From: taffyxf@yahoo.com
Title: Forgive Us Our Trespasses
Author: Taffy Northwood
E-Mail: taffyxf@yahoo.com
Rating: NC17 (eventually)
Category: AU, MSR
Archives: Just ask.
Feedback: Never in bad taste
Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, Skinner and any
other XF characters are on loan only.
Summary: In 1909 New York City, there were two
distinct and separate worlds: that of the very wealthy
and that of the very poor. Could love bridge the
great divide between those worlds for two star-crossed
lovers?
Author Notes: Like a huge part of the fandom, I've
become absolutely dotty over AU fic. This is my
modest attempt to put Mulder and Scully into another
time and place. Please be aware, this is a
work-in-progress.
Forgive Us Our Trespasses - Mathew Fox's story, part 2
New York City - 1909
"I am a genius," Ringo Langly said.
"Unquestionably," Fox agreed heartily. "May I see the
prints?"
Langly was a clever, inventive fellow, and only a
genius would have been able to find his way through
the apparatuses and chemicals of his cluttered shop,
but that was not the reason for Fox's ready praise.
His eagerness to view once more the slender girl with
the Irish lilt made him generous with his words.
"I'll tell you how I did it--since I know you're not
smart enough to steal my techniques."
"Please do," Fox said, but he barely listened as
Langly described the process, instead thumbing through
the prints until he found the Irish girl.
"I should have asked her name," he said out loud.
Langly stopped his lecture and shrugged.
"Girl with basket," he said.
"I think she's a teacher," Fox mused. "The way she
spoke... direct and clear."
Langly laughed.
"Not where I went to school, pal. You're just hoping
she's a teacher because you're hoping she's not
married."
It was true that teachers were required to be
spinsters. Even if this pretty girl had become a
teacher, she would be married in no time and leave the
profession.
"That isn't what I meant," Fox insisted, hoping Langly
couldn't read his discomfort.
"You be careful, Mulder. Your old man would disown
you if you took up with a washerwoman."
Langly's familiarity was outrageous, except that
Langly was his friend. The old man might disown him
for that alone.
The thought was interrupted by the arrival of Langly's
partner. Where Langly was crude and indifferent to
propriety, Byers was deferential and correct.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Mulder," he said, placing his
toolbox on the counter.
"Afternoon, Byers." Fox had in vain assured him that
the title was unnecessary in this setting.
"You fixed the door on Rosenbloom's hockshop?" Langly
asked.
Langly and Byers were locksmiths, among other things.
"Of course," Byers said.
"And you got the money?"
Byers' hesitation gave him away even before he spoke.
"She'll have the money on Saturday."
"You bonehead," Langly said.
"She explained it to me, Ringo. On payday her
customers bring her the money to redeem their goods.
They get paid, she gets paid and we get paid."
"Mrs. Rosenbloom is loaded! That's like Mulder saying
he can't pay you until Georgie Westinghouse pays back
his loan."
Byers blanched and turned to Mulder, too tongue-tied
to apologize.
"It's nothing," Mulder assured him.
Langly shook his head in disgust.
"We need supplies, Byers, and now we'll be waiting
till Saturday. And Mulder, that's a buck for printing
and developing."
Fox passed over a dollar. Langly's work was worth the
money.
Tucking the pictures into his briefcase, he took a
deep breath. It was time to get back to work, that is if
he could get to his office undiscovered.
The Irish girl had rebuked him for skulking about, but
now Fox only wished he was a better skulker. His
attempt to slip away from his office and back before
his absence could be noted was unsuccessful. A
nervous man was waiting by his door as if he'd been
left to guard it.
"He sent for you, Mr. Mulder. You're wanted in the
back."
"Thank you, Yancy. Was it Mr. Traut who sent for me?"
Fox tried to sound nonchalant.
"No, Mr. Mulder, it was the Chief."
"The Chief" was the name that everyone used for Fox's
father, and most of them addressed him simply as
"Sir." Both the Chief and Dewitt Traut had offices
removed from the hubbub of daily operations, in an
area referred to as "the back."
Fox made a deliberate effort to square his shoulders
before entering his father's office. It wouldn't do
to lumber in like a guilty schoolboy.
The Chief eyed him coldly for a minute, then opened a
drawer and offered him a cigar. Fox accepted it
gratefully. It was a poor substitute for his roasted
sunflower seeds, but it gave him something to do with
his hands.
"You know, son, I was calling you in to offer my thanks.
Imagine my disappointment to discover you had abandoned
your post."
"I'm sorry, Father. I had a small matter to attend
to." In addition to his business at Langly's, Fox had
spent a few minutes with the treasurer of a new
insurance company. He was prepared to expand his
brief appointment into an explanation for his
whereabouts.
"Yes, your meeting on Maiden Lane. Not a long walk,
Fox, even at my age."
Fox didn't answer. His father was staring into his
eyes, and Fox stared back, refusing to blink. At last
the older man turned away.
"Mr. Skinner has been a marvel at managing your affairs
at home. Perhaps you would benefit from his assistance
in the office."
It was an insult and a threat. Perhaps Fox needed his
old tutor with him at all times to assure his
obedience.
"I don't plan to have another of my children
disappoint me, Fox. I will not allow it."
"No, Sir," Fox said. Again they locked eyes.
The Chief heaved a sigh.
"Your work is sound, Fox, but you need to apply
yourself."
"Yes, Sir."
"Very good work indeed on the South Central merger. I
wanted to tell you that recent events have confirmed
your suspicions."
"You taught me not to conduct business with
scoundrels," Fox said.
"But you're the one who saw first that the man was a
scoundrel. You spared our money and our reputation,
Fox."
"Thank you, Sir."
"You may return to your duties."
Fox returned to his office and applied himself. If
he'd been at his desk when the Chief called, he would
have received the man's praise without the scolding.
While part of him wished it had happened that way, a
small voice inside was asking if he really wanted to
live his life only to please his father. A small
voice that kept nagging at him until he realized with
a start if was Samantha's.
Still he kept to his work. Mulder & Traut was like
that golden goose. Once in a while Fox would discover
a new kind of grain she liked, or he'd stop her from
eating a sack gone bad, but for the most part she kept
producing those golden eggs regardless of his efforts.
At last evening came, and Fox was free. His mother
had reluctantly accepted his notice that he would not
be home to dinner. Diana had urged him to join her
and some friends at Delmonico's, but again, he'd
declined.
[continued in next message]
--- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05
* Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)
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