Phoebe Green. You despised her already, and you barely knew her.

She'd gone to Oxford with Mulder and moved on to Scotland Yard. The two had obviously been involved at some point. She had apparently broken his heart, but you chose not to dwell on it for your own sanity.

You had assumed that your job would be simple. Make sure Sir Malcolm Marsden and his family don't go up in flames at the party. Simple, right?

Wrong.

You stood down the hall from the duo, utterly out of place, and stuck watching as Mulder and Phoebe danced cheek to cheek.

As if the blatant flirting hadn't been bad enough.

What did he see in her, you wondered. Was it her accent? Her looks? Her...

Her lips on his. They were kissing. Right there in front of you.