The tension in this room is thick enough to cut with the proverbial knife.

I don't know which of us is the most uncomfortable. Mulder looks like he's about to go out of his mind, Agent Fowley is just keeping to herself, and I am suffering through the misery of a mother who forgot to pack her breast pump. I'm tired and edgy and really just want to lie down and get some sleep before we begin again tomorrow.

Unfortunately, Agent Fowley and I get to be roommates for the duration of this adventure into the Southwest. Not that I care as long as I get to have a bed and some quiet, but I must admit Mulder's expression was priceless when Skinner handed Agent Fowley and me the two electronic pass cards for
room 135. He's just next door in the adjoining room with Agent Reid, but I don't think he's spent more than five minutes in his room yet. Mulder seems to prefer moving from chair to chair in this room instead, leaving a little trail of sunflower seed husks behind him.

I'm honestly not sure of what he's afraid of. Maybe his past and present colliding like this is more than he can really handle. Perhaps he has thoughts that the two of us are going to sit up all night exchanging cute 'Fox' stories about him. I seriously doubt Agent Fowley and I even have more than basic social pleasantries to say to each other. Then again, maybe he thinks we will have the most outrageous cat fight in history and he wants to be present to witness it, stop it or cheer it on. I don't think that will happen either. Anyway, if it did, I know I could take her bony ass. Easily.

"Mulder, I need to..." I say to him, motioning towards the bathroom. I want to this to be his cue to go to his own room, but instead he plants himself on the double bed that I claimed as my own and gets a little more comfortable then he was on the last stiff chair he had been sitting in.

I lock myself into the bathroom and remove my suit coat and shirt. This is just great, I think, as I start to express breast milk by hand into the sink. I'm in here being Bessie while Mulder's out there in the bed next to his ex whatever the hell she was. He never has told me. I never have asked.

It only takes me a few minutes to relieve the pressure that has been building up for hours. I get dressed again and go out to find that Mulder and Fowley intently watching something bizarre on the Discovery Channel. At least they weren't watching a girlie show together. A documentary about satellite arrays is weird enough. No wonder the two of them couldn't make whatever it was they had work. Two peas in a pod tend to get boring and stale quickly.

"Mulder, I need to talk to you," I say to him. He just looks around me to the TV set.

Well, I had wanted to do this in private, but if he isn't going to listen, I'm not going to be nice. I stand directly in front of his line of sight to the TV.

"What is it, Scully?" he asks me.

Fowley's eyes are on me now, too. Sometimes I feel she is always watching me, judging me, as if I took everything away from poor Fox Mulder, and she'd be happy to give it back to him.

"We need to go out and get something. I forgot something at home... and I need to get a new one," I say to him, ignoring Fowley's stare and pinched brow.

"Could you be any more vague?" he asks me.

"A breast pump, Mulder. I forgot mine. I don't need an expensive electric one. A manual one will be fine. I just need one because I'm not ready to wean Christopher yet and I want to keep my milk production up," I say to him.

"I could...I mean..." he starts to say when he remembers we aren't alone in the room.

Agent Fowley finally looks away from us, her face slightly more pained than usual. I don't know why. As far as I know she's never had children, so she wouldn't know anything about babies and breast pumps.

I just shake my head no.

"Um...okay," he finally says, shaking his head as if he just made a bigger blunder than really did, "You want to get dinner, too?"

"Sure. That will be great," I say, as I grab some papers I want to go over with him privately before tomorrow.

"Would you like to come with us, Diana?" he asks.

I don't know what he is thinking. I'm sure he's just being courteous, but I do not need this woman following me around Wal-Mart as I shop for something to stick my breasts into. I just don't need it. Obviously she can tell this by my face.

"No. Thank you, Fox. I'm fine," she says as she goes back to watching the TV.

In the rental car, he and I are silent for a long time. I don't know how to express my feelings about the room arrangements. I was imagining Skinner would appreciate the situation a little more and Agent Fowley and I would at least have out own rooms. Maybe this is his way of controlling Mulder and me.

"Mulder, you don't have to hang around the room all night. I will be fine," I tell him, looking at his face to see if that is what he worried about.

"What do you mean?" he asks, his eyes scrunching up a bit. It is bothering him.

"I don't know what you think I'm going to discuss with Agent Fowley, but it probably isn't going to revolve around you. That is if we even do say *anything* to each other," I say, turning my head to look out my window as the city passes us by.

"I'm sorry about this, Scully. I know how you feel about her and I know what she's done in the past. I know she's up to something now, but I just don't know what," he says, as he makes a U-turn into the Wal-Mart parking lot.

"I will never trust her, Mulder. I don't know what the two of you had in the past..."

"It was a long time ago, Scully. There is nothing to be jealous over. It was over long before I met you," he tells me, as if this will change my opinion of her, as if he and I have been *together* since we first met.

"That isn't important, Mulder. I'm not jealous of her because of that. Your past relationship with that...that woman isn't why I don't trust her. Everything she has done to *us* in the past is why I don't trust her. And I
hate the fact that you always end up trusting her, going off with her," I say.

"That isn't going to happen this time, Scully. I know you don't trust her, but you could at least trust me. I won't ditch you for her again," he says, sounding so sure of himself as he throws the car into park before it is
completely stopped.

"Yeah. Right, Mulder. You always say that."

"I don't know why this is the one point we just can't ever get over. Why can't you trust me on this one damn thing, Scully?"

"I know you too well, Mulder. I know what you need and how far you will go to find it," I say to him rather harshly.

"Sometimes you have no clue as to what I need."

"And sometimes I could say the same thing, Mulder," I tell him as I just sit and watch him watch the steering wheel.

I wish I could believe him. I just know as soon as he gets an idea I don't agree with, she'll be right there,
saying 'Yes, Mulder. I believe you,' and he will be off with her faster than I can say gullible ass. I haven't got a clue as to what kind of strange bond there is between the two of them, but I swear he can't break it. Nothing I can do can break it. Love him or hate him, he needs her to stroke that damned ego of his as they go chasing off after the paranormal together.

"Are you coming with?" I ask as I step from the car. The night air has turned chilly and I am wishing I had remembered to bring my coat with for this little shopping trip. Especially considering that is where I left my
wallet. I seem to be forgetting everything these days.

"Why? You afraid I'm going to ditch you in the Wal-Mart parking lot?" he asks. His voice is as chilly as the night air.

"No. I need your credit card," I say, as I slam shut the car door hard on my side.

After escaping from the bizarre world of breast pumps, we make our way to the Old Town part of Albuquerque to search for a restaurant. Scully is beyond tired and is getting quite punchy. After all that ranting she did about Diana, I'm almost considering myself lucky that I get to spend the night away from her. I just hope Reid can sleep with the TV on tonight.

"What in the hell do you think this Mulch is going to tell us?" she asks.

She managed to bring the file on Mulch with her, but in her haste to get out of the room, forgot her jacket. Not that it matters to her. She's got mine on.

"I don't know, Scully, but his name keeps coming up. I think it would be our best judgment to actually talk to the man who has been mentioned a million times in the last few weeks."

"I'm not questioning that...how about here?" she asks, pointing at a restaurant.

"What are you questioning?' I ask, pulling into the nearest parking space.

"The three women he murdered don't match the Ellen Erickson case. The MO is all off. Didn't you read this file, Mulder? I thought this profiling part was your job?" she says.

"And your job is what? Waiting for bodies to start dropping?" I say, getting a little tired of her mood tonight. When she pulls this mood out of her bag of tricks, one could almost forget that on the other side of the continent we live together behind a little white picket fence.

She gets out of the car and slams the door for the second time tonight. I'm glad the damn thing has the extra insurance coverage on it.

I watch her stand there, waiting for me. Her arms are crossed and she's tapping her foot impatiently.

I look away from her and mumble something about what a bitch she is being.

Sometimes I wish we could forget about that damned picket fence we trapped ourselves in altogether. It could be so easy to get out of it, but she would never forgive me if I made that choice. If the consequences are what has been promised, I don't think I could forgive myself. Reopen the X-Files now
and lose Christopher, lose Scully, lose the perfect suburban life. In the end, I know I would lose myself, too.

She grows tired of waiting for me to pull myself out of this car and she just goes in by herself. When I catch up to her, she's talking to the hostess.

"Your last name and how many in your party, Miss?" the young hostess asks.

"Two for Mulder," she says, then spells it out. Jesus, this is a first. I'm sitting here calculating ways I could escape this domesticity I've gotten myself in to, and for the first time, without even thinking about it, she
just put herself under my last name.

She comes to stand by me, but I don't comment on it the name thing.

"What's wrong with us, Mulder? It can't all be falling apart already, can it?" she asks, looping her arm into mine, and pulling me close. I just want to close my eyes and enjoy this moment of public affection from her. They seldom ever happen anymore in our busy lives, and sometimes I wonder if she even loves me at all.

"I just think we are tired. And we aren't used to being together all day and all night anymore. Things have changed," I say, looking away.

A few seconds ago I was imagining my life without any of the additions I made to it in the past two years. Now she is standing next to me, asking me questions I don't want to answer right now. I don't want to really fuck this all up. I would be so easy to fuck everything up again with her. We said we had to keep work and home separate now, but how do you do that when there is no separation? I've loved her for years, but have never had to deal with her like this. Hopefully it will all be better when we can really get involved with work tomorrow.

"Has it changed for the better?" she asks me as she turns to look at me. She is holding my hands tightly in hers, her eyes imploring for an answer.

"Ask me again tomorrow," I say, as I free one of hands and stroke her cheek.

"Okay. Goodnight, Mom. Don't forget to give him a big kiss for me," I say, as I hang up the receiver.

I had just convinced Mulder that he could go to bed when my mother finally called back. She had been putting Christopher to down when I tried calling her on my cell phone earlier.

Mulder has been in a crappy mood all night. I can't blame him. So have I. I think he's right. Fatigue was setting in by the time we got to dinner, and all though we pulled the night out of the dark pit it was sinking into, I'm still confused by some of the things he said before dinner.

Agent Fowley is sitting on the other bed, reading some book I can't quite catch the name of.

"How is your baby? Christopher is it?" she asks, not lifting her nose from the page she's reading.

Your baby? I can play this game, too.

"Our baby is fine. I was just worried because Christopher's never gone to bed without Mulder or me there to get him washed up and in his jammies. He seems to be doing all right," I say, adding whatever emphasis needs to be added on certain words.

She is silent again as I get my night clothes and toiletries out of my bag. I can almost feel her eyes follow me over the top of her book to the bathroom and then back again once I'm done but I don't look back.

"So, when are you two ever going to get married?" she asks casually, as if she's a lifelong friend or family member.

"I...ah...we haven't set a date," I say, before I notice that I'm playing with the engagement ring on my left hand.

That is what I try to tell myself. We are too busy to get married. We have a baby. It is impossible to get married with an infant. I even found myself thinking once that we don't have enough money to get married, as if we are a couple of teenagers eloping at the county courthouse. I don't think I've let my mind approach all the real reasons why.

"Scared?" Fowley asks. She finally lifts her nose our of her book and stares right at me.

"Me? No, not at all," I say, lying through my teeth.

"Is Fox?" she asks, as she looks back down from me to her book.

"I don't think Mulder is. He's the one who keeps asking," I tell her. I notice she is flipping pages faster than she could possibly be reading them.

"Marriage isn't bad. It's divorce that's a bitch," she tells me, with an edgy touch of pain in her voice.

I sit down on my bed with my lap top and turn it on. I hardly have anything to write up in a report yet, but I don't want to appear to not have anything better to do than carry on this conversation. I don't think it is any of her business why Mulder and I aren't married yet. We live together. We are raising our child together. I notice I didn't say anything about loving each other and something deep inside of me can't for one second believe we don't love each other. How could that be? We do. I'm sure of it.

"You were married before?" I finally ask her, casually. She doesn't answer for several minutes, and by the time she does, I had almost forgotten what we were talking about, instead I'm lost in the notes I'm typing up.

"Once. A long time ago. I was two months pregnant, and he thought he had to marry me and I thought I had to marry him. I lost the baby, um...at three months. There were so many things wrong with the child that he would have never survived, but that news didn't help. None of the test performed could determine exactly what was wrong with the baby, but it didn't seem to be carried from me or the father. Everything else just fell apart from there. The marriage barely lasted long enough for it to go into public record," she says with a sigh.

I know it hurts to lose a child, even an unborn one, but it is hard to extend my sympathy to this woman. Mulder never mentioned her being married before, but Mulder is always guilty of omissions.

"I'm sorry. It must have been hard," I say, not looking up from my keyboard.

"It wasn't the best period of our lives," is all she says.

"Do you still talk to your...ah...ex-husband...the father?" I ask, even though I don't care about the answer.

"Occasionally we run into each other," she says.

"That's nice," I semi-answer without thinking.

"I would have loved to have had his child, but sometimes we find out the hard way that these things are for the best," Agent Diana Fowley says to me before she turns out her overhead light and falls asleep.

Penitentiary of New Mexico
Santa Fe, New Mexico
April 16, 2002

We walk into a claustrophobic 10' x 8' cinderblock cell set aside specifically for judicial or law enforcement interviews with inmates. The institutionally gray walls are accented by a long gray metal table, flanked
by cold, hard gray metal chairs and a well over middle-age Ronald Mulch. In his denim blues, he could be anyone. He's average height and thin with a forgettable face. Just another murderous felon serving out his time.

Mulch immediately greets us with, "Oh, boy! Feds. Haven't seen suits like you in a few years. So whose dick did Erickson suck this time?"

"What makes you think that's why we are here?" I ask.

"Well, now let me see...I got a visit from a state investigator in something like 1993, thanks to Erickson. Got a visit from an Assistant DA from some damned piss ant town, Erickson again. My damned Jew lawyer visited me many times during 1998. Erickson was cashing in favors all over New Mexico. Now seeing as how he's the new water boy on the Hill, I'm guessing that his cashing in favors includes blow jobs. So what's the freaky little faggot want with me now?" Mulch babbles on, spraying the table with spit and whistling through his ill-fitting dentures.

"We would like to just ask you a few questions about what happened on June 13, 1977," Scully says, using her best diplomatic demeanor.

"How the fuck am I supposed to remember that? I bet you don't recall June 13, 1977, lady?" he says to Scully, then leans back in his chair crosses his arms over his chest and gives her a lecherous once over.

"You seem to have no problem remembering when your lawyer or a DA visited you," Scully points out.

"Those were big events that broke up the day to day of years in prison. Honey, it's easy to recall important things like those and like the first time you lay a woman down and fuck her senseless," Mulch says to Scully.

"Let me refresh your selective memory then. You were an escaped convict on the run in Northern New Mexico in June of 1977," I say to him, leaning into my side of table to same degree as he is leaning away. This gets his attention briefly.

"Look at you two. What were you in 1977? Fifteen? Sixteen?" he asks, as his eyes bore down on Scully, and he licks his lips, "Sweet sixteen and never been kissed. Were you still a virgin, sweet cheeks?"

We don't say anything back to him, but I back away from the table and match his pose. Scully's eyes take on that glare that makes *my* nuts shrivel.

How many times have we been sitting across from some arrogant asshole who never has the chance to see freedom again, yet they all play the same head games with us? Eventually he will work his way to telling Scully how pretty she is. Then if he is as bold as some of the convicted criminals we've questioned in prison in the past, he might even ask if I'm screwing my partner. Most seem to have to escape into the tough act that got them into prison in the first place.

"Mr. Mulch, it says here that you abducted and murdered three women between March 1967 and September 1968. You then managed to escape from the custody of a Federal Marshall during a prison transfer in 1977 with help from the outside. You were on the run for exactly twenty-three days before being taken back into custody on June 14 outside of Angel Fire, which just happens to be where the Erickson family was camping when Ellen Erickson disappeared on June 13th. Now that I've refreshed your memory *again,* perhaps you would like to tell us where you were on June 13, 1977?" I say to him, not backing into his games.

"I don't know where I was June 13, 1977. Somewhere in Northern New Mexico. That's all I can tell you. I just know I didn't nab no woman from a campsite. That wasn't my style," Mulch says.

"What exactly was your style, Mr. Mulch?" Scully asks.

"You want me to tell you what I did, angel? I'm sure you've read about it in my confession, but I can describe all the details for you," he slurs at her.

"Agent Scully and I would be glad to hear your personal version. You know, while we are here anyway," I say to him as I settle into my metal cushionless chair.

He settles back, but doesn't say anything for a few minutes. I'm sure he thinks we will just pack up this little show and head off, but I'm not quite that easy. Eventually they all like to brag about their exploits. I'm sure
he is proud of his *accomplishments.*

"They was all so easy to take. Just wait for them to roll their shopping carts out to their cars and grab them. People weren't as scared then as they are now. Their babies would be screaming. That's what I remember most. Take one last look at your mommy, kid. She's off to get some kicks on Route 66," Mulch says with that certain pride in his voice that I've only heard emanate out of the mouths of killers.

"Excuse me?" Scully says to him. I could see her shudder slightly when he discussed the kids who would never again see their mothers because of him.

"I know you're the type to have read everything before you got here. You know where they were found," he sneers, but doesn't look at her.

Scully and I just continue to stare him down. He chooses to return the stare to only me.

"And you wouldn't have killed Ellen Erickson because?" I ask again.

"Why in the hell would I kill a woman camping with her family when it is so easy to find them elsewhere?" he damn near growls at me.

"Perhaps because you couldn't exactly go prowling around grocery store parking lots, Mr. Mulch," Scully says, her eyebrow raised at him, her voice as cold as ice. I love it when she does that to them.

His escape in 1977 was quite an embarrassment, but the disappearance of Ellen Erickson helped in his capture. The area was crawling with law enforcement, and Ronald Mulch had no where else to run. Now I'd like the bastard to come clean about what really happened out there while he was hiding.

"Okay. Say you didn't kill her. You were still in that area the night Ellen Erickson disappeared. Did you see anything out of the ordinary?" I ask.

"Yeah, I saw bright lights and dancing bears. Swooped right down and took her away," he says with a malicious chuckle.

Scully just looks down at her hands in her lap, while I continue my staring contest with this convicted murderer.

"If you believe in that crap, then you are nuttier than the senator himself. He's a politician, so he at least has a defense for being a nut case," he continues, still laughing.

There are certain people I've begun to wish alien colonization on, and I'm adding this one to my list.

"Mr. Mulch, please, just tell us what you *really* did see," I say.

"I saw something, but I'm an old man and my memory is fading. It takes a lot of effort getting all the things straight up here. It just ain't worth it to expend all that energy for nothing. Anyway, I got nothing to gain," he says arrogantly.

"You can gain one moment of decency in your life. You can finally give the Erickson's some answers." I say.

"Did that fancy speech work the last time you used it, pretty boy? Like I said, I got nothing to gain. So, why should I help?" Mulch drawls, reaching up to wipe spit off his chin.

I've been faced with this particular argument before and there is no answer. These people don't give a shit about other people and families. If they did, they wouldn't be sitting here in the first place.

"Maybe you don't want it known that you killed a senator's mother. It could be a tough life in here with that hanging over your head. But how could you know so many years ago that Ellen Erickson's son was going to grow up to be a powerful US Senator?" Scully asks to him, her voice as cold as she can make it.

He doesn't respond to her, instead talking to me, "It hasn't been too tough so far and the man has been in office for what? Two years now? So you people can keep this shit up for the rest of my sentence. I'm not telling you anything without the proper motivation."

"And what would motivate you, Mr. Mulch?" Scully asks.

He looks at her, licks his lips and gives her a wink. I want to laugh. Poor soul doesn't know the trouble he is inviting. Usually this is where he fun begins.

"Mr. Mulch, I am a federal agent and I would appreciate it if you would keep your gestures to yourself while I am in your presence," Scully says as she stands up, her voice enough to make any man shrink. I reach for her arm without thinking and it rests there just long enough to give Mulch ideas.

"You fucking her?" he asks as he looks straight at me and ignores her, "Does she beg you for it? Man, I would love to see the look on her fiancés' face when he finds out. I don't blame you, though. I didn't know 'federal agents' came packaged like that."

We've learned over the years not to react to this. It is just one of the hazards of a male-female partnership. But, damn it, after all this time, it would be nice to look at one of these assholes as they head back to their
cell life as Big Jake's girlfriend and say 'Yes. Yes I am fucking her.'

"Mulch, tell me what your motivation would be, and we will see what we can do," I say to him instead of what I'd rather say.

"I'll get back to you on that one, Agent Mulder. I'm not saying anything else today, so you two can just go do whatever it is you do when you are out of town together. Thanks for dropping by," he says as he stands up and pounds on the exit door.

**
66 Diner
Albuquerque, New Mexico

"Well, that wasn't our most interesting prison visit, but just as fruitless as most," I say to Mulder as we are seated at a booth for a late lunch.

"I think he knows something, Scully. Now we just have to figure out a way to get him to admit to that without giving him too many concessions," I tell her as a waitress dressed up in 1950s attire comes up to our table.

Mulder orders a green chile cheeseburger and an iced tea while I order a grilled chicken salad with a side order of cheese fries and a strawberry milkshake, which causes him to raise an eyebrow and grin at me.

"Cheese fries? A Strawberry milkshake? The salad thing I'm used to, but cheese fries? Scully, is there something you aren't telling me?"

"You are in control of that department right now, Mulder. Is there something you aren't telling *me*?" I ask him jokingly.

"What? You think I wouldn't tell you if there had been an accident?" he asks me.

What I really think is that there is no way in hell I will probably ever be pregnant again, but I have yet to express that feeling to him. Right now I'm just enjoying the fact that we are getting along a lot better than we did yesterday evening. It is almost as if that life on the other side of the country didn't exist and we were back to just being partners again. This domestic life has its good point, but it sure can have its bad points, too. I'm beginning to understand why they wouldn't want us working together on a normal basis. No matter what people say, it does change everything.

"So, now that we are getting into the swing of working together again, what are the big plans for tomorrow?" I ask.

"I thought we would take a little trip to visit with Senator Erickson's father.," Mulder answers as he sips on his tea the waitress had just dropped off.

"Where are we going?"

"He lives in a town called Truth or Consequences. It's south of here. That is where he moved the family after Mrs. Erickson disappeared," he tells me.

"Truth or Consequences?" I ask, recalling that at some point in my life I had heard of this city.

"They renamed it after the game show. I think the locals call it T or C," he states.

"It also sounds like the name of the city Fox Mulder would retire to someday," I say with a slight grin, "So, what else do we know about him?"

"He moved his family to Albuquerque in 1975 so Ellen could finish up her nursing degree she set aside in order to marry him in 1958. Why she went to the University of New Mexico instead of New Mexico State in Las Cruces, I don't know. They already lived in Las Cruces. Besides that, not much is documented about him. He hasn't appeared to work since her disappearance and I don't know what he did in Las Cruces," he says.

"Las Cruces? By the White Sands Test Facility?" I ask, already well aware that Mulder knows about every military test site in the country, even the ones not on the maps.

"Wouldn't it be just fitting if he worked for NASA? You know, they can control the weather now?" he says, smirking.

"So, what do you have planned for Fowley and Reid?" I ask.

"I think I will send Diana and Reid up to Santa Fe tomorrow and let them have a little fun with Mulch. Or let him have a little fun with them. I want to show him we aren't giving up just yet," he says.

"I wonder if he's going to accuse them of the same thing?" I ask, knowing already that he will probably pull the exact same power trip on Agents Fowley and Reid. It's all a matter of Mulch trying to find control.

"Well, it is the first time a criminal has ever accused us of that where it's been true. Maybe next time, you should leave this at home," Mulder says as he grabs my hand and plays with the ring on my finger.

"I don't honestly care what Ronald Mulch says, but I think you'd better warn Reid about it. Has he ever had a female partner before?" I ask.

"No, he hasn't. Some of us are just luckier than others, I guess," he says to me.

"That's not what you were mumbling in the car last night while I was waiting for you in front of the restaurant, Mulder. I believe I saw the word bitch somewhere in there," I tell him.

"I'm sorry. It was a long day. I was tired, you were being a bitch..." he says right before I kick him in the shin under the table.

"Thank you. You know, I wasn't offended so much by Mulch talking to me like that as I was by the fact he thought I was sixteen in 1977. You are making me old, Mulder," I tell him as the waitress shows up with our food.

"I wouldn't take it personally, Scully. When do you honestly think was the last time he saw a woman that looked as good as you in that place?" he says.

As I nibble at my lunch, my thoughts turn to those poor women Mulch abducted. Not only did he abduct them, torture them and drop their bodies off on the side of the highway, he tortured their kids as well. His methods were all the same. He would find a young mother leaving a grocery store, get her in her own car and leave the poor startled child all alone in the shopping cart. Torturing two people for the price of one.

"What are you thinking about, Scully?" Mulder asks.

"I'm thinking that even though this wasn't easy before Christopher, the difficulty has risen exponentially. It wasn't bad enough what Mulch did to those women, but he had to destroy the child's life, too," I say.

"And that is why he is serving out two consecutive life sentences You've always known about the predators out there, why would this one bother you?" he asks me.

"Since I've been back at Quantico, I've only had to see the results of the predators, not the predators themselves. I was just starting to forget what they were like," I tell him as I thoughtlessly tumble my fork through my salad.

"And you are worried that you can't save the world from them?"

I don't answer him, instead I just watch him eat. I know these people get to him. I've seen it happen. Mulder didn't have anything to do with putting Mulch away, so he doesn't seem to be as bothered as I've seen him before. There is no bond here between profiler and criminal in this case.

"So, how are we going to deal with him? He has nothing to gain or lose. There isn't a judge on earth who would commute his sentence and I don't feel like asking one," I tell him.

"We will just have to see if we can find out what he knows without him," he says, "Maybe Mr. Thomas Erickson knows something that he hasn't been telling all these years. Someone knows what happened to that woman, Scully."

"So now you think the father did it? I thought you were betting on Mulch." I say.

"No. I'm still betting on the senator's space men," he says with a smile.

Albuquerque Field Office
Albuquerque, New Mexico

"Well, our search for Jackie Erickson didn't result in much. She teaches kindergarten in a town called Socorro," Diana says as we all meet in the conference room again with Skinner and SAC Carmen.

Skinner has a flight out tonight and an early morning meeting with Senator Erickson tomorrow. He looks like he was hoping for better news to report, but none of us can offer it to him.

"When we visited her today, she says she really can't remember what happened that night," Agent Reid fills in, "She was only nine when her mother disappeared."

"Poor memories seem to be going around," I say to the group, "That is the exact same story we got from Mulch."

The SAC looks pleased that our little group from D.C. didn't just waltz in here and solve a twenty-five year old crime in one day.

"I was going to suggest hypnotic regression therapy to Ms. Erickson," Diana says, "to see if she has any memories of that night."

Scully looks away from the group and I know she is thinking I'm going to agree with Diana. She is always so sure I'll go off on an paranormal tangent when I'm not going to.

"I think we should follow up on some other leads before we take that path," I say, "Besides, we never suggested it for the senator, so why for the sister?"

"I was always under the impression that the senator did undergo hypnotic regression therapy. That is where his memories of that night come from," Diana says.

"He never said anything about it to us," Scully says, "nor is it written up in any of the notes pertaining to this case."

"I assumed you knew," Diana says, looking at Scully.

"What else do you know that you haven't filled us in on?" Scully asks Diana while she taps her pen on the table.

"Nothing, Agent Scully."

Diana then shakes her head and jots down a few notes on the pad in front of her and Reid doesn't look like he knows exactly what is going on here.

"Tomorrow I'd like Agents Fowley and Reid to go back up to the prison to see if they can shake anything from Mulch. Agent Scully and I are going to go talk to the senator's father. That will cover all the witnesses that we know of," I say, as I try to look at what Diana is writing. She covers it up as soon as she sees my eyes wandering that way.

"I'd like this to be wrapped up in one way or another by Friday," Skinner says, "And I'd like you all back in D.C. by the weekend. If it is not solvable, certain parties are just going to have to accept that fact."

Scully and I depart from the field office and get in our rental car.

"I want to know why Agent Fowley keeps coming up with new tidbits of information here and there, all related to the senator. I want to know exactly what she's got up her sleeve this time," Scully says, her voice
tinged with anger.

"You're stuck together all night. Surely you must talk about something," I say as I wait to pull out into traffic.

"Yeah. Her past marriage and why *we* aren't married yet. That's about it," she says.

Shit. Sooner or later I know this was going to come up, but sometimes you just don't tell someone something for so long that it becomes nearly impossible to tell them. If Diana had named names, I'm sure Scully wouldn't be holding this civil conversation with me right now.

"Mulder? Is something wrong? Traffic is clear," she says.

Scully would assume I would tell her something like this. Anybody would tell the person they planned to marry, the person who had their child, something this big. Anybody but Fox Mulder. Damn it.

"Sorry. Nothing's wrong," I say as I start our drive back to the hotel.

We All Fall Down (3/4) A Christopher Scully Story
Author: Jori Remington
e-mail: damienma@bellsouth.net
Rating: R
Archive: Yes
See part one for summary and disclaimer

"~"~"~"~"~"~"~""~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~

The home of Mr. Thomas Erickson
Truth or Consequences, New Mexico
April 17, 2002

"Hello? Mr. Erickson? I'm Special Agent Dana Scully and this is Special Agent Fox Mulder, with the FBI We spoke to you on the phone yesterday," I say, flashing my badge to the elderly gentleman who answers the door of the small house.

"Oh. Yes. I forgot you were coming. Come on in," Thomas Erickson says as he holds open the screen door.

He leads us through his modest house to the back screened-in porch where he motions for us to sit down on an old wicker couch. He is a retiree living all alone and his decor marks this fact well. It doesn't appear that any new furniture has been purchased since the late 1970s, and everything is decorated in how imagine he would have guessed his wife would have done it if she was still here.

"Would you care for something to drink?" the man says to us, as he sits down in an old recliner.

"No, sir. We would just like to talk to you about the night your wife disappeared. I'm sure you are aware your son has reopened the investigation, and we would like for it to be solved," I say.

The resemblance between the elder and younger Erickson is remarkable, although their demeanors are entirely different. Whereas Senator Paul Erickson was self assured and brash, this man seems to want to shrink back into his chair and put this whole incident behind him for good.

"My son the United States Senator. Doesn't know what to keep his nose out of. I'm sure he thought that gaining a seat in the senate would give him all the answers he needs," the man says before falling silent again.

"Answers about what?" Mulder asks.

"His mother is gone. It has been twenty-five years. Why can't he just let it go," Mr. Erickson say, as he fingers the remote control for the TV beside us.

"Do you recall anything from that night, Mr. Erickson?" I ask.

"My wife disappeared into thin air," he says looking blankly into my eyes.

"Do you remember anything leading up to the incident?" Mulder asks, trying to rephrase the question and get the man to answer.

"My kids decided to got out for a walk around the camp grounds. Ellen got worried and sent me after them. When we got back, she was gone. That's it. No matter what my son says or *believes* in, her disappearance has nothing to do with any unearthly forces," he says quietly as if he's repeated this story before. According to our records he was interviewed just six months ago.

"What do you think happened to her, Mr. Erickson," I ask.

"Have you talked to Ronald Mulch?" he says sharply.

"We spoke with Mr. Mulch yesterday. He denies any involvement in your wife's case," Mulder says.

"And you believe a criminal?"

"We do not have enough evidence to neither confirm nor deny his involvement in this case. That is what this investigation is for, Mr. Erickson. If Ronald Mulch is indeed responsible for your wife's disappearance, then we need your help in telling us what happened that night," I say.

Erickson says nothing for nearly a minute, just looks at the remote control in his hand again.

"I can't help you," he finally says, "I was out looking for my kids when she disappeared. I didn't see anything. I don't remember anything."

"Sir, can we ask you a few questions about your life before your wife disappeared?" Mulder asks.

"Like what would you need to know?" Erickson asks with some reservation in his voice. He finally looks up at Mulder, and curiously cocks his head to the side.

"You had a home in Las Cruces before moving to Albuquerque. What did you do for a living before the move?" Mulder asks the man.

Erickson sets down the remote control and picks up a package of cigarettes from the table next to his recliner. He strikes a match and puts it to his cigarette.

"I worked at the White Sands Test Facility," he says as he takes a drag on his freshly lit cigarette.

"In what capacity, sir?" I ask him.

His eyes shift between Mulder and me, and he takes another long drag and blows out smoke in our direction.

"For NASA. Not much else I can say about it," Erickson says as he tries to straighten out an imaginary wrinkle in his pants with his free hand.

Mulder looks over to me with his eyebrow raised.

"Why did you leave that job in 1975?" Mulder asks.

"I grew disenchanted with government work. My wife wanted to finish her degree. I wanted to get away," he says as he snubs out his cigarette and quickly lights another one.

"What did you do before you worked there?" I ask.

"My job in research and development required extensive traveling. I was hardly home. That is why the position at White Sands looked so good. I could settle down with my wife and kids," he says, "But then the hours got long. I wasn't able to watch my kids grow up. Like I said, I wanted to get away."

"Do you talk to your son often," Mulder asks.

"We had a parting of the ways several years back. I love him dearly. I'll even vote for him in every election, but I cannot support some of his personal beliefs," he says softly.

I would like to believe this man, but there is something about him that just gnaws at me. I sense there is something that he knows that he feels he can never divulge, even if it would mean peace in the family.

"Mr. Erickson, do you believe in extraterrestrial life?" Mulder asks him.

This is always a wonderful spot in any conversation. I'm never sure whether we are going to be laughed out of the room or are going to have to listen to a half hour of alien abduction theories.

"No sir, I do not," he says. It is the first time he has said anything with the self assurance that his son possesses.

"Your son seems to believe they were involved in your wife's disappearance," Mulder says.

I let him chase this line of questioning. I have yet to ask someone these questions without the sound of doubt filling my voice. I believe in so much more than I used to, but I still can't do thiis like Mulder can. He can as these questions without any doubt in his voice and he is not worried about people calling him crazy. He's heard it for years.

"Desperate men grasp for what ever straw they think will be the hardest to disprove, Agent Mulder. That way they are safe. No way to prove it. No way to disprove it, either. Paul has run the gamut with every other option. That is what he felt was left," Erickson say, as he continues to take slow drags on his second cigarette.

Mulder stands up and so does Mr. Erickson.

"Well, Mr. Erickson, thank for your time. We will be getting back to you if we find anything," Mulder says. I stand and follow them both to the door.

"Agent Mulder, some things in this world are just better left unknown," is the last thing the older man says as he shuts and locks his door.

"That man was so vague and obscure, I could swear he was channeling my mother," I say as Scully and I get back into the car.

"He did admit to working for NASA, thought. Mulder, if NASA really can control the weather, do you think they would make it rain more than eleven inches a year here?" she asks as she expertly folds the map of New Mexico back up.

"I want to find out what he did before he worked at White Sands. One just doesn't end up with a job there that they can't discuss without some kind of background in something," I say as I pull out of the cul de sac Thomas Erickson lives on.

"The family is originally from here. That is why he chose to come back here after his wife disappeared. Maybe there is some record on the family here. How come in all those boxes of paperwork, there is not one single mention of Thomas Erickson's past. Do you think he's trying to hide something?" Scully asks.

"Here. Try to find out where city hall is or where the library is," I say as I hand Scully a local map, "I don't think we can just show up at the White Sands Test Facility and ask them if they remember Thomas Erickson. He' been gone from there for twenty-seven years, and although they probably keep marvelous records..."

"Our history of successfully navigating through a restricted military zone is spotty at best?" she says with a slight grin.

"What we have here is Thomas Erickson saying Mulch did it, Senator Erickson saying aliens did it, Mulch saying someone did it but he isn't going to tell us. The only thing I think is that Mulch isn't involved with the
abduction..."

"Abduction, Mulder?" Scully asks as she tried to figure out where we are on the horribly drawn local map.

"Well, one way or another she was abducted. Mulch might have been there, and he might have seen something, but I don't think he did it. Thomas Erickson was there, was left alone with Ellen Erickson until he went after the kids. God only knows what happened in that time. And why wasn't he questioned more
back after it happened? Why was the finger of blame pointed at Mulch so soon?" I ask.

"The Sierra County hall of records is down that way, Mulder," Scully tells me as she points towards the right road.

"I'm going to call Reid and see what he can find out through the field office about the senator's father. I'm sure they gave up on Mulch hours ago," I say as I grab my cell phone and pull the car into a parking space in
front of what appears to be city hall, "I'll catch up with you."

I find Scully several minutes later looking through some early newspaper archives.

"They said it would be awhile before they could pull any official documents on the Erickson family. How did their day go with Ronald Mulch?" she asks me as she sees me approach.

"A good time was had by all. I figure if we don't find anything here and we get back there early enough tomorrow..." I start to say.

"Get back?" she asks, as she absently flips through an old file of clippings about influential Truth or Consequences folk.

"Yeah. I would like to see what we can find and go back and talk to Mr. Erickson again in the morning. I don't want to have to drive all the way back here," I tell her as I notice the name Erickson on a society page story she just flipped to.

"Mr. George Erickson, New Mexico State Senator and his son, Mr. Thomas Erickson, of the State Department..." Scully starts to read the caption beneath what is obviously a picture taken at Thomas Erickson's wedding.

"I'll be damned," is all I can say as I grab my phone to tell Reid what I need him to look in to.

"Mulder," Scully says after I hang up, "just because he worked for the state department in the late sixties doesn't necessarily mean anything. He said he was in research and development. He could have been doing anything."

"Well, we aren't going to find out tonight. Reid says there is some kind of server hang up, so it will be morning before he can get anything for me, and I don't want to go back to Mr. Erickson until we have something real and concrete to ask. Is there anything else in that pile?" I ask Scully.

"Ma'am?" a young clerk asks Scully as she hands her a pile of paper, "These are the only records I could find. They are only birth and death records and land deeds. Please bring them back when you are finished with them."

"Thank you," Scully says as she and I start flipping through the old public records.

"George Erickson died in 1975, the same time Thomas Erickson grew 'disenchanted' with government work. Apparently, George left Thomas and his two sisters a large tract of land outside of Las Cruces, but it hasn't been sold or parceled out yet," Scully says as she reads through a few records.

"This has nothing in it, except the year of Thomas' birth. Nothing new here. Should we go find a place to stay so I can make a few phone calls?" I ask her.

"Sure. There isn't anything we can do here until tomorrow anyway," Scully says as she gathers up the papers to take to the clerk.

**
We All Fall Down (4/4) A Christopher Scully Story
Author: Jori Remington
e-mail: damienma@bellsouth.net
Rating: This part is a NC-17
Archive: Yes
See part one for summary and disclaimers

"~"~"~"~"~""~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~""

Charles Motel and Bath House
Truth or Consequences, New Mexico

"Okay. Yes, that will be fine, Diana. Okay. Put Reid on. Hi. We will be back by tomorrow afternoon if this information on the senator's father doesn't pan out. Yeah. Okay. Bye," Mulder says, as he finally hangs up the phone.

We are standing by the front desk at a small motel and Mulder has been on the phone constantly since we left the hall of records.

"I have to tell you now that I only have one room left. One room with...one bed," the desk clerk tells us as soon as Mulder pockets his phone.

He turns to me with an eyebrow already up. I guess from the way we look, she is assuming we would need two rooms. Perhaps we are being mistaken for traveling salesmen or Jehovah's Witnesses again.

"Agent Scully, will that be okay? I will sleep on the floor if you want me to," Mulder says with a slight grin. It takes me a moment to figure out he's playing some cute game, so I go along with it.

"I'd prefer that you slept in the car but...," I say, trying not to grin back at him, "well okay, as long as you promise to sleep on the floor and keep your hands to yourself."

"Okay then," the desk clerk says, shaking her head at the exchange that just occurred, "here is some information about our mineral baths and other therapies we offer here. Let me know if you would like to reserve a bath."

Mulder signs the credit card slip and takes the key from the woman. We leave the front office and he grabs an overnight bag from the trunk.

"I would have appreciated some warning, Mulder. I didn't know we were spending the night," I say to him as I follow him into the room.

"You can wear something of mine. You always do anyway."

"I have yet to ever have to wear your boxer shorts. I just wish you might have suggested that we could possibly be spending the night elsewhere. I would have liked to bring some personal items with me. Like the breast pump I had to go out and buy," I say, sounding quite shrew-like.

"I can take care of that breast thing if you want me to. Besides, I thought you'd be happy to be away from Diana," he says to me pointedly.

He has a point there. If I hang my suit now, it will be okay for tomorrow, and I saw a discount store somewhere near by where I could get some other personal essentials that would be good enough for one day.

Mulder flops down on the king sized bed and sighs loudly.

"What?" I ask.

"Do you know how many years I fantasized about going to a motel with you and hearing them say they only had one room with one bed and no damn roll-away. It would have been so deliciously contrived, so perfect. And now, it finally happened and it doesn't matter anymore anyway because we share one room and one bed all the time," he says to me, covering his eyes with his forearm as if he is in deep thought. Or deep fantasy.

"How many years, Mulder?" I ask, curious to find out his answer.

"Excuse me?" he asks, moving his arm and looking at me.

"You said you fantasized about it for years? How many?" I ask again, as I sit down on the bed beside him.

"I don't know..." he says, sounding like a guilty man. That is what he is right now. I want to know how long he wished for me to be in his bed. All this time together, and we've never discussed this. Well, no time like the present.

"Pick a year. That is what it will be tonight. No Senator Erickson. No Thomas Erickson formerly of the state department. No home life across the country. No baby, no house and the X-Files are still ours. Pick a year, tell me where we are..." I say to him slowly.

We usually don't play games. We are mostly just tired parents glad to make it through another day. What I'm not going to admit to him is how many years I hoped for one motel room or damn sleeping bags from heaven or whatever it would have taken to make him shake loose. Then when it did finally happen the first time, I ruined it. I ran scared. I wish I could change all that and take back the words I said, but I can't.

"Make it as contrived as you want to, Mulder. Pick the year. Pick the city. Tell me what we are doing. What case it is... lets pretend it's the first time all over again," I say softly.

"You aren't going to go batty on me again in the morning, are you?" he asks with a smile.

"No. Pick the year you first knew you were in love with me," I say to him, curling up next to his body. He is perfectly still, and I can barely sense his breathing. I think I hit something here. Fox Mulder doesn't want to
admit when he really fell in love with me.

I have fallen in and out of love with Mulder many times. I was so out of love with him one year that I didn't even know why I still bothered and I have no idea what force held us together. Then I was in love with him again. Then back out of love. Now, after all this time, I simply love him, and I assume he feels the same.

"Pick that year?" he mumbles to me, avoiding it, "First of all, I seriously doubt if I told you the year, and this was that year, you'd be snuggling up to me like this."

"You never know," is all I say.

He sits up, looks intently at me and says, "You want to play the game for real, Scully? You wouldn't be doing this in 1994."

I'm slightly taken aback for a moment. 1994 was a long time ago. Eight years ago. More importantly, the year I was abducted.

"Really?" I ask, more curious about this then I am with the game we were playing.

"You asked me when I knew I was in love with you. It was 1994," he says as he lies back down and covers his eyes once more, "When you were gone, I was lost. I didn't eat. I didn't sleep. I meandered through the days and I didn't know what to do. It was an epiphany really. I knew then that I needed you...that I loved you."

"Mulder, why didn't you say anything?" I ask as I touch him lightly on the hand that is resting next to me.

"I said lots of things, Scully. You never heard what I was trying to say. I just never outright said "I love you" until... well, never mind," he says, pulling away from my touch and rolling over in the opposite direction.

More of my blunders in life. I used to believe that Mulder's only focus in life was Samantha. I believed it so much I didn't even notice when his focus slowly shifted from his missing sister over to me. It just happened. There weren't any fireworks or grand proclamations. Just one day I became more important.

"So, where are we, Mulder? Tell me what motel only had one room that year. What city are we in?" I ask, not wanting to ruin the game that started so well.

"Minneapolis. You didn't go back home. You stayed with me, you confided in me and let me help you. He never had the chance to hurt you" he says quietly.

"Who never hurts... oh, that impish necrophiliac with a fetish problem?," I say. This was not the easiest of cases for me. But that isn't what this is about, "Do we make it to the football game, Mulder?"

"What?" he asks.

"You had football tickets. I remember that much," I say to him. He doesn't reply for a minute or two, instead I just watch him. He's thinking. Dangerous stuff.

"I might be able to remember these things better if I wasn't always saving your ass, Scully," he says with a grin.

"I think I've saved your ass a fair number of times, Mulder," I say. I want to be next to him, comfortable and content as we joke around with each other.

"I gave you the year, Scully. I said you wouldn't be sitting in the bed with me like this," Mulder finally says.

"What would I be doing?" I ask.

"Telling me that I'll be sleeping on the floor or ordering up a cot for me to sleep on."

"Mulder, we are two adults. I think we can sleep in the same bed," I say, trying to fall into what I would have said in 1994, "Besides, there are enough pillows. We can just build a little pillow wall in between us."

"I'm sorry about this, Scully. We should have checked in to rooms earlier, but I didn't know we would be staying this long," he says in a pleading tone, "I didn't plan for this turn out like this."

"I'm fine with it, Mulder. I trust you. Now, you said there was something in your bag I could wear? I'm tired and would like to get some rest," I say, knowing full well something better than sleep will be going on in this room eventually.

I dig through his bag and pull out a T-shirt and head off to the bathroom, which is where 1994 me would get changed.

I come back and find Mulder watching ESPN while sitting on the bed. He pulled back my side of the sheets and there is a little wall of pillows in between us. He is also wearing just his boxer shorts and a T-shirt. He was never as modest as I am. I used to be.

"Who won the game?" I ask as I lie down on my side of the bed and cover myself with the blankets.

"They haven't said yet," he says as he flips off the TV, "Well, goodnight, Scully."

"Goodnight, Mulder," I say back into the dimly lit room. The sun hasn't even entirely set and it is filtering through the cracks in the blinds.

Mulder doesn't move. He just stays put on the other side of the pillows. I wait for him to say something or do something, but he doesn't budge an inch.

I watch the digital clock on the nightstand count off five minutes. He still remains silent, with the only sound from his side of the bed being his slow, rhythmic breathing.

"Mulder?" I finally ask, "Is this your fantasy? Just being in bed with me?"

He props himself up on his elbow and looks at me over the pillows.

"Scully, you told me it was 1994. If I would have tried anything on you in 1994, you would have kicked my ass all the way back to D.C."

"I guess you're right. I wouldn't have been ready for this in 1994," I say, laughing. Was I even in love with him in 1994? I don't remember.

He pushes aside a few of the pillows, instantly moving us back into 2002. Slowly, he pulls my covers off of me and traces his finger across my abdomen. His eyes never stop watching me.

"What year would you have been ready?" he asks, turning the tables on me, "What year would you have let me make love to you?"

I shut my eyes, trying to sort through all the ups and downs we've been through. There had to be a time that I could have fallen into him so fast I wouldn't have been able to save myself. Unfortunately, it just wasn't the
first time we actually consummated our relationship, ending all those years of dancing around the issue.

"Who says I'm going to let you make love to me now?" I say, with a grin.

In a flash, he pulls me over the pillows and onto his side of the bed, where he positions me on top of him.

"What year, Scully? Name the place where you would have let me do this," he says, as he slowly kisses me and moves his hand up to caress my breast.

"In 1998. I would have let you do that in 1998," I mumble when we release from our kiss, "Or maybe 1999."

"Where would we have been in 1998 or maybe 1999?" he asks as he slowly moves his fingers under my, or rather, his shirt.

"I don't know, Mulder. Sioux City, Iowa?" I answer, trying to remember any place we might have spent the night that year.

"Oh, yeah. Mulder and Scully on their way to bust yet another farmer for purchasing a copious amount of shit. Well, we did a lot of traveling that year, and stayed in a lot of motels," he says, his hand stopping for a
moment.

"I know. I paid for most of them," I say, poking him in the ribs.

"Hey! I bought you a house."

We are quiet again for another minute, just enjoying being together with almost no cares in the world. At least we could try to pretend for an hour that was so.

"What would you have done to me in 1998?" I ask, sitting up and away from his groping hands, "What would you have done to me in Sioux City, Iowa?"

"Scully, it probably wouldn't have been slow. Not like it is between us now. I needed you so much...all those years I wanted you but could never have you. Not until they did whatever it is..." he starts to say.

"You can have me now. Make it like it's the first time, Mulder. Make it 1998," I bend down and whisper in his ear, not wanting to discuss our actual first time and the forces that made it so.

He moves me off of him and slowly undresses me, and it seems like forever even though I am only wearing a T-shirt and panties. Another two quick tugs of clothing, and he naked beside me.

"Scully?" he asks me plaintively as he pulls me closer to his body.

"What?" I ask back, as I can feel his hardness against my thigh.

"I didn't exactly bring protection with me to work," he says almost sounding defeated, as if all this playing is going nowhere.

"It'll be okay, Mulder. I doubt that I will ever get pregnant again. Not without that outside intervention we had with Christopher. The weather looks pretty clear today."

He stops the tiny movements he was making with his hand and looks at me. He is trying to judge my feelings about this fact that I'm slowly beginning to accept. Christopher was a gift from somebody. Without 'them' there would be no baby. Mulder's eyes fill with pain and I don't know whether it pain for me or pain for us.

"Besides, in 1998, I didn't think I could get pregnant anyway, Mulder," I say with a sad smile. None of that hurts as much as it did now that I have Christopher. It only hurts because I don't know if I can ever have another one.

"Scully, as much as I love this game, I'd rather have you as Scully 2002. My Scully. The one I know I can go home to. The one who had my son. I one I know loves me back as much as I love her," he says to me, still holding me but not pushing me to do anything.

"Okay," I say. I'm surprised he doesn't want to keep up this little fantasy we were getting into.

"I love *this* Scully," he says slowly as a he moves a fingertip across my tummy, "I love all that these past few years have allowed you to become."

"I love you, too," is all I can think to say, but always happy to hear him say it. His finger is now slowly tracing gentle lines across my hips.

"I love this slightly softer belly that you are trying so desperately to get rid of thought I don't know why. I love each and every tiny stretch mark you got when you were pregnant. I love these breasts even though they aren't mine right now. I love this nifty little scar you have right here," he says as his finger draws a line across my pubic region.

"I don't believe the stretch mark part..." I start to say, knowing I don't like the now faded stretch marks that seemed inevitable with my pregnancy.

"None of these things would have existed in '94 or '98 and these are the things I love about you and my life right now. I might not love my job such as it is and some days I downright hate it, but I love you. I love our home. I love Christopher. I don't want to pretend that any of that doesn't exist. I love knowing you, like this."

"But I wanted to redo that awful first time, Mulder. I want to make it better."

It is true. I have felt guilty about that for awhile now. He bared his soul to me that morning and I couldn't even look at him. The shock of it was too new, new sudden. He was my partner and I didn't ever expect it to become more. Sometimes I dreamed about it becoming more, but never thought those dreams would amount to anything. Nothing so abrupt, anyway. So much has changed since those first few tentative months.

"First times have a lot going for them, Scully. The thrill at something new, with everything yet to discover," he says to me softly, so lovingly, "But there is something to be said for this. I know every tiny crease of your
body. I know your hands, your face, even your feet, as if they are my own. I know how to make you happy, Scully. You and I will never have another first time with anybody else. Well, not until I die of a massive coronary at seventy-five and you go off on one of those senior cruises and seduce a merengue dance instructor."

"You think that is going to happen? You think I have to wait another thirty-five years to seduce a merengue dance instructor?" I ask, knowing full well I'm in for it now.

"You know, Scully, the flip side of knowing you so well is I know exactly every spot you are ticklish in," he says as he damn near pounces me, straddles my hips and holds me down.

"Mulder, stop it!" I cry out, laughing. This would look so silly if someone was watching. Mulder, naked and on top of me, giving me the tickling of my life.

"I love you, Scully. Don't forget it," he says as he looks down at me. His eyes are so sure and so I honest I can't help but believe him.

"Thank you, Mulder. I needed to hear all those things. I was starting to think you were beginning to feel a little unhappy with your life with me." I say to him.

"I'm not unhappy with my life with you. Not at all. I'm sorry you felt that way."

"Now, do you have any fantasies that include me and motel rooms in the present?" I ask him as I eyeball up the top of the dresser with the lovely large mirror.

She is wrapped around me, her behind up on the short side of the dresser, her legs and arms entwining me tight. With every movement into her, all I want to know is when she was first in love with me. I don't care to know when she first knew she loved me, but rather when she was in love with me. Such a subtle distinction, yet an important one. She could love me without being in love with me. She could love me as a partner and a friend, but that's not the same.

I fell shamelessly head over heels in love with this woman eight years ago. I want to know when the feeling was reciprocated.

"Scully?" I ask as she throws her head back away from me, arching her back in pleasure.

"Mmmm?" she asks. Her eyes are closed and she looks lost in the moment.

"When were you first in love with me?" I ask as I continue my slow, deliberate thrusts in and out of her body.

Her eyes snap open and she looks at our reflection in the mirror instead of at me.

"When?" is all she manages to say to my mirror image.

"I was just curious." I say, somewhat sheepishly considering what we are in the middle of.

"Now is a funny time to ask. Oh, yes. That is...good," she moans, as she finally faces me and puts her head onto my shoulder.

"You can tell me," not wanting her to be afraid if the answer is only last year or last week or whenever.

"The first time I fell in love with you..."

"The first time? Am I, yeah, Scully, that's good...to conclude that you fell out of love with me, then?" I ask her, shocked at her revelation, but not fully able to express it considering the circumstance.

"Mulder, I fell in love with you three times that I can think of. I only fell out of love with you twice," she says, her breaths almost coming out as pants.

"Really?" I ask, not able to form a more coherent sentence than that at the present moment.

"Really, but I knew I was in deep, yeah, like that," she says as she pulls me tighter to her, her muscles contracting around me, making it so hard to hold on through this conversation, "I, uh, knew I was in deep by the end of 1998. There was no going back then."

"What made you fall?" I ask slowly.

"Mulder?" she asks me.

"What?"

"Can we finish this conversation, um...some other...time..." she says as she thrashes backwards again.

I look in the mirror at her face. She is happy. I guess I can wait for my answers as long as she is happy.

"Yes. I can wait. Scully?"

"What, Mulder?" she asks back impatiently.

"Ever have a fantasy about doing it in a hot mineral spring tub?" I ask playfully.

"Not right now I don't. Oh, yes. That's it," she moans as I move my hand to just the right spot and make slow, teasing little circular motions.

We say nothing more about love, instead preferring to act it out. I move to the bed with her wrapped around me still and I lie down with her body on top of mine. She does all the work without comment, and our eyes lock on to each others. Her blue eyes appear wild and desperate, needing me to give her more.

I once again find just the right spot, the one I know so well, and she grinds on my hand while moving so slowly up and down my cock. She stops moving for a brief second and moves my hand away from her clit, instead choosing for us to hold hands as she rides the waves of her orgasm.

I watch her come above me, her eyes closed, her tongue flicking out to lick the corner of her lips. I listen to her come, as she moans my name. I can feel her quaking around me as it spreads from her body to mine. Her head dips towards mine and our mouths meet, hungry for each other.

Finally, when her shuddering subsides, she breaks away from our kiss and whispers, "Your turn, Mulder."

As she rests on top of me, I have the most wonderful view of where we are joined and I don't think I can wait much longer for her to begin moving again. I put my hands on her hips and show her the pace I desire so badly. She matches what I need with ease. This is so perfect. I reach up and grab those breasts that 'aren't' mine right now and feel the lovely bounce of them in my hands as she continues to maneuver above me.

"Faster, Scully. Oh, please..." I moan.

She surprises me and stops.

"Wha...?" I ask.

"Shush," is all she says.

She pulls herself up and off of me and the cold motel room air rushes in. Going from the fiery molten lava deep inside her to the arctic ice chilled air causes a painfully erotic ache in my groin. I almost come from sensory overload. Then she simply turns around and lowers herself again. I have the most wonderful view of her beautiful ass now and I love it.

Then I see what she was trying to accomplish. She now has a all-encompassing view of us in that mirror. This is certainly new. Scully the voyeur.

I move my hands around her small waist as she continues the pace I asked for. I know I can't hold off much longer and I don't want to come inside her. All the biology in my head tells me it is too late to worry about that, and this isn't any form of birth control, but as I feel myself beginning to topple over that edge, I pull her off of me.

"Scully, I don't wanna...inside. I'm so close," I tell her.

She wraps her hand around me and applies a firm pressure. I'm so wet from being inside her and this feels so good. A few pulls and I spurt cum all over my abdomen and her hand.

Scully takes her hand and smears my semen all over my stomach, slowly rubbing it in as one would rub in baby oil. She has an evil smile on her face and it is one I don't get to see too often.

"Protein mask?" I ask, hoping she lets me get up and wash it off before it turns to glue.

She takes the finger that just ran a trail of cum up to my chest and licks it slowly. She dips her finger back into the mess and moves it towards my mouth. She traces a line along my lower lip, then leans in to lick and kiss away her artistry. When she finally comes up for air, I lick my lips and say, "Ummm, I think you missed some. Tastes kind of salty and...and...something else."

She just continues smiling as we enjoy the simple pleasures of being together.

"When I took a freshman biology course, one section was on sperm production," she starts to say as she snuggles next to me, still rubbing the sticky substance into my skin, "The professor was talking about all the
sugars and polysaccharides that went into the semen during production and half the people weren't listening as usual. I think it was a Friday before a three day weekend and we were all dying to get out of there. We didn't care if the lecture focused on sex or not. Anyway, one poor little freshman girl raised her hand and asked 'If semen is made up of sugars, then why does it taste so salty.' The whole class went silent. I was lost, because I couldn't figure out how she knew semen tasted like salt."

I start laughing, ashamed at myself because I can feel the embarrassment that poor girl must have felt.

Leave it to my Catholic school girl Scully to have to wonder how someone would know what semen tastes like.

"Did she ever come back?" I ask.

"Would you?" Scully says, as she props herself up to look at me.

"Did you ever figure out how she knew it tastes like salt?" I ask, curious as to when Scully discovered the art of the blow job.

"Obviously," is all she says with a smile.

"Scully, I've got to go wash this off or else I'm going to stick to everything. I'll be right back," I tell her as I sit up. I don't want to bring up that unfinished conversation just yet. I don't want to hear about the bad times she had with me.

"Take your time. I'm going to get dressed and run up to that store I saw before they close. You need anything?" she asks as she grabs my T-shirt to put on again. We both go into the bathroom, but all she does is wash her hands.

"Just you," I tell her as she goes to leave, "and some seeds. That's all I've ever needed."

I turn on the shower water and am about to step in when I hear a knock on the door. I shut off the water and quickly grab a towel to hold in front of me and answer the door.

"Did you forget the key..." I start to say, assuming it is Scully.

"Good evening, Agent Mulder."

It is the nameless man from the garage, the one who talked to me after our meeting the senator last week.

"Can I help you?" I ask

He steps around me and enters the room.

"I see you are putting your all into this case," he says. The bed sheets are all in a tangle and strewn on the floor and there are pillows everywhere. Besides that, it smells like a dorm room on a Saturday night.

"Well, you know, we so seldom get away from the hassles of everyday life. Why in the hell am I explaining this to you?" I say, as I drop my towel and put on my boxers, figuring these people have probably seen it all already anyway. I sit down on the chair, now wishing to hell Scully hadn't done what she did on my stomach.

"I just wanted to check in, seeing how things were progressing," he says, not looking at all uncomfortable considering the situation he walked into. I guess cum-covered naked FBI agents just aren't all that threatening to underworld informants.

"So, how am I doing. Do I get little check marks for 'stays on task' and 'plays well with others'?" I ask.

"The senator's father is an interesting waste of your time," he says sharply, turning to look me dead in the eye.

"Right. He worked for NASA, who, from what I have been told lately, are involved in a few subversive plots of their own. Before that he worked for the state department, whom I learned to love and trust since childhood," I say.

"Nice melodramatic fatuity, Agent Mulder. However, Thomas Erickson was nothing more than a mediocre research scientist. He did a rather nondescript stint at the White Sands, but it was so short a tenure as to be of no use to you now. Following that path would be unproductive." he says, as he finally sits down on the edge of the bed.

"And what should we be looking for? I have a convicted murderer up in Santa Fe who isn't going to spill his guts and cry that he did it. I have the husband of the missing woman who wants it all to go away. I have a senator who wants me to tell him aliens abducted his mother so he can have a nice, simple answer that fits in his paradigm of reality. I don't exactly have a lot to go on here," I say.

He says nothing for awhile. He just stares at me through squinted eyes, as if I should know all the answers already. Hell, nobody is leaving me a bread crumb trail to follow exactly. Just vague inferences and shallow
threats.

"Dig deeper into what happened that night. Give Mulch what he wants before someone else does. Your time is running out and Thomas Erickson is a dead end," he says as he stands up.

He walks out the door leaving it open and I can only just stare at his back as he walks off into the night. Scully pulls up into the parking spot in front of our door and gets out of the car.

"Who was that?" she asks.

"Our newest informant, for what it's worth. Actually, he is our newest person telling us what and what not to touch. I don't trust him, Scully," I tell her as she comes back into the room and I close the door, bolting it in
every way possible.

"He's the one who said they won't touch Christopher?" she asks, as she puts down the bag with her purchases.

"That's the one. He said we aren't supposed to bother the senator's father. He has nothing to do with this."

She fingers through the bag and tosses me a little package of sunflower seeds.

"And we are expected to believe him? We don't even know who he is. For all we know, he is working against us," she says.

"I'm just going to continue on with what we were doing, investigation-wise that is. Tomorrow we will find out more about Mr. Erickson and figure out how to make Ronald Mulch loosen up. I'm not going to aimlessly follow this man's recommendations. I don't even know who the hell he is." I say as I watch her sit down in the same spot my newest 'friend' was just sitting in.

"See how fast we get dragged back into the real world, Mulder. It is amazing we have made it this long."

I want to finish up my conversation we started while I had her up on the dresser, but my cell phone rings.

"Mulder," I answer.

"It's Reid. We just got wind of the fact that Ronald Mulch is being released tomorrow morning. You might want to get back up here."

"What the fuck is going on up there?" I say, and Scully asks me what's wrong. She puts her head next to mine to listen in.

"The warden called a few minutes ago, wanting to know if we were responsible for the release of this criminal. I didn't know what to say. The warden wants to meet with us in an hour. I know you can't make it that fast, but can you get up here?" Reid asks.

"We'll be back in a few hours. Hang tight. We've got Mulch there until morning. You and Diana head up to Santa Fe already and we'll meet you there. Tell the warden it's our job to put them in there, not let them out," I say as I click off my phone.

"Scully, what were you saying about the real world?" I ask my partner as I stand up and finally head for the shower.