Through the Looking Glass
by Lovesfox

Headers in Prologue


Part 2

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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