Chapter Four

Tuesday, 8:00 am

Panic shot her out of bed the instant her eyes opened to broad daylight streaming through Mulder's blinds. The comforting hum of his electric razor on the other side of the bathroom door cancelled it out a moment later, and she sank back onto the bed to ride out the adrenaline rush.

She didn't even remember falling asleep. Judging by the kinks in her back and the scrambled sheets, it had been far from a restful one.

No surprise there.

Her back creaked like a rusty hinge when she stood up, trying to stretch out the knots. As she leaned to the right, she noticed Mulder's familiar suitcase waiting patiently by the door. He'd apparently been up long enough to pack. Drawers were standing partway open on his dresser and the closet doors gaped at her. Of course. He wouldn't know where anything was. It would be like packing for a stranger.

The humming stopped, and she glanced self-consciously at the dresser mirror. She was patting her hair when he opened the bathroom door.

"I'll be out in a minute."

"No rush. I have calls to make before we can leave." And they would have to stop by her apartment so she could pack.

"I made coffee, by the way," and he ducked back into the bathroom.

"Bless you." One of the calls she needed to make would be to the A.D., and caffeine was definitely a prerequisite.

Mulder had not only made coffee, she soon discovered, but he'd set out a clean mug, cream and sugar packets bearing various airline logos, and a plastic stir stick. He had a drawer full of convenience packets, she knew. Some people accumulated the little liquor bottles. Mulder collected condiments.

After a few fortifying sips, she picked up the kitchen extension and punched in the Gunmen's number.

Byers answered the phone, "Good morning, Agent Scully. I think we've got something for you."

She heard him hand the phone off, and Melvin Frohike's voice boomed in her ear. "Debit cards."

"Yes, I've heard of them."

"Fastest update in the business. Same day, usually. Most merchants have POS terminals, and the charges show up almost immediately. Credit cards are much slower. It didn't occur to me until a little while ago, but when I checked Mulder's debit card, there it was." He paused dramatically.

"Melvin."

"Okay, okay. A motel charge in Farmington from Sunday. I figure that's when he checked out." Paper crackled in her ear. "I don't have the details yet, but he stayed at the Red Mesa on Route 64. I've got the phone number, if you want it."

She wanted it, of course. "You wouldn't happen to know the next flight out, by any chance?"

"I can find out in two seconds. Want me to get you on it?"

"Thanks, but I'll take care of it. I really appreciate your help, I hope you know that."

"No prob. I'll keep digging."

There was a long pause, and she was about to hang up when he finally spoke again. "Uh, if you guys need anything once you're out there... I mean, if there's any trouble or... You do know you can call anytime. For anything." If it were possible for a voice to blush, his was flaming pink.

"I do, Melvin." He had touched her, and she let it show in her voice.

The little man cleared his throat. "Okay, then. Keep in touch. I'll let you know what I find." The dial tone followed immediately.

Scully smiled at the receiver.

"Someone is in a good mood this morning."

She looked up to find Mulder leaning rakishly against the doorframe. He was wearing a white dress shirt and the trousers to his gray suit. "I was talking to Frohike. He found the name of the motel where you spent Saturday night."

The slouch vanished. "We need to stay there, wherever it is."

"I agree." She gave his outfit another look. "I think you should probably dress down a bit. Maybe jeans."

He looked down at his clothes, then back at her. "Too much, huh?"

She smiled. "You look... outstanding, Mulder. That's the problem. We don't want to stand out. Jeans would be better. Think 'country western'."

"I'll have to repack, then." He disappeared back into the bedroom.

Flight reservations were next. There was a Delta flight leaving at 11:44 that they could make with a little luck, and she booked two seats.

A.D. Skinner answered his private line on the first ring. He listened to her update without comment until she told him where she would be if he needed to reach her. He would approve her own participation, he said, but not Mulder's. With no memory of his training or experience, Mulder would be no better than a civilian. A danger to himself, to her and to the investigation.

"I've considered that, sir, but I believe that Agent Mulder's presence is essential. I wouldn't take the risk if I weren't absolutely sure. I won't hesitate to call for backup if it's warranted."

She heard the creak of leather and knew he was leaning back in his chair. Long experience told her he was pinching the bridge of his nose, glasses pushed up to his forehead.

"I have serious misgivings about this, Agent Scully, but I don't imagine there's much I can do to stop you."

"No, sir. There isn't."

He let out a long breath, and she heard acceptance, if not agreement. "Stay in touch, Agent. Daily contact. Understood?"

She did, and the discussion was over. Mulder came up behind her as she was placing the phone back in its cradle.

"I don't want to see you get into trouble because of me."

Pine-scented cardboard trees and liverwurst sandwiches danced in her head as she turned to face him . I wouldn't put myself on the line for anyone but you. "Mulder, I won't get in trouble. And if I did, it would be my fault, not yours."

He looked at her with the same surprise she'd seen in his face that night in his car, but with none of the wariness she'd sensed beneath it. And just as he'd done that night, he changed the subject. "I repacked." He pointed to his duffle bag by the front door. "And changed."

Jeans. Black t-shirt. Doc Martens. "You look like a native, Mulder."

His color pinked up a bit. "Thanks," he said to his shoes.

"Now we have to get moving. Our flight leaves in two hours, and we still have to stop at my apartment."

By the time they pulled up to the parking valet in front of the terminal building, they had less than twenty minutes to get on the plane. Scully unlocked the trunk to retrieve their bags. When Mulder reached for them, she snagged his arm. "Wait. I need to get something."

He stood back while she slipped their ID wallets from the front pocket of her briefcase and handed his to him. "You'll need to show that at Security and at the gate. We'll never make it otherwise."

He flipped it open. "Wow." When he looked back at her, his expression was priceless.

She smothered a smile. "If you go up there with that look on your face, they'll keep us both for questioning." She tapped her index finger on his solemn ID photo. "Try to look like that."

Their dash through the terminal required three separate stops to display ID. Mulder managed to get through all of them with a more or less straight face. When they finally settled into their seats, scant seconds before the cabin door slammed shut, his sigh of relief was audible.

Scully stowed her laptop beneath the seat and turned to look at him. "You did fine, Mulder."

"Thanks. Do we always board planes this way?"

"More often than I'd like."

A chirpy flight attendant stopped to remind them that the plane was taking off in just a few minutes and would they please fasten their seat belts? It was one benefit to being late, Scully reminded herself: less time to anticipate the take-off. It didn't matter how well she understood the physics of flying. It didn't matter that her chances of being killed driving to the airport were vastly greater. Take-offs and landings paralyzed her with fear, and she'd long since stopped trying to talk herself out of it.

Mulder was aware of it, of course, but he had never once commented. Not even on their first flight together, cross country to Oregon the day after they'd become partners. She had been terrified by the rough landing, and deeply embarrassed that it had to be happening in front of her new partner. His own exaggeratedly casual demeanor had felt like a rebuke.

He'd said nothing about it, but on the return flight, he had silently taken her hand. It became a routine after that. Whenever the seat belt signs winked on, and until the take off or landing or turbulence had passed, he'd held her hand. Wordless, blameless comfort. It had been her first glimpse into the heart that hid behind his swagger.

But this time, as the engine noise quadrupled and the plane lurched forward, Mulder's hands were occupied with holding the magazine he'd pulled from the seat pocket in front of him. He didn't even glance her way.

He didn't know she was afraid because he didn't know her. She was a complete stranger to him, and the reality of it crashed into her for the first time.

The memories they shared were now hers alone, and she needed to accept the possibility that they always would be.

The plane's angle of ascent sharpened, the acceleration pressing her back into the seat cushions. Scully gripped the edge of the seat with both hands and closed her eyes.

* * *

Farmington, New Mexico was a lot bigger than she remembered. The dusty crossroads town of her memory was actually a small city, complete with mini-skyscrapers and strip malls. The Lariat rental clerk had drawn them a map to the Red Mesa Motel, though she'd tried to suggest several 'newer' accommodations nearer to town. The route took them through tidy residential neighborhoods and past sprawling glass office complexes before finally heading out into the desert west of the city.

The Red Mesa Motel was a long, low cement block affair with the requisite office squatting out front. Its neon sign flashed 'Vacancy' with a faintly annoying buzz. Just across the highway was a forlorn-looking bar with 'Cold Beer on Tap!' in orange letters four feet high along its roof.

"Looks like we'll have the place all to ourselves," Mulder observed from the Jeep's passenger seat. They had opted for the pricier four-wheel drive rather than their usual Taurus in deference to the terrain. Mulder opened his door and stepped down onto the sizzling pavement. "The air conditioning better be working, or I'm sleeping in the car."

Scully followed him to the office through a wall of heat that made the chilled air inside almost painful to breathe. It was a tiny office, and the man behind the counter seemed to take up half of it with his bulk. He was easily as tall as Mulder and outweighed him by a hundred pounds or more. Despite the icy air, his face was beaded with perspiration.

"You folks need a room?" There was a guest register open on the counter in front of him, and he spun it around to face them. "You got your pick."

"Do you have any connecting rooms?" Scully asked as she fished her wallet out of her bag.

The man shook his head, and sweat dripped from his chin. "No, ma'am. They're all the same. Two double beds. No queens, no kings, no jacuzzis."

"One room, then." She caught a glimpse of Mulder from the corner of her eye as his eyebrows went up.

"I'll put you in number 6. Right in the middle by the ice machine. I don't think you need to worry about any neighbors makin' noise." He reached behind him and selected a pair of keys from the rack. "You'll likely be my only guests 'til closer to the weekend."

Scully looked up at that. "Were you here last weekend?"

"No, ma'am. I trade off with Willis on weekends." He gave the neglected register a pointed nudge in her direction.

She selected a pen from the counter and began to fill in her name and address. "And where could I find Mr. Willis?"

"Willis is his first name. He's right across the road there at Cold Beer."

"Cold Beer? That's the name of the place?" Mulder asked, glancing at the building across the highway.

"Yep. Old George never could come up with a name for the place, so it's been Cold Beer long as anybody can recall."

Scully finished registering and the man spun the book back to inspect her entry. "They serve pretty decent burgers and such if you want to avoid the trip back to town."

"Thanks, we might do that," Mulder said, scooping the keys up from the counter.

They walked back out into the blazing heat, and Mulder headed straight for the bar across the street.

"Mulder, wait. We need to talk first."

He stopped and turned around. "I'm not gonna say anything to him, Scully. I just want to get a look at this Willis and see if anything clicks."

She walked over to him, the asphalt like hot coals under her feet. "First, we need to talk, and I'd prefer not to do it out here in the heat."

The room proved to be only slightly cooler than the parking lot. She let Mulder bring in the bags while she bent over the controls on the antique heater/air conditioner unit under the window, trying to coax air from the battered vents..

"Sleeping in the Jeep is looking better and better," Mulder announced from the open door. He dropped their bags at his feet.

Scully gave the dented metal case a kick, and the fan came abruptly to life. She straightened up and looked at him. "I got it working. It'll be cooler soon." She held her hand in the feeble stream of air. "Sooner or later," she amended.

Mulder stepped around the bags and closed the door behind him. The room instantly felt ten degrees cooler. "Maybe when we get back from the Cold Beer?" He hoisted the bags from the floor, tossed them onto the nearer bed, then flopped diagonally across the other with his legs hanging off the side.

Scully walked around the bed and shoved the suitcases aside so she could sit down facing his knees. "We need to talk."

He raised up on his elbows and looked at her. "You have a one-track mind, has anyone ever told you that?" When she didn't rise to the bait, he sat up the all the way and sighed. "Okay. Talk to me."

Deep breath. "Shortly after we took off this morning, I'd decided that coming here with you was a horrible mistake." She held up a hand to halt his protest. "I'm not as certain now, and that's what we need to talk about. I want to make sure that you understand the situation before you decide whether you want to stay." She paused to gather her thoughts, and Mulder jumped into the silence.

"I'm not leaving here until I find out what happened."

She regarded him silently for a long moment. "We have some very powerful enemies. People who move in the highest circles of power, not just outside the law but totally above it. They're virtually untouchable, and that's one of the things we've been trying to change." She sighed in frustration. None of this was coming out the way she'd intended. "What I'm trying to say, Mulder, is that you're no longer a threat to them. You can live your life unmolested. I know it's a terrible price to pay, but if we leave matters alone, what they've done could give you a fresh start."

"Then you don't believe my memory is going to come back by itself."

"No. I don't."

He shifted his focus to the window behind her. "But you would still be a threat."

"I don't think they'd see it that way. They see me only as a tool to use against you. There would be no reason to bother with me if you were no longer coming after them." That was far from the truth, but she didn't want him considering her in his decision. "Mulder, you could have a life."

His gaze came back to her. "You said the work we do is very important."

"It is, but we're not the only ones doing it." Just the best, she added silently.

Mulder took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "And all I have to do is go back to D.C. and pretend that my life began two days ago?" He leaned into her space. "I don't care what it takes. I don't care what it costs. I want my life back."

He stood up and walked over to the window. "And I want you to go home."

"No way in hell."

"That sounded final." His back was to her, but she could hear the smile in his voice.

"It was."

He turned back to face her. "Then we have a potential witness to interview."

She joined him at the window. "Looks like a nice evening for a walk."

Mulder moved to the door and opened it, letting in the scent of sun-baked asphalt. "After you."

Halfway across the parking lot, Scully's cell phone started to ring. They stopped walking while she answered it.

It was Frohike. "What's up, Melvin?" She smiled at Mulder's exaggerated eye roll. He was already fidgeting and they'd been still less than a minute.

"Got an update for you on Mulder's debit charge. I'm not sure what to make of it, but he paid for two rooms for two nights."

"Are you sure?"

"Looking at a copy of the slip on my monitor as we speak."

"Does it say who was in the other room?" Mulder had gone utterly still.

"Nope, just the dates and room numbers. He had 6 and 7 both nights." After a moment of silence, "Scully? You still there?"

"I'm here. Thanks, Melvin. Keep checking and let me know what else turns up." She clicked off and put the phone back in her pocket.

"Scully, talk to me."

"He says you had two rooms, not one."

"I got that much. What does it mean?"

She gestured toward the office. "We're about to find out."

The office was empty, though they could hear someone moving around on the other side of the door behind the counter. The guest register lay on its turntable, open to the page she'd signed earlier. "Keep an eye on the door," she whispered to Mulder as she flipped to the previous page.

It took only a second to find the first entry for last Saturday's date. Running her finger down the list of names, she found Mulder's signature halfway down. But it was the signature just below his that stopped her heart.

Written with a green ballpoint pen that had obviously been running out of ink was literally the last name she could have expected to see.

Her own.

* * *
End of Chapter Four