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This author's e-mail address has changed to: damienma@netroenterprises.com
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We All Fall Down I
by Jori

Mulder and Scully leave Christopher behind to head to New Mexico to
investigate a twenty-five year old abduction that may or may not have
extraterrestrial involvement. NC-17/


~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~
The Scully/Mulder residence
April 15, 2002
5:07 a.m.

A small wrinkle around sleepy eyes. A gentle crease around his mouth. A
tiny fold of skin on his neck.

I am trying to memorize all of him, to learn every inch by heart. I
drink in his scent, not wanting to ever forget this small moment in time.

He is sleeping in my arms, nestled tightly against my breast. He
breathes softly and moves slightly to free himself from my hold. I do
not let go. I cannot let go.

His hand moves up and touches my face, yet he doesn't wake up. He
instinctively knows how far away I am from him. We've been here so many
times before. So many hours of me holding him, loving him in a way only
I can.

His eyelids flutter and he enters another dream. What does he dream
about and does he have nightmares? Am I the only person who can take his
nightmares away? What if I wasn't ever here to help him?

I know my fears sometimes border on irrational, but I can't suppress
them. I don't want to leave him, I think as I stroke his brow.

"Scully, the Land of Enchantment awaits. We're going to be late," Mulder
says from the doorway, looking at his watch.

I silently hold up my index finger, letting him know I'm not quite ready
to give up this moment with my son yet. Mulder sighs, leans up against
the door frame to Christopher's room and watches me rock our child.

Mulder has been away from us for days at a time already. Sometimes I
could swear he is happy to be away, although he would never admit to
that. I have yet to leave my son overnight, and I honestly am not ready
for it. He's not a helpless newborn anymore, but he is still a baby. He
is my baby.

I look up at Mulder. His features are softened by the tranquil light
pouring from the night light in the nursery. I look down at my son and
then back up at his father. With this lighting, I can see what Mulder
must have looked like nearly forty years ago, before childhood and
adolescence set his features. A time before this life we have led
supplied those features with tiny stress lines and slight wrinkles. He
is by no means old, but he certainly does not look as young as he did
that day I first walked into his office. He continues to stand there,
just watching me.

Did his mother rock him back to sleep as when he was a baby? Surely she
must have. I am almost jealous and scared of whatever bond she may have
formed with him in those early morning hours so many years ago. Jealous
to think at one time he needed no other person on earth besides her.
Scared that now he doesn't need her at all. I look at my son, dreading
the inevitable day that this will happen to us, like it does to all
mothers and sons.

"Scully..." Mulder says again, imploring me to put my son back to bed
and get moving.

Mulder is glad to be doing something else other than terrorism. Even
though he chose to put himself on that detail this time, I know it bores
him desperately. Only twice since he returned to it has he found the
case worthy of his attention. The rest of the time he just slides by
with even less than a minimal amount of effort.

I'm also sure this little life of 'domestic bliss' is beginning to get
to him. Everything I've ever dreamed of is everything he's never wanted.
Some days I can see it in his eyes. He looks trapped and I don't know
how to free him. Maybe that look is why I can't marry him yet. I love
him but can't give him what he needs. He loves me but that isn't going
to be enough.

I look back up at Mulder and he cocks his head towards the side. It is
his way of telling me we have to go. He doesn't understand that I really
don't want to do this anymore. Somehow, mysteriously, I've moved past
needing that life. I stopped chasing after all things elusive, but he
just can't. That particular journey with him ended for me, as a new one
began.

My own mother joins Mulder in the doorway and whispers something to him.
He just nods and walks off in the direction of the stairs.

"Dana, Christopher will be okay," my mother says as she enters the room,
"You can call every ten minutes to check on him. We won't mind."

"But will I be okay?" I ask her, my voice cracking slightly. I don't
know why I'm so upset. I certainly didn't expect to be.

"Honey, it will only be for a few days," she says, putting her hand on
my shoulder, "You will be back before you know it. I won't let him do
anything spectacular while you are gone. I promise there will be no
first steps, no rewriting Einstein."

"You promise?" I ask, smiling up at her.

"I promise," she says,

I kiss Christopher's head and take a deep breath filled with the scent
of baby shampoo. One more small aspect of him I need to remember for
however many days I might be gone. It is so silly of me, but I can't
help myself sometime. He is already growing up so fast and now I have to
miss some of those days.

Mom carefully slips Christopher from my arms and carries him back to his
crib, covering him gently with his Paddington Bear comforter. We stand
over his crib for a few seconds more before we leave his room and shut
the door behind us.

"There's enough frozen breast milk to last a week," I tell her as we
make our way through the baby gates and down the stairs, "He's only been
nursing at night before bedtime. He's been taking a bottle of formula in
the morning instead of nursing for the last few weeks. Also, his food is..."

"Dana, I do this everyday. Remember?" my mother asks me.

"I know. I know. I'm sorry. It's just been awhile since I was away on a
field assignment.," I say, "I...we used to pick up and go off on a
moments notice all the time. It used to be so easy. Just get on an
airplane, leaving no one behind."

"No one ever said having kids was easy," she says to me in that mother
tone she gets occasionally.

"No one ever said it could be this hard, either," I say to her.

"Wait until he's a toddler," my mother says with a laugh, "Or better
yet, a teenager with a mind of his own. Just like his parents. Heaven
help us!"

I find Mulder standing over the kitchen sink, staring out the window at
the backyard.

"Mulder? Are you ready," I ask him and he jumps slightly.

"I'm the one who's been waiting. Let's go," he says as he walks past me
out the door.

*****************************************************

We are only minutes out of the Dallas/Fort Worth airport when the plane
hits turbulence and descends rapidly. It only lasts a few seconds, but
Scully grabs my hand and holds on tight for several minutes. She
eventually relaxes her death grip, but doesn't move her hand out of mine.

I can see Agent Reid eyeballing us from across the aisle. Maybe he
thinks that at any moment Scully and I are going to go to the lavatory
and establish our membership into the 'Mile High Club.' Or renew our
membership. I'll leave it up to his imagination.

"Scully, what's wrong? You've been edgy all morning. You seemed fine all
weekend," I ask her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

"Did you ever think that if anything ever happened to us now, if we were
to die, Christopher would never remember us?" Scully asks, "He is the
most important person in our lives, yet he wouldn't remember us."

Well, that's a little light morning conversation for you.

"It was just some turbulence, Scully," I say to her, "We've been through
worse on flights."

"That's not what I meant," she says.

"Nothing is going to happen to us. Not on this case. We will get in
there, find out this Munch..."

"Mulch," she interrupts.

"Whatever. This *Mulch* guy did it and be home by Wednesday," I tell
her, "Thursday at the latest. In and out. I promise."

She's heard this promise before.

"That's not what you really want, is it?" she asks me quietly. She knows
that Skinner and Diana are sitting directly behind us.

Scully has always known that my quest for that indefinable proof that is
out there didn't end with the birth of Christopher. I am not desperate
enough to risk everything that means anything to her over it, but I'm
not going to just walk blindly by an opportunity when it presents itself.

"I don't know what I want," I say, lying to her, "All I know is nothing
is going to happen to us. To any of us. This isn't fertilizer detail,
Scully, but it isn't the flukeman, either. Is this what you were
thinking about the whole time you spent rocking Christopher?"

Scully releases my hand and puts her head back. She got up at three
o'clock in the morning to be with Christopher, and she already looks
exhausted. A part of me is glad she is coming along. I've missed working
with her. Yet, another part of me wishes they had honored her request
and was allowed to simply continue her assignment at the Academy and her
life as a mother at her home.

"What has happened to me, Mulder?" she asks me, nearly whispering, "When
did I become so afraid?"

"July ninth of last year," I say to her.

"When Christopher was born, I was so scared something would happen to
him. Then I began to accept that certain things were out of my control.
It was hard for me to accept it, but it's true. Now, I'm not only
worried about something happening to him, but what if something happens
to me? To us? I
don't want to miss his life. Aren't you scared that something may happen
to you out in the field?"

"What? You think some poor crop farmer is going to go apeshit and take a
shot at me over a pile of manure?" I ask.

"You've been on more serious cases than that. The one in Atlanta..."

"It's not like it was before, Scully. Have you ever thought that perhaps
the reason I haven't gone back to the X-files is exactly that? Maybe I
worry, too. I worry about not coming home to you and Christopher." I
tell her honestly, before asking, "Did you worry this much before
Christopher?"

She turns her head and looks at me.

"Yes, I worried about you. When ever you would go off on your own, I'd
worry. Why wouldn't I? You were my partner."

"I still am. For this week anyway."

"You are more than that now," she says to me.

"I hope so."

She looks out the little window at her view of the wing for a few
minutes. She hardly said a word to me on the flight from D.C. to Dallas.
Of course, we were sitting three across and she was sandwiched between
Skinner and myself. That doesn't necessarily allow for intimate
conversation.

"You can't keep doing this domestic terrorism detail forever. It's just
not you. I want you to know how much I appreciate what you have given up
and that I don't expect you stay away from the X-files forever. I just
don't think now is the time. It would be like taunting them," she says
softly, leaning into me so others can't hear us.

"It's fine for now. I haven't lost anymore than you have. You never
wanted to be back teaching. Eventually, it will all work out and *we*
will be back to where we belong," I tell her.

She takes hold of my hand again and doesn't let go until we arrive in
Albuquerque.

*************************************************************

Albuquerque Field Office
Albuquerque, New Mexico

The field agent at the Albuquerque office looks a little too happy as he
and an assistant deposit several boxes of material relating to Erickson
on the conference table before us.

"It's all yours," one says as they walk out the door.

I stand up and take the top off one of the storage boxes. Scully grabs
another box and also flips its lid off.

"Well, let's see what we've got here," I mumble as I take out a stack of
twenty-five year old paper work.

Skinner is in the SAC's office and Diana and Reid are waiting for my
instructions. I push a box towards the two of them, and they start
pulling out papers on their side of the conference table.

"What are we looking for?" Agent Reid asks me.

"The killer," I say to him sarcastically.

"I would assume we are looking for anything that might have been missed
in previous investigations, Agent Reid," Scully says to him.

Reid has been an agent for about six years now. How he got to be working
at headquarters, I don't know. Many have said the same about me, so I
don't question it too much. From all reports, he was an excellent field
agent and he rose to the top quickly. Reid probably won't be stuck with
me for long. I'm sure he has better plans than domestic terrorism. Hell,
I have better plans than domestic terrorism.

"Everything here is twenty-five years old," Diana says, as she starts
stacking papers.

"Everything I have is from two years ago to now," Scully says, "which
must have been when the senator got the case reopened here. Except here
is some paperwork from 1992, but there's not much of it."

"That was his first year as a state senator," Diana interjects and my
head shoots up from the papers I was organizing to look at her. I
already knew she had some background on this case, since she gave me the
senator's name in the first place. So far she has said nothing and he
denied even knowing her.

Diana doesn't say anything else and resumes pushing papers. Scully and I
both look at each other, and I can tell she's wondering why we didn't
know that. All the information we were given in D.C. only covered the
incident itself, and the more recent proceedings by the senator to get
the case reopened. I did not know he had tried unsuccessfully to reopen
the case before. I also knew he had a solid political background, but no
where in the papers we received did it say what that background was.
What I knew came from an e-mail from Frohike.

After several hours of combing through various boxes of paperwork and
the scant bit of evidence available, Skinner and SAC Philip Carmen enter
the room and ask for a status report.

"So far, nothing new, sir. We were just going to begin outlining our
plans for tomorrow," Scully says, taking off her glasses and wiping her
eyes. She must be tired. It is seven o'clock at home now and she's now
had a sixteen hour day. Somehow I'm betting we don't get to share a room
this evening, either.

"Agent Mulder, what are the plans for tomorrow?" Skinner asks me.

I break my focus from Scully and look at the assistant director and the
SAC. Carmen just stands behind Skinner with his arms crossed. Although I
get the distinct impression that the agents here are glad to hand this
over, Carmen looks as if his toes have been severely stepped on. I'm
guessing this is why Skinner came along. The two seem to know each
other. When the rest of us were introduced, he barely gave us any
recognition, except to say he had heard of my work. I couldn't tell if
that was good or bad.

"Agent Scully and I are going to go up to the prison in Santa Fe to
interview Ronald Mulch. Agents Reid and Fowley are going to try to track
down Senator Erickson's sister, Jackie. She hasn't been interviewed
about the incident since 1977," I tell him.

"Fine. Let's call it quits for the evening. We will be back here at
eight o'clock in the morning," Skinner says to the group in general.

*********************************************

We All Fall Down I (2/4) A Chris Scully Story

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
fiancs' 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

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

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

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

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.

*******************************

To be continued shortly!
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