From: taffyxf@yahoo.com
Title: Forgive Us Our Trespasses
Author: Taffy Northwood
E-Mail: taffyxf@yahoo.com
Rating: NC17 (now and then)
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 1911 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 - Mr. and Mrs. Fox Mulder's
story - Part 20
"Welcome back, sir."
Morris Fletcher looked up from his desk, wearing the
canary-devouring smile that always unnerved Mulder.
"Any 'phone calls while I was out, Fletcher?"
"Mr. Leamus called. He'll have the contracts
for the textile mill finished by Wednesday."
"Good," Mulder replied. "No other calls?"
Something wasn't quite right. Fletcher was far too
pleased this afternoon to be innocent. He seemed
to derive some smug pleasure from Mulder's afternoons
with Diana. He could barely restrain his sniggering
as he answered.
"No, sir. No other telephone calls."
"Well, then, you must have been able to accomplish
a lot without interruptions."
"Thank god, you're back," DT said from the doorway
of the outer office. "Something has come up."
Mulder followed Dewitt Traut into his office, with a
worried glance over his shoulder at the benignly
whistling Fletcher.
"I fear the great Atlantic Ocean has become no more
than a puddle," Traut said, sighing heavily.
"I haven't the time for your philosophizing, Uncle.
Is there a matter that requires my attention?" Mulder
asked.
"You've read, no doubt, of the unfortunate mine
accident in England?"
"Three hundred lives lost in the Pretoria Pit," Mulder
said. The number was too large to truly comprehend.
How many grieving wives and children, mothers and
fathers? It left him numb.
"A perilous occupation, mining. But a necessary one,"
said DT.
"My secretary, Mr. Skinner, comes from a mining
family," Mulder said.
"Perhaps he should accompany you," Traut said. "To
England."
"I have some urgent responsibilities closer to home,"
Mulder said.
"This is closer to home than you realize. We have an
interest in that mine, though not directly. We have
mines here, and smelters, and railroads."
"Then we will endeavor to learn what we can from the
disaster. We can't send men beneath the ground
without doing everything in our power to keep them
safe."
"My god, Fox, think what you're saying!"
"There are breathing apparatuses now, and other
equipment. Skinner lost his father to a fire in the
mine."
"That accounts for his feelings then, but not for
yours. Open an orphanage or build them a library, but
don't forget that you're a businessman. Mining is a
business, and it would be best if the inquiry
commission in England remembered that as well."
"Is that why you wanted me in England? So I can
remind the weeping widows that mining is a business?"
Mulder asked.
"The bank needs someone on hand to observe and
mitigate the radical responses, without becoming
caught up in the hysteria. You do understand?"
"Perfectly." Mulder felt heavy and weary as he got to
his feet. "I'll send an appropriate representative."
"Your man Krycek? Do you think he's ready?"
"I think not, DT. I fear Krycek may be a Socialist."
DT laughed. "I wonder if you've ever seen a
Socialist. That's not how they look."
"Then perhaps there's a different reason he passed
money to Eugene Debs."
"Sometimes I wonder if you give any thought to the
things you say," Traut said, frowning his disapproval.
Mulder met his eyes coldly. Sometimes he wondered if
the older man gave any thought to the things he did.
"I won't send Krycek. I'm making some inquiries into
his credentials. I don't want him handling sensitive
matters until I'm sure of his honesty."
Alex Krycek had come to Mulder & Traut with impeccable
letters of recommendation from several prominent firms.
Perhaps they'd been too good to be true.
"Perhaps it's best that I go to England," Traut said,
after a moment of hesitation. "Frankly, Fox, I don't
know that you're sufficiently unbiased on the subject."
"Because I think miners' lives are not a reasonable
sacrifice on the altar of almighty profit?"
Traut's telephone rang, and Mulder was spared from
further discussion on the matter, though not from
DT's withering look of disapproval.
After leaving DT, Mulder sequestered himself in his
office, instructing Fletcher that he wasn't to be
disturbed. Alone at his desk, Mulder held his head
in his hands. He wished, sometimes, that he could
go back to the days when he would grab his camera
and disappear for hours.
Raising his head, Mulder reached for the telephone.
He instructed Fletcher to place a call to Morton
Bocks, an agent of inquiry he used from time to time
for work matters.
"Nothin' yet, sir, on what we talked about last week.
I'm trackin' down a coupla leads," Bocks said.
"I have another job for you, something more routine.
The work history of one of my employees."
"Right up my alley, sir."
"And I'm sure it goes without saying that this requires
the utmost discretion."
Mulder disengaged the call and spent the next few
hours sorting through the tangle of railroad
contracts from Dewitt's last attempt at railroad
investments.
For the first time in what seemed like months,
Mulder rose from his desk at five o'clock. He
stuffed some papers in his briefcase and without
a word to DT, Krycek or Fletcher, left for home.
If Edgar was surprised to see him home so early,
he hid his shock well.
"Is Mrs. Katherine at home?"
"Not yet, sir. I believe she is still at the
clinic."
Mulder frowned as he traveled down the wide
central hall. The stench of cigarette smoke
permeated the air. He'd grown to hate that
smell.
Over the years, Mulder had learned to be wary
when he caught the scent of his father's cigar
smoke in the front hallway. It invariably meant
that his father was defying Teena Mulder's decree
against smoking in the drawing room. Now, Mulder
would give almost anything to smell his father's
Perfectos.
William Mulder would not have allowed that
reprehensible man in his home. Mulder felt powerless
to stop him in light of Teena Mulder's
friendship with him.
"Hello Mother. Mr. Spender," he said as he
entered the room. Cornelius Spender lounged on
the sofa, cigarette dangling from his fingers.
Teena Mulder's cheeks were flushed pink.
"Fox, darling. You're home early."
"Thought I'd spend some time with Mairead before
dinner," Mulder answered. "Where is she?"
"Upstairs with her nurse, I should think," his
mother answered. "Little Margaret was a bit
out of sorts, so I asked Miss Muir to put her
to bed."
[continued in next message]
--- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05
* Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)
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