun, which she quickly realized was some twenty miles away at
Heathrow Airport. "Mulder," she called quietly only to be greeted by a
looming silence. He was gone. Not just in the other room, but gone. She could
tell. She could feel it in her bones just like when he'd run off to Puerto
Rico, when he'd taken off to Alaska.  "Mulder," she called again, hoping to
prove herself wrong. More silence. Damn him, she thought, idly rubbing her
shoulder which was tender from crashing through that table. She got up
(pulling the blanket with her even though she knew that no amount of covers
could quell this naked feeling) and went to the window, looking out just in
time to see him round the corner. She dropped into the overstuffed chair
behind her and settled into wait.
 

     *    *    *

Once out into the cold London night he started to run, popping the tape he'd
grabbed into the player and turning it on. Brilliant. Joy Division, he
thought, adjusting the headphones. Just what I need to be listening to, the
mad ramblings of a guy who blew his head off before he was thirty. But
something in the lyrics caught his ear and tore at his heart... "love, love
will tear us apart again..." (7) Somehow he had to wonder if there was truth
in those words.

     *    *    *

At 7:30 Scully gave up. They were due to meet Spencer and Smith for breakfast
in an hour and a half. She  reluctantly dragged herself off the chair and
headed toward her own room and the shower.
 

     *    *    *

What am I doing? Mulder wondered from where he sat perched on the wall
overlooking the Thames, the exact spot where they'd kissed the night before.
I must be crazy, Scully is the best thing that ever happened to me. She
trusts me. Why can't I trust myself? Because Samantha trusted me. And-- Oh
God, stop thinking. Music. Music is good. He pushed the play button on his
Walkman and prepared to start running again, the music from his headphones
seeming suddenly unnaturally loud "... if I'm unclear, can I get out of this
thing with me and you..." (8) He yanked his Walkman off and threw it into the
Thames with all his might.
 

     *    *    *

Scully was attempting to apply eyeliner without too much success as she
alternated between being furious with and worrying about Mulder. She knew
exactly what he was doing, what had happened. He was panicking, giving into
his fear of failure, and running. Pathetically trying to put some physical
and emotional distance between them. Fine, if he wanted distance, he had it.
She went and sat on the edge of her bed, gnawing on the inside of her cheeks
until they were raw and sore, as she took a mental inventory of the clothes
she had with her. Angry as she was, she couldn't entirely blame him. He had,
after all, entered into a relationship with a woman who was likely to be dead
inside of a year. She just wished he'd  pulled back sooner, realized his
mistake, before she'd given him her complete trust. It may have been painful,
but it would have been nothing compared to the huge, gaping emptiness
currently threatening to swallow her whole.

After what seemed like an eternity, she settled on the simple black pantsuit.
She was rummaging through her suitcase looking for a pair of black tights
when her cell phone rang. She scrambled for it, knowing it was Mulder.
"Scully," she said.

"It's me," came the unmistakable voice on the other end of the phone.

"Mulder, where are you?"

"I...uh...shit, Scully. I got scared."

"Scared?" Scully said, playing along for the moment. "Of what?"

"You," he replied so softly she barely heard it.

"Mul--" she started, exasperated.

"What if this is a mistake..." he interrupted and trailed off.

"Dammit, Mulder. Don't you dare. You were the one who wanted this so badly,
remember?"

"I know. I know--"

"Look, we're due to meet Smith and Spencer in half an hour. Work, remember?
Now, get back here and get ready. We'll talk about this later."

He knew she right and nodded his head. "Yeah, I'll be there." He hung up and
started looking around for a cab.

     *    *    *

Scully left her room, barely remembering to grab her briefcase, as she heard
him entering his. He could meet her in the restaurant. Damn him. Damn her for
trusting him. Damn Blevins for ever assigning her to X-Files in the first
place. And while she was at it, damn Dr. Cartwright for giving her a B in
organic chemistry. She hurried through the lobby, a woman with a mission-- to
find a cup of coffee and a large chunk of her self-esteem. Once settled in a
seat at the cafe, with a cup in her hand, she finally let herself think about
what Mulder had said. "...Scully, I got scared..." Join the crowd, she
thought, idly flipping through the case file. Intimacy wasn't exactly her
forte either, but he didn't see her running off like a phantom in the middle
of the night. She groaned softly in frustration and forced her mind off her
partner. She hadn't been pleased with the autopsy report on Peter Milner for
much the same reason she was uneasy about the post-mortem on John Miller.
They were too perfect. No congenital defects, no chronic health problems.
Hell, not even a need for corrective lenses. She wished they had more
information on Rory McDonough as she spread the paperwork across the table to
examine the DNA results and nearly dropped her coffee. The patterns strongly
suggesting a familial connection. She dug quickly through the file looking
for the blood work-up on Rory McDonough provided by his physician, and
immediately confirmed another match.

     *    *    *

Mulder made his way across the cafe toward Scully. She was sitting alone, her
head down, case file fanned out across the table. Her hair was tucked behind
her ears and her brows were furrowed in concentration. She was so beautiful
and he was such an idiot. He ran his hand through his still damp hair and
took a deep breath before sliding into the booth next to her. "Hi," he said,
lamely, trying to reach for her hand.

She quickly pulled it away and shoved a series of papers at him. "Mulder,
take a look at these DNA results."

He studied them intently for a moment. "What am I looking at?" he questioned.
 

"The DNA patterns of what I suspect to be a grandfather, father and son," she
replied quickly.

"Excuse me?"

Scully reached into the file folder and pulled out the photos of the victims
and tossed them in front of him. "You're looking at three generations of the
same family. Now we just have to find out why someone wants them dead."

They locked eyes for a moment, considering the implications. Mulder reached
into the file and quickly jerked out a map, spreading it across the table. "I
think we can safely assume that Max arrived in early December near Avebury,"
he said, pointing out the tiny village on the map.

"Uh huh," Scully agreed, not entirely sure where he was going with this.

"And no one was killed there."

"Right again," Scully said.

Mulder pointed to another location on the map. "Next stop, Oxford, where we
have a dead student. Then it's on to Hertsfordshire," Mulder continued,
pointing to the map again. "Where we have a dead dairy farmer."

Scully nodded, moving her finger across the map to the next location. "And
then Canterbury, where we have a likely to be dead ringer."

They both grinned at that turn of phrase. "Seeing a pattern, Scully?" Mulder
asked, his eyes aglow.

"I'm seeing a big, albeit lopsided, circle," she admitted.

"With one missing piece."

"Missing piece?"

"A twin brother," he said, reaching for the case file. "Where is Paul Milner
from? Do you remember seeing that anywhere?"

Scully joined him in searching through the file, finally finding a sheet
containing Peter Milner's vital statistics. She quickly located the address
of his brother. "Marlborough."

Mulder pointed to the map again. "Which is less than five miles from
Avebury," he said as he started packing up the case file. "I think it's a
pretty safe bet that's where Max is headed."

"Which makes it a good thing that Paul is coming in to London today. We'll
have to see about arranging protective custody..." she trailed off as Mulder
looked down at his watch.

"Where are Smith and Spencer anyway?" As if on cue, Mulder's cell phone rang.
"Mulder... uh huh... okay, we'll be there as soon as we can."

"What?" Scully asked as soon as he hung up.

Mulder started gathering up the file. "I'm not sure, but it doesn't sound
good. They want us to meet them at Scotland Yard."
 
 
 
 

From Ginef@aol.com Sat Mar 22 23:18:37 1997
Subject: NEW: The Field Where Max Fenig Arrived (9/10)
From: Ginef@aol.com
--------

Disclaimer in part 1

     *    *    *

Three hours later, Mulder and Scully finally climbed out the cab in front of
their hotel. Scully went straight to the little convenience store in the
lobby to get a bottle of water. She hoped Mulder would continue on to his
room without her. She was too tired, and frankly still to angry, to deal with
his little scene from this morning. And now that Scotland Yard had
mysteriously been pulled off this case, and they had been asked to return to
the United States, she didn't want to deal with his paranoia or his temper
tantrum. When she re-emerged she saw that there would be no such luck. He
stood leaning against a post wearing his best hang-dog look. As she walked
past him, he fell in along side her. "Scully, I just don't get this. I didn't
think that *he* could reach this far."

Scully knew that "he" was the one formerly known as the Cancer Man. Mulder
had stopped referring to him as that immediately following her diagnosis.
Scully sighed. "It's not our problem anymore, Mulder," she said, repeatedly
pushing the call button for the elevator, as if her sheer will could summon
it more quickly. When it finally arrived she stepped inside. "Feel free to
wait for the next one."

Mulder jostled his way in, ignoring her remark, then reached out to push the
large red stop button, which immediately brought the elevator to a halt. The
tension in the air was a marked contrast to the passion of the night before.
"Scully, can we at least talk about it."

He wasn't speaking about the case anymore. It alarmed her how they could move
so smoothly from topic to topic with no segue. "No, we can't," she said,
attempting to reach over and release the lift.

"Look, I'm sorry. I..." he struggled to find the words and failed.

Scully crossed her arms in front of her and raised an eyebrow. "Is that
right? You're sorry. How typical."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"God, Mulder, you're so predictable. You pursue what you want with total
abandon, and in this case it happened to be me, then when you get it...you
don't know what to do with it. Then typically you leave it to me to clean up
the mess."

"That's not true."

"Oh?" she stared at him until he looked away. Vindicated, she reached over
and pushed the button, setting them in motion again. "I'll call the airline
and book us flights home as soon as possible." The elevator stopped and they
walked quickly down the hall to their rooms. Since Mulder had failed to
respond, she decided to state the obvious. "Mulder, this case is over. You
realize that, don't you?"

He turned, his eyes capturing her and pinning her like a bug to a swath of
cotton. "Aren't you even the least bit curious about what's happening to Max?
Aren't you the least bit worried about him and Paul Milner?"

Scully closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Mulder, we have no
jurisdiction to continue this investigation." When she opened her eyes, he
was still staring at her.

Finally he sighed and turned toward his door, key in hand. "Um, I'm gonna
shower, I'll pack and then we can get out of here," he said entering his room
and closing the door firmly behind him.

     *    *    *

In her own room, Scully quickly changed into jeans and a sweater (no need to
dress-up for the plane trip home) and reached for the phone to call the
airline. She was on hold, her mind wandering in time to the muzak on the wire
as she pondered over why Mulder needed to shower again. Where had she heard
that one before? She flew bolt upright. The Bastard! Scully dashed for the
lobby, not even remembering to hang up the phone.

     *    *    *

Mulder pulled the rental car around the corner of the parking garage and had
to slam on the brakes to avoid running over his partner. She stood, larger
than life in the center of the driveway, arms across her chest, eyes ablaze.
He swallowed hard and reached over to unlock the passenger-side door. Scully
walked slowly forward, never taking her eyes from his, and pulled the door
open and climbed in. "Mulder, if you ever try something like that again, I
*will* shoot you again and this time I'll aim lower."

Mulder grimaced at the mental picture that produced. Definitely not a Kodak
moment. "Scully, I--"

"Save it," she cut him off.

"Scully--"

"Just drive," she ordered. And he did.
 

Marlborough
Polly's Tea Room
4:30 PM

Mulder nervously eyed the door again. So far there had been no sign of Paul
Milner, despite his agreement to meet them in this quaint tea room at 4
o'clock.

"I think these men may have been genetically engineered," he said suddenly.

"Mulder," Scully reasoned. "John Miller was over sixty years old. The
technology to do what you're suggesting simply didn't exist in the 1920s.
It's questionable that it even exists today."

His jaw tightened as he nodded and turned his attention to the door again,
waiting. Scully watched him and considered the quagmire she'd gotten herself
into. If she were smart, she'd demand they get back into the car and head for
London and the safety of the airport. If she were a genius, she'd hit
Washington running and keep going until she'd put a few thousand miles
between herself and the man she feared was her soon to be former partner.
Even as she cringed at the thought, she didn't see how they could possibly
remain partners after everything that had happened. She exhaled in
frustration. Where was Paul Milner? Sitting here alone with Mulder was sheer
torture. The last time she'd been in a place like this with him  (only
yesterday, could it have possibly have been yesterday?) she'd felt so safe,
had been so happy. Now-- her thoughts were abruptly cut short as Mulder rose
and dropped a few pound notes on the table. "Come on, Scully, something's
wrong."

"Mulder, maybe he just didn't want to talk to us. He has that right you
know."

Mulder was pulling on his coat, nodding his head like he was listening even
though he wasn't. "Something's wrong," he repeated as he readied to leave.
"Scully, please?"

She sighed and got slowly to her feet, grabbed her coat and followed her
partner.
 

Milner Farm
Marlborough
5:25 PM

The last slice of sun was setting in the west as Scully and Mulder arrived at
the Milner farm and climbed from their car. They moved back to back,
unconsciously covering for each other, as they took in the deserted
homestead. Scully tucked her wind-whipped hair behind ear, in a futile
attempt to keep it out of her face. Something was most definitely not right
here, she could feel a rising sense of dread climbing steadily from the pit
of her stomach. "Mulder…" she started.

"I don't know," he replied, shaking his head and rubbing his fingers over the
palm of his hand, aching for his Sig. He looked around slowly, unease
tickling him like the legs of a thousand tiny spiders. "Hello," he called
out, "Is anyone here?" He thought about adding that they were Federal Agents,
but decided against it.

The shot gun blast shattered the eerie silence and Mulder drove for Scully,
catching her around the waist throwing her to the ground, covering her with
his body. In the quiet that followed they jumped to their feet and ran for
cover behind their car.

"You okay?" Mulder asked once they were safely ensconced.

Scully nodded, brushing the dirt from her hair. "Looks like we found Paul
Milner."

"Seems so," Mulder agreed. "But it looks like a chat over a cuppa tea is out
of the question." He climbed to his feet and called, "Paul, it's Agents
Mulder and Scully, we mean you no harm."

The answer was another blast echoing through the twilight. Mulder dropped
down next to Scully. "Guess he really doesn't want to share those scones."

Scully leaned her head back again the car and stifled a laugh. "Suggestions?"

"If we go around the barn and sneak in the back of the house we just may be
able to take him by surprise," Mulder offered, narrowing his eyes to
determine a route.

"Here goes nothing," Scully said, climbing to her feet and making a run for
the barn, Mulder hot on her heels.

Another shot gun blast rang out as they rounded the corner to safety, hitting
the barn near Mulder's head, sending wood splinters into his neck and ear.
"Damn," he cursed softly.

"You okay?" Scully asked.

He nodded swiftly, despite his obvious discomfort and led the way around the
barn.  At the back door of the farm house he paused and waited a moment,
listening. Then, opening the door silently, he whispered, "Let's do this real
quiet like."

They crept through the kitchen and slowly up the creaky back stairs toward
the room from which they'd seen and heard the blasts. Lucky for them the door
was open and they could see Paul Milner, shot gun in hand, peering out the
window. Mulder held up his index finger and mouthed the words, "One… two…
three." They both leapt on younger man, bringing him down easily and
wrestling the gun from his grasp, surprised by his incredible strength, as he
fought back like a rabid animal. Finally, they managed to secure him, at
least temporarily, with Mulder sitting on his stomach and Scully on his arms
above his head. It wasn't a pretty picture. "Paul, we're not here to hurt
you."

"*They* sent you to kill me," he hissed, dirty brown hair nearly covering his
face.

"No," Mulder said between heavy breaths. "No. We're not here to kill you."

"I can assure you, Mr. Milner, we are not here to kill you," Scully repeated.
"We've been investigating the deaths of your brother and grandfather and the
disappearance of your father."

That revelation resulted in yet another bout of struggling from the young
man. "If you weren't with *them* you wouldn't know about my father and
grandfather."

"No," Scully said, fighting to keep control of Paul's arms. "I'm a forensic
pathologist. I studied the autopsy reports of your grandfather and brother.
The connection was easy to make."

"We're both agents with the Federal Bureau of Investigations in the US. We've
been working with the Scotland Yard on the investigation," Mulder added.

The young man seemed to consider this a moment, his brow furrowing. "Why
should I trust you?"

"Because, at the moment, you have no else to trust," Mulder said, climbing
off the young man, and sitting against the wall.

Scully released his arms and moved away. "Because we're here to help you."

Paul sat up, pulling his knees close to his chest with his arms. He buried
his face in his knees.

"Why are *they* after you?" Scully asked after a few moments. He was so
young, so seemingly fragile. She was surprised by her slightly maternal
feelings.

"I would have expected you to have made the connection by now," Paul said
softly.

"Which connection is that?" she asked, moving closer so she could hear him.

"You were puzzled by the autopsies of my brother and grandfather, were you
not?"

"Yes," she conceded. "Especially your grandfather, his physical condition
belied that which is normal for a man of over sixty."

"Perhaps he wasn't entirely a man," he suggested, making eye contact for the
first time.

"A hybrid! You're all hybrids. Clones," Mulder exclaimed as the phrase "hook,
line and sinker" flashed through Scully's mind.

"Impossible. Their physiology was entirely human--" Scully started.

"So, you can see precisely why they'd be interested in us," Paul cut her off.
"We've managed to accomplish what they can only dream of. Hybrids
indistinguishable from the indigenous population."

"That's not only implausible, it's against the laws of nature," Scully
snapped.

"Are you so sure about that? You've got a human doctor not too far from here
cloning sheep. Cloning humans and improving the species are the next logical
steps."

"How does Max fit into all of this? Mulder asked.

"Max?" Paul asked. "Who's Max?"

"An abductee who was the last person to see your father, brother and
grandfather," Mulder explained.

Paul released a long, slow breath. "I don't know. The decoy perhaps."

"Decoy?" Scully asked.

Paul laughed bitterly. "An attempt to distract the authorities. Makes you
think you're looking for a human psychopath."

"Pretty bad decoy," Mulder said. "Max hardly fits the profile of a serial
killer."

"I suppose they didn't have a lot of options," Paul suggested. "Regardless,
it seems to have worked. At least for a while."

"Then why the crop circle?" Paul cocked his head in confusion, so Mulder
continued. "There was a crop circle at the scene in Oxford. That didn't fit
with their scenario."

"That, I would imagine, was designed to distract you, Agent Mulder," he said
and chuckled. "They don't have to make crop circles, you know. They do it to
mess with your heads. It's sort of like intergalactic graffiti."

"You know what I find strange? You don't seem all that upset about the deaths
of your father, brother and grandfather," Scully stated.

Paul paused a long moment. "I don't have the luxury of grieving now, Agent
Scully. I have to find a way to protect myself... and the others," he finally
said.

"The others?" Mulder started to say when without warning, the room was
flooded with a blinding white light. Each instinctively raised a hand in a
useless attempt to shield their burning eyes as it shimmered, catching
floating pieces of furniture and clothing in its illumination, forcing them
to participate in a frenzied gravity-defying dance. Scully reached out slowly
with her other hand to touch a piece of floating debris, but before she made
contact a sudden flash engulfed them, stopping time and leaving them
unconscious.
 

     *    *    *

Scully awoke with a start sometime later, cold and sore... and completely in
the dark. "Mulder?" she whispered tentatively, and started to feel around.
She appeared to be in a concrete room of some sort, with rounded walls and
small, hard pebbles of some sort scattered around the floor. A corn silo, she
deduced quickly (she had, after all, seen "Witness" 14,000 times).

"Mulder," she whispered again. Still, there was no response, so she started
to crawl along the floor, her knees and palms aching as random pieces of
dried corn dug into them as she explored the dark. She stopped short when she
encountered a booted foot... which didn't belong to her partner. It was too
small. "Paul?" she whispered.

"Um, no, um...."

"Max?" she tried. "Max Fenig?"

"Who are you?" came the hushed reply.

"Agent Scully."

"Agent Scully!"

"That's the enigmatic Agent Scully to you," came a voice in the dark from
across the silo.

"Agent Mulder!" Max exclaimed as Scully said a silent prayer of thanks.

"The one and only. Scully, you okay?"

"I'm fine," she replied quickly.

"So, what's going on here?" Max ventured.

"We were sort of hoping you could tell us," Mulder shot back.

Max was quiet for a moment. "Last thing I remember, I was in North Dakota.
When did you get here?"

"We're not in North Dakota," Mulder said. "Max."

"... Guess it doesn't matter. I'm just glad you're here. I couldn't contact
you because *they've* been after me--" Max continued as if he hadn't heard.

"Max!" Mulder repeated. "We're in England now. You do realize that?"

"England?" he replied in confusion. "That's impossible."

"Max, we're currently on the Salisbury Plain of England."

"That can't be true. I don't even have a passport."

"Looks like that wasn't an issue for your travel agent," Mulder deadpanned.

"I can assure you it's true, Max," Scully said.

"H-how did I get here?" Max replied, a slight tremble in his voice.

Rather than attempting to answer, Mulder asked another question. "This isn't
the first time you've found yourself in a situation like this is it, Max?"

There was a long silence. "No." Which was followed by another long pause.
"But it's the first time in nearly 20 years… I thought it was over."

"Did you go to the authorities last time, Max? Did you try to find out why
this was happening to you?" Scully asked.

Max giggled nervously. "Why do you think I've spent all these years on
anti-psychotics?" He stopped speaking. They could hear him stand and start to
explore the walls with his hands before tripping over Scully and nearly
falling to the ground. "Oops, sorry," he said, returning to a sitting
position. "I hate to ask the obvious question, but where are we and how did
we get here?"

"Best I can tell, we're in a corn silo on the Milner farm in southwest
England," Scully replied, rubbing the sore spot on her ankle where Max had
trod.

"So, what now?" Max asked.

"I suggest we try to find a way out of here," Mulder said, starting his own
exploration of the walls with his hands. The others joined in. "I think we
may be dealing with rival alien groups here," he said.

"Mulder!" Scully exclaimed. "I'm not even convinced of the existence of one
alien group, let alone rival gangs."

"Hear me out."

"Like I have a choice, we're sort of trapped in here," Scully pointed out.

"I just love a captive audience," his voice suddenly right next to her ear in
the darkness. She started to move away but realized he had her boxed in.
"I've always been fairly certain that the aliens who took Max were not the
same ones we so affectionately refer to as the Mighty Morphin Bounty
Hunters."

"And how is that?" Scully asked, turning herself around to face him.

"Different MOs" Mulder stated simply. "With the aliens in Townsend we saw
severe burning, but no sign of the retro-virus and--"

"I think you may be right, Agent Mulder," Max interrupted, his voice full of
excitement. "NICAP suspects the existence of at least three distinct alien
groups."

"Great," Scully said, the sarcasm practically dripping from her voice, and
elbowed her way away from Mulder. "I guess that makes it official then." She
concentrated on running her hands along the lower part of the wall, looking
for a way out of this silo and this mess, as Mulder and Max continued to
babble on incessantly about this alien and that extraterrestrial. Her
persistence paid off when she located a small door near the floor. "Eureka!"
she said, forcing it open and climbing out. In her mind's eye she imagined
Max getting stuck, like he had in the hotel bathroom window four years ago,
and laughed.

The two men turned their attention from their conversation followed her out
through the darkened barn.
 
 
 

From Ginef@aol.com Sat Mar 22 23:18:53 1997
Subject: NEW: The Field Where Max Fenig Arrived (10/10)
From: Ginef@aol.com
--------

Disclaimer in part 1

     *    *    *

They gingerly made their way out of the barn and into the moonlit night. So
far Max had only managed to cause one near international incident with a cow,
but Mulder's quick thinking had saved the day. As they snuck quietly around
to the back of the house and in the back door, Scully wondered how Max had
managed to survive this long. He was a bit like Buster Keaton, actually. The
house could fall down, but rest assured that Max would be standing right
where the open window was.

Slight illumination from the parlor lit the kitchen as they moved silently
towards the stairs. It was unlikely that Paul was still where they'd last
seen him, but it didn't hurt to check. And it wasn't like they were
overwhelmed with leads at the moment. Scully wondered again why they weren't
on a plane headed home. She bit back a smile as Max tripped over a table leg
and sent a stack of pans clattering to the floor.

Max shoved his hands into the pockets of his tattered jeans and giggled,
shrugging his shoulders. "So much for the element of surprise," Mulder
whispered, although he didn't know why he bothered lowering his voice. He
might as well have used a bullhorn.

"Freeze, Scotland Yard," a voice called from the parlor, just out of sight.

"Detective Inspector Spencer?" Scully called. "It's agents Mulder and Scully.
Don't shoot."

After a moment's hesitation, Spencer and Smith stepped into the kitchen. "If
I were armed, I'd be tempted," the detective replied.

"Aren't you supposed to be on a flight to the states?" Smith added, placing
her hands on her hips.

"Yeah, well--" Mulder started but stopped when Scully elbowed him in the
ribs.

Scully sighed. Her behavior had been more than appalling, it had been
downright Mulderesque. She should have insisted they return the rental car
and leave as requested. "Detective Spencer, Sergeant Smith, I'd like to
apologize for our behavior. Of course we'll make a formal apology to Scotland
Yard--"

"Scotland Yard doesn't know you're still here," Spencer interrupted.

"Excuse me?" Scully asked.

"As far as they know, you already left."

"Why?" Mulder asked.

Spencer took a deep breath before responding. "Because we don't like being
pulled off a case anymore than you do."

"We came by the hotel earlier to apologize again and to take you to the
airport only to discover you'd gone," Smith said. "We didn't need to be
rocket scientists to determine that you were carrying on with the
investigation, did we? So we took the liberty of accessing your rooms and
studying the case file."

"Which is how we knew where to find you," Spencer continued.

"Well, that, and young Constable Morgan rang and alerted us to the reported
UFO activity up this way," Smith admitted.

"Wow," Max said, from where he'd been lurking in the shadows, "We really are
in England."

"What'd you think? We were in Kansas?" Mulder shot back.

With all eyes on him, Max buried his hands even deeper in his pockets and
looked at the ground, his long hair falling over part of his face. Smith
stepped towards him, pushing the lock aside and said, "Max Fenig, I presume."

     *    *    *

Once they had checked the house and confirmed that Paul Milner was no where
to be found, they decided to split up and do a search of the farm. Spencer
and Smith took the barn, while Scully, Mulder and Max (who, in either a
stroke of genius or idiocy was handcuffed to Mulder's left wrist) took the
corn field nearest the house.

"This is ridiculous," Mulder complained, dragging poor Max behind him like a
bad date.

Scully laughed. "You're the one who wouldn't leave him locked in the car. He
is, after all, the prime suspect in a series of murders," Scully pointed out.

"I didn't kill anyone," Max whined, stumbling over yet another corn stalk.

"I know that," Mulder assured him and Scully wondered how he could be so
certain. "We just have to find out who--" he never got the chance to finish
as Max stumbled again, this time falling face first to the ground, pulling
Mulder with him. "Damnit Max!" he cursed.

When the other man didn't respond, or move, Mulder placed his free hand on
his shoulder. "Max?" he questioned. "You okay?"

Nothing. "Scully," Mulder started, but she was already at his side, trying to
flip him, which proved difficult because of the way he was connected to her
partner. What she did see was blood, and a fair amount of it, leaking from
both his ears. She raised her eyes to Mulder's but before she had a chance to
speak they were again engulfed in a bright light and flung, head over feet in
opposite directions.

Mulder screamed as he felt his wrist snap and the metal of the cuffs give,
only the extreme pain kept him conscious as he hit the ground. "Scully? Max?"
he tried to call, but his voice was inaudible over the sudden rushing wind.

He forced himself into a sitting position, cradling his injured limb and saw
Max, floating in a luminous blue light overhead, his limp body twitching and
convulsing. "Max," he yelled, for all the good it would do and with a flash
the other man vanished as Mulder passed out.
 

Milner Farm
6:22 AM

Scully clawed her way slowly toward consciousness for the second time in
twelve hours. She groaned quietly when she determined she was again inside
the silo, now bathed by a soft morning light streaming in from above. She
closed her eyes again to collect her thoughts and became aware of a weight
pressed up against her left side. She was fairly certain it wasn't Harrison
Ford. She opened her eyes to confirm that fact and examined her unconscious
partner. He was still breathing, a good sign, but his wrist twisted at an
unnatural angle. She moved quietly to examine his injury more closely. It was
most definitely broken, what remained of the cuff digging into the bruised
and swollen tissue wasn't helping matters. She wished she had the key, but
they were Smith's cuffs. She pursed her lips and decided against waking him,
at least  asleep, or unconscious as the case may be, he wasn't in pain. She
rose slowly to her feet and brushed the dirt off her jeans.

Mulder opened his eyes slowly, placing his hand to his head. "Where's Max?"
he asked, sitting up quickly.

"Gone."

"Damn," Mulder cursed, jerking his arm and then wincing in pain. He sprung to
his feet, took a moment to steady himself and then began pacing the perimeter
of the silo like a tiger in a cage.

"Mulder," Scully sighed. "Would you please sit down. That wrist is broken and
doesn't need to be jostled like that."

Mulder nodded, but ignored her direction. "Do you remember anything after the
light came again?"

Scully shook her head sadly. "No, nothing. You?"

"Not much," he replied as he kneeled by the tiny door that served as the
entrance to the silo. Pushing, jiggling and finally kicking failed to make it
budge, so he returned and sat down heavily next to his partner. "So what
now?"

"We wait for harvest?"

"Ha. Ha." Mulder grimaced. "Don't these people have to milk their cows or
something?"

Before Scully had a chance to come up with a snappy retort, the little door
swung open and Detective Inspector Spencer stuck his head in. "I trust you
had a pleasant night," he said, with a wry grin.

"Splendid," Mulder said, climbing to his feet. "This place is a five star
resort."

"What happened to you?" Scully asked the Brits as they made their way through
the barn.

Spencer cleared his throat in discomfort. "We seem to have fallen asleep."

"In the sheep pen," Smith added, quietly.

Once outside in the light, Mulder asked the obvious. "Any sign of Max Fenig
or Paul Milner?"

Spencer shook his head slowly. "So Max has escaped?" he asked.

Mulder held up his battered wrist, the ruin of the cuff dangling. Smith
gasped and pulled out her key, taking care to remove the cuff gently.

"No matter what you think of Max, you can hardly think him capable of this,"
Mulder said.

Spencer nodded his acquiesce. "There's something else you should see," he
said, and started walking towards the top of a nearby knoll. They all paused
at the top, awed. Below them, in the newly growing corn was an elaborately
ringed crop circle. "What does it mean?"

"I don't know," Mulder admitted.

"I don't think I want to know," Smith said after a moment and then turned to
go. Spencer waited a moment and followed, leaving the agents.

Mulder looked to Scully, their eyes locked for a few seconds before Scully
turned away. Mulder remained a moment longer, staring out across the field
and then raising his eyes to the sky.
 

St. Gheorghe Hospital
London
2:45 PM

"You're free to go," the resident told Mulder and hurried out of the room
before the surly American could give him another piece of his mind.

"Great," Mulder growled, climbing off the exam table and glowering at his
partner, who sat quietly by the window. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic," Scully replied, getting to her feet and taking a closer look at
the soft cast now adorning Mulder's wrist. "Spencer and Smith came by to say
farewell. We have a flight in an hour."

"Good. I've had enough of this country."

"You're in luck then, because I'm pretty sure its had enough of you," Scully
shot back as she headed out into the hallway.

Spencer and Smith, stood near the exit, watching over the agent's luggage.
Scully smiled as she approached. "What can I say, except thank you," she
said, extending her hand to Smith and then Spencer. Somehow the words didn't
seem enough.

"Thank you," Spencer replied, gripping her hand tightly before turning to
Mulder and taking his hand. "I'm sorry about your friend."

Mulder nodded. "Thank you. Thank you both," he said, extending a hand to
Smith.

"It's been an honor working with you," Smith said, and laughed. "Not to
mention an adventure."
 

American Airlines Flt. 412
4:45 PM

Scully just wished they'd had a chance to shower before the flight out and
then quickly chastised herself. They were lucky to be on this flight at all,
headed home and out of danger. At least for now. Paul and poor Max hadn't
been that lucky. She glanced over at her partner, who was staring off into
space. He looked so sad, so lost. She fought the urge to brush her hand over
his cheek and turned back toward the window. Who did she think she was
kidding? She wasn't leaving him or the X-Files for that matter. She might not
have much time left and what she did, she wanted to spend with him as his
partner and best friend. For now that was enough. As for the future, they'd
just have to wait and see.

Mulder, for his part, was thinking about Scully and wondering how he was
going to find the strength to sign the transfer request he was certain would
be crossing his desk immediately upon their return. He wasn't her superior,
but he was the department head, so standard procedure would require his sign
off. He closed his eyes and wished he could turn back time and start this
case all over again, like that movie "Ground Hog Day." He'd gladly do it over
and over until he got it right. Until he didn't loose Max and Paul Milner.
And... until he didn't hurt Scully.

"Mulder, I'm sorry about Max," Scully said gently, pulling Mulder out of his
thoughts. He turned to look at her and nodded, unable to speak, so Scully
continued. "We'll find him again."

Had she said 'we'll" as in *us*? Mulder wondered, his pulse increasing at the
prospect. Not trusting his voice, he gave her a nod and half smile, which
quickly blossomed into a full-blown grin when he felt her fingers thread
through his.

"I bet we'll see him before you know it. You know what they say, Mulder, time
flies," she said, giving his good hand a squeeze.

THE END

My infringements, in order of appearance:

(1) "Much Ado About Nothing" by William Shakespeare

(2) "Photograph" by Blue Rodeo on their brilliant "Five Days in July" CD

(3) "Push" by Moist on their amazing debut CD entitled "Silver"

(4) "Is It You?" by Blue Rodeo from Q107's "Concert in the Sky" CD

(5) This is an old English rhyme I learned while I was in school over there.
I'm not sure of it's origin. I changed the last line.

(6) "Much Ado About Nothing" by William Shakespeare (I just love this play)

(7) "Love Will Tear Us Apart" by Joy Division from the "Substance" CD

(8) "Scared," by The Tragically Hip from the "Day For Night" CD

One of my beta testers (hey, Kel) asked me if could possibly cram one more
Star Wars or Harrison Ford reference in this story. What can I say? "I'm an
infringer like my father before me." Thanks for reading.