Through the Looking Glass by Lovesfox Headers in Prologue Part 2 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Diary of Liza MacGregor August 18, 1872 The days pass, the date of the nuptials drawing near, and still my façade does not crumble. To Rose, I am her newfound friend, to the town, a strong woman who does not bend. I will never let my wounds show. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Starbuck House Nantucket Island, MA Friday, May 20, 2000 11:00 PM Mulder sent a quick, fond glance at his sleeping partner before guiding the car in a slow crawl over to the gravel edge of the road in front of their destination, the bed and breakfast Inn called Starbuck House. Scully had slept through the majority of the flight, dozing off after they had briefly discussed their case, and then fell asleep in the car minutes after leaving the rental lot of the airport. He envied the obvious ease in which she could do so just about anywhere, and debated on how to wake her now that they had arrived. The debate ended as she awoke on her own then. Scully was jolted out of her nap as the car came to a stop. Her neck was cramped from the slumped position she had fallen asleep in, and she rubbed at it briefly before releasing her seatbelt. Mulder was already stepping out of the car, so after a quick stretch and a moment to grab her briefcase and laptop carrier, she followed suit. She shut the door gently, aware of the late hour, and turned to stare at the house they had pulled up in front of. It was backlit by discreetly placed spotlights, one of which was placed to show the sign at the front gate. On a white picket post was an oval shaped white board with 'Starbuck House' in black script writing. Her gaze then moved up the crushed stone path to the house itself. With the darkness, it was hard to tell the exact color of the clapboard walls, but she thought they were either creamy beige or a pale yellow. Dark green shutters trimmed each window, and there was a huge wrap-around porch that invited people to sit and relax. The house was three storeys high, and seemed quite roomy. It was a very lovely house, and if it weren't for the fact that they were here to investigate some disappearances, Scully knew she would have enjoyed her stay immensely. Hearing the trunk of the car slam shut, she turned to see Mulder manfully carrying their entire luggage. Normally she would have insisted on helping him, but she was extremely tired. Walking over to the white picket fence gate, Scully pushed it open for Mulder, waiting for him to catch up. He had stopped, and had his head turned to one side, staring at something. Eyes scanning first the quiet street, and then the exterior of the Inn, Mulder had seen Scully studying the property with interest. His gaze had lit upon the sign for the Inn, and the name had registered for the first time. Starbuck –- the nickname Scully's father had bestowed upon her as a child. His mind recalled their conversation earlier that evening, when he had called her while she was in the bath. Had he missed a reaction, subtle or otherwise? Scully kept so much to herself, and he was hesitant about bringing the name to her attention, for she had said nothing. "Mulder?" Scully queried softly, and followed his gaze. He was looking at the sign. 'Caught', the little voice in his head announced. "I didn't make the connection earlier, Scully," Mulder said, keeping his voice equally soft. "Starbuck." He looked at her with regret. "Mmmm," she responded, shrugging and smiling a little. "It's all right, Mulder," she told him, and gestured for him to continue on. With a nod, he did, preceding her once more, and walked up the path. They climbed the wide wooden steps of the covered porch, and then she stepped ahead of him at the door and lifted the brass ring doorknocker, giving two quick raps. After a few minutes, the door was opened to reveal a very tall man in his mid-to-late-forties. His dark hair was slightly disheveled and his glasses perched crookedly on his nose. He was wearing a button-down Oxford shirt and matching sweater vest, and pleated dress pants, all of which appeared somewhat wrinkled, giving him the appearance of someone who had just risen from a nap. "Oh, hello," the man said. "I'm John Carrington. You must be Mr. Mulder and Miss Scully. Come in, come in." With these words, he stepped back, opening the door wider and gesturing them in. Scully entered, Mulder at her heels, and moved to one side so he could put the luggage down. She lowered her briefcase and the laptop down as well, sighing softly when the weight left her shoulder. It had felt odd not to hear their FBI titles when greeted by Mr. Carrington, but Scully had managed to maintain her pleasant expression and not react. Their cover story, as Mulder had explained during their flight to Massachusetts, was that he was a writer working on a book about house hauntings, and she was his researcher-slash-assistant. She had quirked an eyebrow at him and asked why it was she who was the assistant, and not vice versa. He had risen from his seat, explaining as he did that he needed the little G-man's room, before quickly and adroitly replying that he knew how much she enjoyed playing the little woman. Oftentimes his glibness rankled, and others, it merely exasperated her. But she had felt strangely compelled to smile. Though she had also given him a rueful headshake, of course. He'd then had the audacity to blow her a flirtatious kiss before saying, "Back in a minute, Laura." Mr. Carrington closed the door behind them with a small thunk, pulling Scully from her memories, and she turned to watch as the Innkeeper then locked it. Passing them, he crossed the small, elegantly furnished lobby, walking over a beautiful Persian carpet that covered gleaming parquet flooring, to move behind a small counter in the center of one wall. Opening a rectangular shaped, leather bound book that lay on the wood surface, his fingers flipped through the pages to the last one. Scully watched as the Innkeeper wrote in both their names with a small flourish. He then turned the register around and pushed it towards her, holding out the fountain pen he had used. "If you would please?" he asked. Taking the pen, she signed her name before turning slightly and handing it to Mulder, who stood beside her. Her partner reached out with one hand and slid the book closer, then bent to sign his name. When he had finished scrawling his name, he placed the pen on the book, and pushed it back towards Mr. Carrington, who took it with a smile and placed it somewhere under the counter. Mulder then reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out his wallet, removing a credit card from one side. Scully craned her neck and was able to see that the credit card was Mulder’s personal one, not his Bureau-issued card. He handed it to the Innkeeper, who efficiently went about the business of getting them registered. Mr. Carrington was finished in moments, and came out from behind the counter, again gesturing them on with one widespread arm. "I'll give you a small tour and then take you to your rooms. It's late, I know you must be tired." Mulder nodded politely, although he was not tired in the least, and brought his hand to rest at the small of Scully's back, guiding her after Mr. Carrington, leaving the luggage for the moment. He made sure to tell the Innkeeper he often kept nocturnal hours, and that he liked to run at night, inquiring as to what door would be all right for him to use if necessary. They followed the man as he gave them the promised small tour, listening as he also told them the history of the house. Mr. Carrington's family had lived on Nantucket Island for generations, and their mother had run the bed & breakfast for some years, before her death. Their grandmother had resumed the job until he and his sister Nancy had taken over twenty-odd years ago. The Innkeeper took them through the breakfast room, the small library that had a lovely fireplace and cozy wingback chairs, and then to the solarium/dining area at the back that spanned a large portion of the back of the house. He also pointed out the service entrance that Mulder could use during his wanderings. Inside and out it was a very beautiful house. Back in the lobby, and he wasn't sure what else to call it, foyer perhaps, Mulder picked up their luggage, watching as Scully did the same with her things. They followed Mr. Carrington up the curving staircase to the second level, Scully directly behind the Innkeeper, and him two steps behind her. Which put her rear end at perfect level with his gaze, Mulder noted with an appreciative smile. He was only human, how could his eyes not stray to the curves swaying gently before him? Scully admired the art on the walls, and the huge potted fern that sat in the nook in the wall as they climbed the steps. The stairs and banister were hardwood, with a perfectly centered, subtly patterned runner that accentuated the décor of the foyer. Mr. Carrington gestured to the right where the hall ended shortly at a set of closed double doors with small sign that said 'Private'. He smiled, a bit tightly, Scully thought, as he said, "Those lead to...rooms for the family." He then proceeded to his left, murmuring about the individual guest rooms. Scully stood poised just inside the doorway of the room the Innkeeper had directed her to, after mentioning the bathroom she and Mulder would share, which linked their rooms. It was like stepping into yesteryear. One of her hands lingered on the crystal doorknob, while the other still held her briefcase. Her laptop carrier was slung over her shoulder. She bent slightly, placing her briefcase on the floor, and shifted her arm to allow the laptop bag to slide down to join it. Staring at the simplistic beauty before her, she could not help but gape as her eyes took in the gorgeous cherry wood four-poster bed, covered in a dusty-rose colored quilt which had been done in what she vaguely recalled was the 'wedding ring' pattern. At the head of the bed there were two plump pillows in crisp beige cotton, along with two bolsters in a dusty rose fabric for style. Her gaze focused on the small, heart-shaped pillow etched with ecru lace centered between the other pillows. Upon it rested what appeared to be a chocolate truffle in a silver foil wrapper. To the right of the bed was a small night table with a blown glass-topped lamp. Scully stepped further inside, eyes taking in the other details of the room, partly in shadow from the darkness of night. Behind her, she was aware of Mulder placing her suitcase just inside the door, and Mr. Carrington's low voice saying Mulder's name as he showed her partner his room just down the hall. The floor of her room was hardwood as the hall had been, and was polished to a shine. It let out the faintest of creaks as she walked across it to stand grasping one of the bedposts. Somehow that one small flaw added to the charm of the room, rather than detracting from it. Two small, matching rugs, appearing to be hand-woven, lay on either side of the bed, in muted shades of beige and dusty rose. On the wall to the left of where she stood were two small dormer windows, both open slightly, the gentle breeze fluttering the beige lace curtains. Atop them were valances in the same dusty rose as the quilt and rugs. The windows flanked a low table with an oval- shaped, beige lace doily, on which rested an old-fashioned china washbowl and ewer covered in pale pink roses, and a brass candlestick holder with one long, slim taper. On the opposite wall was an armoire in the same wood as the other furniture. It too, had a lace doily on its surface, with a crystal cut vase filled with fresh flowers resting atop it. The entire room and its contents were a showcase of fine, antique furniture, but by far the most astonishing piece was the rectangular cheval mirror in the back left-side corner of the room. She could now see it clearly from her vantage point next to the bed, having caught only a glimpse of it as she had stood in the doorway, lost in shadows as it had been. Scully felt drawn to it. She walked over, hand reaching out, watching as her reflection's hand reached out in reply. Expecting the wood to be cool to the touch, she was surprised that instead, it felt warm, alive. Her fingers rubbed along the smoothness, admiring its clean, simple lines, the scrollwork on the crest at the top. Meanwhile, Mulder thanked Mr. Carrington, made complimentary small talk about the room and the house, and reiterated the fact that he was a night owl, and might wander about. Mr. Carrington reassured him the back service entrance would be open for his convenience, and they exchanged good nights. Mulder listened to the man's footsteps as he moved down the hall, and a moment later heard a door open and then shut, presumably the one that led to the family quarters. Not bothering to close his door, he tossed his suitcase on his bed; absently noting it was a four-poster covered in a quilt of some sort, and opened the zipped compartment quickly. He was not tired, was in fact filled with a restless energy. What Mulder really wanted to do was start investigating, searching the old house, but decided he would take a look at the exterior of the Inn and the grounds before going for a short run, to keep up appearances. He and Scully could search the house and query the help after their visit to the Police Department in the morning. With their cover, and the nature of his supposed book, their curiosity was easily explained, and most likely expected. Once he had been hooked on the possibility of an X-File, which in all honesty had happened as soon as the guys had mentioned the words 'unsolved disappearances', the idea for an undercover approach had seemed logical. His mind flicked back to he and Scully's conversation on the plane, when he had explained their cover story to her, and he grinned. He loved to tease her, though he was often unsure of what her reaction might be –- ranging anywhere from disdain to anger, or on very rare occasions, amusement. In this case, it had been a tolerated amusement, evident in the smile he had wrangled from her –- not a full-blown, teeth-baring one, but her tight-lipped smile that said it was okay. Digging through the messily packed clothes, his fingers found his track pants, yanking them out and throwing them on the bed, before returning to search for a tee shirt. His running shoes were next, found tucked in a side pocket. He shucked his clothes, belatedly recalling the open door behind him. But then again, if Scully were to come to his room, she had seen his boxered butt many a time anyway. Slipping into the sweats, a tee shirt and his sneakers, he then sat down on the end of the bed to tie up his laces, doing so with quick motions. That done, he stood and retrieved his little Maglite from his inner coat pocket, tucking it into the back slash pocket of his track pants before heading out of the room to Scully's. Her door was open too, which surprised him. His footsteps slowed, and he leaned against the wood of the frame to peer inside, wondering if she had gone to use the washroom. But she was there, in one corner of her room, staring into a floor-length mirror. He said her name softly. No response. So he said it again, a little louder. "Scully." Mulder's voice. At her doorway. Scully blinked and barely controlled her startled flinch. She had not heard him approach. Turning, her hand falling away from the mirror reluctantly, feeling a small tingle in her fingertips as they left the wood, she saw her partner standing there, arms outspread to brace his weight on the doorframe. His stance stretched his tee shirt tightly across his chest, emphasizing his muscled upper body. She swallowed, her mouth dry, eyes admiring. He had a fine physique. It was then that she realized he was dressed in sweatpants and running shoes. "You okay, Scully? I called your name twice," Mulder said, his eyes studying her curiously. "You seemed like you were a million miles away." Scully blinked again, and then said, "I'm fine, Mulder. Just tired, that's all." Though the 'I'm fine' rankled a little, Mulder let it pass without comment. "I guess that means you wouldn't want to come for a run, then, huh?" he said instead, arms sliding away from the doorframe to gesture at his attire. "I guess not," Scully answered, with a small smile. "Maybe next time." She crossed the floor towards the door, having realized her suitcase, laptop and briefcase were still on the floor there. She wrapped her hand around the suitcase handle and hefted it, carrying it over to place it on the bed. Behind her, Mulder said, "I'll check in with you when I get back, okay?" Scully nodded absent-mindedly, remembering then that she had meant to question him about their plans for the next day, and exactly what she was to do in her role as his researcher. But when she turned back to face the door, he was already gone. Moments later the sound of his footsteps thudding down the winding staircase could be heard. With a shake of her head at his seemingly boundless energy, she bent to pick up the briefcase and laptop. Carting them over to the bed, she dropped them beside the suitcase and then sprung the locks to begin unpacking. *** End Part 2