From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 13 Oct 2001 19:44:39 -0000
Subject: Neither Here Nor There by Tesla (04/06) by Tesla
Source: direct

NEW & REVISED: "Neither Here Nor There" 04/06
Author: Tesla 
Feedback: Tesla@hiwaay.net
Rating: NC-17 for violence, sexual situations, and language 

See part one for detailed headers.



While Mulder was on the phone, Amanda stood at his living 
room window, looking out but not seeing much. He was 
pacing, debating with somebody on his cell phone.  The 
argument was rather mild, for Mulder.  He still looked 
relaxed.

She had gone for a job interview with a large corporation, 
just for the hell of it, and she had worn a suit and heels, 
but underneath, she had on stockings and garter belt.  Her 
mind was quiet, and she felt only her breath and the pulse 
at her throat.  She put her palm on the pane, and felt the 
cold through the glass.

Mulder turned off his phone and came up behind her.  He 
stood there, without touching her radiating heat like an 
oven. She didn't turn around but leaned back into his 
chest, and felt his other hand at her hip, pulling her 
blouse out of the waistband.  She exhaled sharply when he 
touched her skin below the bra line.

Mulder ground his hips against her so she could feel his 
erection, and slowly pulled up her skirt.  He made a sound, 
muffled by her hair, when his long fingers skipped from 
nylon to the bare flesh of her thigh.  She turned around 
then, unable to stand another second without feeling his 
mouth on hers.  Mulder's mouth opened under hers, as he 
pulled her panties off.  He gave her a little push, and she 
sat down in his computer chair, her skirt bunched around 
her hips.

Mulder knelt between her knees.  "This won't hurt a bit," 
he murmured.  He pulled one of her ankles up.  "Spread a 
little.  That's my girl." He rested one of her heels on the 
edge of the desk. He knelt between her legs in his starched 
blue shirt and tie with his shoulder holster on.

She had to grab the arms of the chair when she felt the 
rasp of his tongue on her clit.

++++++++++ 

He had made her scream so loudly and long that she was 
losing her voice.  Her eyes were rolling back in her head.  
She said that she was dying of pleasure.

If only.

There wasn't a fucking knife in the place.  No scissors.  
And the corkscrew was just impossible.  It had to be the 
clean slide of the blade.

Shit.

He'd have to come back later.  Next Saturday night.

This one might just have to have her brains fucked out, 
because there wasn't a damned thing in her apartment to 
properly bleed her.

"Have you ever taken it up the ass?" he asked, reaching for 
the lube.

++++++++++

The dead were talking again.  She saw Clyde Bruckman's 
body, but he was sitting up with the plastic bag still over 
his face.  "No," she said, and turned to run out of the 
room.  But the bellboy was there, with a banana cream pie.  
She couldn't breath, because the bag was on her head, too.  
She clawed at it.

"Wake up," David was saying, shaking her shoulder.  "It's 
just a dream."

"I'm awake," she said, shivering.  Scully sat up in bed, 
the cold biting at her skin.  He sat up, too, and after a 
moment, she let him pull her back against the headboard, 
hitching up the bedclothes.  She was shivering so badly, 
her teeth were chattering.  She curled up into a ball, head 
against his shoulder, her knees nudging his belly.  David 
kept stroking her neck, her back; she felt his warm hands 
rubbing her icy feet.  "It was a bad dream," she said.  It 
was so sweet to be held like this.

"You're cold.  Want me to get you something to put on?" he 
asked her.   His thumb caressed her cheek.  "Hey, don't 
cry, baby."  He leaned across her, and turned on the light.  
She blinked up at him.  "See? It's all right," His unruly 
hair swooped over his eyes.  Her body was still reacting 
from the fright, her heart pounding.  He scooped her onto 
his lap, cocooning her in the blankets.  Her forehead was 
pressed into his neck, and she could feel his strong, even 
pulse.  He rocked her gently, his face in her hair.

"I don't want to keep you awake," Scully said into his 
throat.

"It's Saturday night," he said, lightly rubbing her back.  
She was still shivering, but the dream was already fading.  
"Of course, 'I' have to work, thank you, but I don't think 
Mulder will start without me."

"I'm okay now.  Just leave...leave the light on." They 
settled back into the pillows.  "Can you sleep with the 
light on?" she asked him.

"Yes," he said, his eyes already closed.

++++++++++

Amanda was chilly.  She reached for Mulder, but she was 
alone.  She got up, dragging the comforter with her, and 
went to the doorway.

 Mulder was sitting at his computer, in sweats, tapping 
away.  She turned away and went back to bed.  She felt even 
colder.

+++++++++

It was very early, still dark outside.  Scully woke up very 
slowly, unwilling to come out of the otherwhere and join 
the waking world.  She didn't feel as content as she had; 
then she felt the mattress shake as David got back in bed.  
She looked over her shoulder.  "What time is it?" Her 
bedside lamp was still on.

"I didn't mean to wake you up," he said.  "It's about five-
thirty.  I was thirsty."

"Oh." She turned over on her back so she could look at him.  
He had a bottle of water in his hand.  "If. . .if  you want 
to leave, I'll need to get up so I can get the deadbolt."

"No, I don't want to leave.  I always wake up this early, 
but I usually go back to sleep." He kissed her shoulder.  
"Go back to sleep."

"All right.  Will you turn out the light? I'm okay now."

 He reached back and turned the switch. "I had one of those 
lamps you touch, when I was in college," he said, wrapping 
one arm around her waist.

"Where'd you go to college?" she asked idly, stroking his 
forearm.

"Oh, come on, sweetheart.  You don't have to make 
conversation," he said, yawning.  "You know everything 
about me.  You read my file, didn't you?" 

Her eyes opened.  "Does that bother you?"

"No," he murmured into her ear.  "Cuts down on the getting 
to know you stuff."

She gave a little snorting laugh.  "I think we've done that 
part." She arched her back and let him pull off her T-
shirt.  She sighed, and threaded her fingers through his 
hair as he kissed her breasts.

"You had to have checked me out, before you came on to me," 
he mumbled, running his tongue over first one nipple, then 
the other.  He kissed his way up to her throat.  "I was 
shocked at such behavior from a senior agent."

"Report me," she said into his hair.  "You came on to me, 
anyway."

"Not me."  His hand inched up her inner thigh.  He leaned 
on one elbow above her, so he could kiss the corner of her 
mouth.  "Too late now.  I'm addicted to your skin." Another 
kiss.  "The taste." He gently pinched her.  "Should I go 
on?"

"Yes," she said into his mouth.

Later, when it was nearly daylight, she was wide awake and 
more than ready to talk.  "Tell me something I wouldn't 
find out from your file."  She squeezed his shoulder.  
"Tell me why you always wake up early."

She felt him smile against her breast.  "I grew up in New 
Moon Beach, south of San Francisco.  I surfed all the time 
until I was kidnapped by the law school gypsies and made to 
memorize the federal code."

"You got a scholarship to law school," she said.

"Sure, that's 'their' story."

"I'm sleeping with a surfer dude."

"That's right." He yawned, his beard scratching.

She had a sudden, hilarious thought.  "Does Mulder know 
that you surf?"

"Since I haven't heard him say 'Bitchin', 'Cowabunga,' or 
'Hang ten,' I guess not."

"But why do you wake up so early?"

He turned his face slightly, so she felt his lips move on 
her skin.  "That's the best time to go to the beach." There 
was a melancholy tone under the words, and Scully didn't 
follow up.  Instead, she stroked his the nape until he went 
to sleep.

++++++++++

Mulder had moments of recognizing that he was truly a sick 
son of a bitch, and he had one when he shut off his 
computer and went to his bedroom.  Here was a gorgeous, 
sweet-natured woman in his bed, and there he had been all 
night, revising a profile of a serial killer.  Now, he 
stood in his own doorway, imagining how the UNSUB seduced 
his victims.

How sick was that? No wonder every relationship with every 
woman he had ever known was damaged in some way.  Starting 
with the first one, and right up to Scully.

Scully.

He winced at the thought of Scully.  She had shot Donny 
Pfaster, and he had covered for her; how much did he 
despise himself for compromising the truth, even for her; 
how much did she despise him for doing it, despise herself 
for acquiescing?  Once, every compromise of The Truth had 
been a torture to him.  Now he was sitting in staff 
meetings lying to ASACs about his profiles, subverting a 
straight arrow like Dave Henderson to the point that he was 
more paranoid than Mulder.  The truth was that he was happy 
neither here nor there.

"What is truth?" Pilate asked, and washed his hands.  Where 
did the UNSUB wash his hands?  He got off on the moment of 
fear.  He got off on having sex with these women, on the 
seduction, knowing all along he would kill them.  But it 
was that final moment when they saw the knife coming that 
did it for him.

This guy wasn't the Baltimore guy.  The Baltimore guy had 
gotten off on the suffering, on the power he had.  This guy 
liked the knife going in.  The rest of the cuts were post-
mortem, trying to disguise his signature.  This guy didn't 
torture them.  The marks on these women weren't from sexual 
torture; they were from hard consensual sex.

Just like the marks he left on Amanda.

He sat and stared at his hands.  Jesus, he hadn't even 
taken off his clothes last night.  How much of a distance 
did he need to have from intimacy? He was still wearing his 
tie, for Christ's sake, and the sun was coming up.

He tugged at the knot at his throat and slowly pulled it 
the tie off, walking carefully around the room.  It creeped 
him out to stand over Amanda and undress, somehow.  He 
threw his shirt and undershirt on the floor, and dumped the 
contents of his pockets on the dresser, left his slacks and 
boxers next to the over-full clothes hamper.

It was cold.  He slid under the duvet and spooned himself 
against Amanda's heat, trying not to put his cold feet and 
colder hands on her warm skin and wake her.  In her sleep, 
she murmured "Cell structure," and pushed back against him, 
her feet rubbing his.

He swept the hair from her nape and kissed it.  'Just be,' 
he told himself. 'Just be here now.'

Amanda woke, turning and putting her arms around his neck.

Just be in the moment, Mulder.  Stop thinking.

He held her face between his hands and kissed her.  She 
stroked his wrist, his arms, with a languid air of a woman 
who had all the time in the world to kiss and be kissed.

Her eyelids were like silk, and she mutely offered first 
one, then the other to his mouth.  Why had he not...

   Her legs opened and with just a slight movement, he was 
inside her, inside her heat and he heard himself groaning.

"Look at me," he said hoarsely.  "Look at me." 

She opened her eyes and, looking into his, arched against 
him. 

And he came. 

++++++++++

Henderson was still morose at lunch, wrapping spaghetti 
around his fork and letting it slide back onto the plate.

"You don't like Italian?" Mulder asked, his mouth full of 
garlic bread.

"I like the Olive Garden.  Their food is inspected.  These 
little hole-in-the-wall special places have hideous 
sanitary conditions."

"You're just a ray of sunshine, Dave."

"I try to be," Henderson said, flashing his rare grin.  The 
waiter, stepping up with a tea pitcher, caught the full 
impact and smiled warmly back at him.  Henderson held out 
his tea glass to be refilled.

After the waiter moved away, Mulder said, "I don't think 
our guy is escalating."

Henderson blinked at him, and actually ate a forkful of 
pasta.  "When you take away the Baltimore cases."

"Yeah." Mulder came to a decision.  "I want to take you to 
see some guys who do some stuff for me, off the books.  
They're pretty much out there, and they're obsessed and 
paranoid." 

Henderson's silence was eloquent.  

"Shut up.  And if you're that worried about hygiene, don't 
drink anything they offer unless it's in a sealed bottle." 
He signaled the waiter for the check.  "I have one of them 
crunching the data on the likelihood of any of the victims 
being in a singles chat room."

"I thought the Bureau had the hard drives?"

"Yeah, but they've got...access.  Skinner knows them.  
They're nuts about Scully."

Henderson's gaze flicked up to Mulder's for a second.  "How 
do they feel about you?" 

Mulder tried not to look smug.  

"Oh, God," Henderson groaned into his napkin.

+++++++++

Only Frohike was at the Gunmen's headquarters.  "Byers and 
Langly went on a beer and disk run," he explained, letting 
Mulder and Henderson in.   He gave Henderson a mild once 
over, taking in his height.  "You don't look like a Fed."

Henderson shrugged, expressionlessly.  

Mulder said, "Good guess, Melvin.  This is Dave Henderson.  
He's out at Quantico.  Dave, Melvin Frohike, but you can 
call him Frohike."

"Where's the lovely doctor?" Frohike asked, shaking 
Henderson's hand, but looking up at Mulder.

"She's reading autopsy protocols.  You know how she is----a 
glass of wine, a roaring fire, and eight by ten glossies of 
someone else's autopsy that she can criticize."

"Where you from, Henderson?" Frohike asked, leading them 
into the main room.

"New Moon Beach, California," Henderson said, looking at 
the Gunman rather than the intricate decor of the Gunmen's 
offices.  He was picking his way with care.

Frohike perched on a workstool.  "Oh, so you surfed 
Mavericks?"

If Henderson was surprised, he didn't show it.  "About 
fifteen years."

Mulder wheeled around and stared at Henderson.  "You're a 
surfer? A California dude?"

"Born and bred." Henderson looked for a place to sit, and 
leaned on one of the counters.  "Surf any yourself, 
Frohike?"

"Back in the seventies.  Short board.  You don't surf out 
here?"

"Not since I left California."

Mulder didn't know if Frohike was bullshitting or not.  
Melvin claimed to have experienced all the major cultural 
events of the sixties, seventies, and eighties.  Surfing? 
Perhaps.  But Henderson, now.

"You don't seem like a radical dude."

Henderson rolled his eyes, then looked over at Mulder.  
"That's why I don't talk about it.  All anyone in the 
Bureau thinks about is Keanu Reeves and 'Point Break.' Go 
ahead, give it your best shot." He sounded as bland as 
ever, but Mulder felt the urge to tease vanish.  Something 
about the set of Henderson's jaw made Mulder stop.

"I meant Frohike," Mulder said.  "I know you're a radical.  
What have you got for us, Melvin?"

"Well, no sign of anything unusual in Brown's e-mail.  Very 
little e-mail at all, and no chat rooms.  We're still 
running the Canterell data." He adjusted the lapels of his 
vest.  "I don't want to tell you where to look, Mulder, but 
I don't think we're going to find anything."

"Well, we want to cover all the bases," Mulder said.  "You 
know where to find me.  Let us out, okay?"

Back on the road, Mulder asked, "Is there something off-
limits about your surfing days?"

Henderson sighed, and looked out the window.  "No big 
secret.  I can't afford to do it out here, and if I could, 
I wouldn't.  I was the type that was in the water every 
day.  I couldn't stand driving for hours to get the odd 
weekend.  I don't know any East Coast locals." He looked 
back at Mulder.  "It's stupid.  I just don't surf any 
more."

Mulder shrugged, and answered his cell phone.  "Mulder."

"Is Agent Henderson there?" Scully said briskly. "I have 
the answer to something he asked earlier."

"Sure," Mulder said and handed the phone to Henderson 
"Scully wants to tell you something, Dave."

Henderson accepted it rather gingerly, and Mulder grinned.

"Yeah? Oh, the earlier victim did show plastic residue? In 
the binding.  Wasn't that the belt from her bathrobe?" 
Henderson nodded to Mulder.  "Dr.  Mathis found a fragment 
of plastic garbage bag.  Well, thanks, Doc.  Yes, I will.  
Goodbye." He handed back the cell phone.

There didn't seem really anything else to do until Monday 
morning, so Mulder dropped Henderson off at his car, and 
went to his neighborhood grocery store.  He pushed his cart 
around, regarding everything with distaste.  He could only 
think of toilet paper and toothpaste.  He didn't want to 
cook anything.  He was easing his cart down the freezer 
aisle, when he saw a familiar blonde silhouette.

Amanda was leaning into the dairy case, no doubt looking 
for that fat-free, sugar-free sherbet shit that women 
seemed to like.  He walked up behind her and blocked her 
buggy.  She straightened up, a wrinkle over her nose.  
"Hey----" she began, then recognized him.  "Mulder!" she 
said, and she glowed at him.

He felt a horrible pricking of guilt and embarrassment.  "I 
was going to call you.  Do you want to have dinner with 
me?"

She peered into his grocery cart.  "Doesn't look too good, 
Mulder."

"I was thinking of getting pizza," he said.

She shrugged. "Okay, you smooth talker."

"Meet you on the other side of the check-out stand.  I'll 
call in the pizza."

++++++++++

For once, Mulder's timing was excellent.  By the time they 
had both gone through the store, and Amanda had followed 
him back to Hegel Place, the pizza delivery guy was pulling 
up.  Mulder met him, paid for it, and walked upstairs with 
the bag of toilet paper under one arm, and balancing the 
pizza box with the other.  Inside apartment 42, Mulder 
dumped his stuff on the table, and went to get paper 
towels.  He heard Amanda's cell phone ring.

"There's been an electrical fire at the lab.  We can't come 
in until noon." Amanda called to him.  "They want to track 
the wiring or something."

Mulder came out of the kitchen with two beers.  "Then spend 
the night here with me." He gave her a lopsided grin.  
"We'll cuddle, if you let me watch ESPN in bed."

"Again with the smooth talking," Amanda said lightly.

++++++++++

Monday morning, Scully awakened, not feeling very rested.  
She didn't want to admit it, but she had missed David more 
than she expected.  Aside form the sex, he was, well, good 
to sleep with.  It was stupid.  Two nights with a man she 
barely knew - how had that given her this feeling of 
security?

When she got to the briefing, Scully overheard part of an 
odd conversation in the hall outside the conference room.  
Wallace had said, in a joking manner.  "You seem to get 
along well with Mulder, Henderson." He was smiling, but 
Scully felt a subtle menace underlying the jocularity.

David seemed oblivious, replying easily. "Does him good to 
work with someone who buys his suits at outlet malls."  
With a short bark of amusement, Wallace had walked on into 
the conference room, but David looked over his shoulder.  
Seeing her, he turned and stared at her.  "What the hell?" 
he said, his voice pitched for her ears only.

"It's working with Mulder.  Get used to it.  What if he had 
congratulated you about getting along with me?" she asked.

"I would have said I was trying to get you to wear flat 
shoes." He shook his head, and followed her into the 
meeting, where he politely held a chair for her to sit 
beside Mulder.  After she sat down, David sat on her other 
side.

"I'm ready to sign off on the profile we faxed to you, but 
with one change," Mulder said, without preamble, to the 
assistant director.

"How so, Agent Mulder?" Skinner asked.

"Let's go back and exclusively review just Alex Brown and 
Carla Canterell.  Let's do computer searches, go to their 
offices, and see what link there is.  They are the freshest 
in time, and the witnesses are still around.  He didn't 
just pick these women up, but if he did, where from? We 
also can narrow any phone tips if we concentrate on the 
most recent murders."

The detective from Reston Homicide spoke up.  "We've 
brought everything from our victim's office.  It's in your 
evidence room." He looked at the County Deputy, who nodded, 
and cleared his throat.

"We'll need to go to our victim's office.  They were 
supposed to have left everything alone, but we sealed the 
door.  They were kind of odd about it.  We'll get the 
stuff."

"And the connection with Baltimore? We can't forget that." 
Wallace added.

"Of course," Mulder said, with complete insincerity.  "But 
let's confine the publicity to the two most recent victims.  
He's not operating in Baltimore now.  We're all agreed that 
he's moved on.  We'll give the press the elements of the 
profile that we've agreed on, and release pictures of these 
two victims.  That will reduce confusion." He smiled at 
Wallace.  "I think 'you' should meet with the media, sir."

Wallace looked inordinately pleased, and Scully shot a 
quick look at David, sitting on her left.  He gave her a 
bland stare, which, she knew by now, meant that he was 
trying to conceal his sharpened attention.

 While the media were being called, Mulder and Scully 
followed Henderson down to his tiny office.  It at least 
had a window, but barely held the three of them.  Mulder 
gave Scully the visitor's chair, and sat on the corner of 
Henderson's desk.  Henderson had computer printouts of 
various aspects of the victim's lives tacked to the burlap 
walls, and Mulder had to shove photos and notes to one side 
of the desk.  It was wildly austere, compared to the X-
Files basement office.

"Killers don't kill all the time," Mulder said, slowly, 
thinking aloud.  "They have jobs and go to them, and go to 
the store, and do laundry and watch television."

"Forensic shows," Henderson said bitterly.  "So they can 
figure out how to clean the scene."

Mulder ignored the interruption, raising his finger in 
admonition.  "This guy is very organized, very functional.  
He has to be in his mid-thirties to mid-forties, white, 
professional.  He's planned these dates.  He's cultivated 
these women.  He's probably been in their apartments at 
least once, because he knows where everything is.  But he 
blends in.  He doesn't stand out in anyone's memory.  
Dresses nicely, but not too nicely." He blinked innocently 
at Henderson.  "I keep thinking of someone like you, Dave."

Scully looked up.  "He's too attractive," she said.  
"You're looking for someone who blends in, not someone who 
stands out." Henderson gave Scully an evil stare, but she 
just raised an eyebrow.

Mulder said, "Campers, campers.  Yeah, Dave's too tall.  
But, hey, you and I should go to the gym and get into some 
pickup games."

"Hah.  Basketball? That's a pussy sport." Henderson was 
jabbing a pencil into his desk blotter, not looking at 
them.

Mulder stood up, stretching.  "Oh, and swimming isn't?"

"Swimming's not----"

"It's some mundane connection," Scully said quietly, 
ignoring the male bonding.  "It's a person they have in 
common."

Henderson sat all the way back in his chair, one foot 
propped on the windowsill.  "What do you usually have in 
your purse?" He was holding the inventories of Carla's and 
Alex's belongings.  "What do women carry in their purses? I 
wouldn't know at first glance if something was missing."

"That's sexist, Dave," Mulder said, amused.  "You can make 
an educated guess.'

Scully had taken the inventories.  "I don't know."

Mulder reached for the list with his injured hand.  
Henderson sat up, his chair squeaking.  He was staring at 
the bandage on Mulder's hand.  "What?" Mulder asked.

"Insurance agent," the other man said, almost to himself.  
"Everyone has insurance."

"One of the boxes from the Canterell apartment has a 
business card holder," Scully said, getting out her phone.  
"I'll call County." Mulder and Henderson scrabbled through 
the print-outs and photos on the desk as she called.

"Here's a photo of Alex Brown's wallet.  Contents still in 
it." Henderson held out the picture.

Mulder picked it up.  "Let's go to Reston.  Scully, you see 
if we have all the Canterell effects or if County does." 
She nodded, already listening to someone on the other end 
of the connection.

++++++++++

As Mulder was driving up the freeway, Henderson was talking 
to the Reston investigator.  "He's going to get the boxes 
from the evidence locker.  He'll have it at his office." He 
clicked off.  Mulder's cell rang; Scully.

"Mulder, there's her auto insurance, her health insurance, 
and three business cards from insurance agents."

"Here, read them to Dave."

Henderson took the phone, and rapidly scribbled down the 
names.  "Punch it, Mulder, we need to get this before the 
news at noon." Mulder's phone rang again.  "Henderson---
yes, sir, go ahead and read them to me." He wrote down two 
names, and circled another name, holding up his pad to 
Mulder.  "Give me the phone number and address of the last 
one, sir."

Both victims had supplemental insurance sold by a man named 
Alden, who had an office in Quantico.  Mulder turned the 
car around, bumping over the gravelaccess road, and sped 
back to Henderson's office.

++++++++++

All the bigwigs were gone, on the road to Downtown, no 
doubt to report in person to Kersh.  Mulder left a message 
on Skinner's voice mail.

Henderson was on his phone, lying to Alden's secretary.  
"He's making calls today," he told Mulder.  "Look, can you 
give us his schedule? No, I don't want to make an 
appointment.  I need to see him today.  I'm talking about a 
major policy.  I need to catch him." He grinned at Mulder 
over the receiver.  "Yeah, I'm in a rush.  I want to give 
him my check.  I tried the cell phone.  You'll fax me his 
schedule? Thanks."

They sat and stared at the fax machine.  It beeped in a 
moment, and Mulder shot up from his seat, to hover over it.  
A copy of an appointment book.  He yanked it free, and 
slapped it on the table top.  "He's gone to the nine 
o'clock.  He has a ten.  We won't get there.  Let's try for 
this eleven." He jabbed at the name.  "A woman.  Here's her 
address."

Mulder read it.  Here in town.  "Let's go see who this 
Alden guy is.  A Quantico victim would rub it in our faces.  
Our man couldn't resist it."

++++++++++

Alden parked his car.  This client was shaping up so well, 
so nicely.   And the entire office was signing on for 
supplemental insurance.  And who knows? Six months, seven 
months.  He froze.

Right in front of him, standing outside the building 
entrance, was the detective with the nose, from Carla's 
apartment.  Their eyes met.  "Mr.  Alden?" the cop called.  
"Could I speak to you?"

"Sure, what about?" The man was showing him a badge.

"Fox Mulder, FBI.  We're investigating the death of one of 
your clients, Carla--" 

Alden turned to his right, but another Fed was there.  
Alden feinted, swinging his briefcase at the first agent, 
who automatically sidestepped, but the second man was 
lunging at him.  Alden hit him as hard as he could, and the 
man fell back, reaching under his jacket as the briefcase 
crashed on the sidewalk at his feet.

Alden had the knife from the last one in his pocket, but he 
was being yanked off balance by someone else, who had his 
collar and his sleeve, and suddenly, he saw the gun in his 
face.

"Drop it," said the one called Mulder, his voice cold.

+++++++++

Mulder kicked the knife away, and heard it skitter along 
the sidewalk.  "Hands on your head!  Now get down!" Alden 
knelt on the sidewalk.  "On your belly!  Now!" Mulder 
stepped ungently on his back.

"Dave!" he shouted, not taking his eyes or his gun off 
Alden.  "Talk to me."

"It's a kitchen knife, Mulder," Henderson said.  Mulder 
lifted his gaze briefly, to see the other man on one knee 
on the pavement.  Henderson pulled a plastic bag out of his 
pocket with his left hand, using it to pick the knife up by 
the tip.

It was the missing knife from the set at the Canterell 
apartment.

"Is profiling still bullshit, Mulder?" Henderson asked, 
getting slowly to his feet.  "You caught the bad guy." 
There was a scratch across his chin from the briefcase, but 
he had his gun steady in his hand.

Mulder grinned.  "Call it in," he said.  He nudged Alden 
with the toe of his shoe.  "Never bring a knife to a 
gunfight, asshole." "Oh, hell," Henderson said, rolling his 
eyes.

 +++++++++

Scully arrived at the scene, and threw her car into park.  
Mulder was standing beside one of the patrol cars, talking 
on his cell phone.  There were a couple of police units 
there, and a couple of unmarked cars, with the stick-on 
lights.  It was a usual arrest scene.  She strode up the 
sidewalk, her credentials held up for the officers.

Mulder's eyes were blazing.  For once, he had stopped the 
bad thing from happening; there wasn't another death in his 
overloaded guilt file.  She felt at his barely-concealed 
joy.  This is where Mulder could have been, before 
everything.

Skinner had appeared on the scene, and he was almost 
smiling while on duty.  He saw her, and said something to 
Mulder, nodding in Scully's direction.  Mulder saw her, and 
started walking to her, after throwing a word over his 
shoulder to Skinner.

"Hey, Scully," he said, his voice hoarse.  "It was Alden.  
He recognized me."

"He 'recognized' you?" she asked sharply.  "What happened?"

"He knew who I was, I don't know how.  He pulled a knife, 
but Dave grabbed him long enough for me to get my gun out.  
He clocked Dave with his briefcase.  Hey, you may want to 
check Dave out.  He took a hard hit." Skinner called to 
Mulder, gesturing at a police officer.  "Coming," Mulder 
called.  He touched Scully on the sleeve.  "It was the 
insurance salesman, Scully.  You were right about the 
connection being mundane.  He sold insurance to all of 
them." He gave her a brilliant non-ironic smile, and 
returned to the AD.

Scully looked around, and after a moment, saw David leaning 
against the fender of a patrol car.  He was holding a 
handkerchief to the back of his head.  When he saw her, his 
face lit up, his eyes cobalt-blue against his pallor.  
"Hey, is there a doctor in the house?" he asked.

She went to his side.  "Let me see," she said, and pulled 
his wrist down.  There was a lump on his skull, and a gash 
in his scalp that was steadily seeping blood.  Blood had 
stained the collar of his suit and shirt.  She took the 
handkerchief away from him and refolded it before she 
pressed it to his scalp, holding his face with her other 
hand.  She stroked his cheekbone with her thumb, and he 
closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into her hands.  She 
noted again how heavy his eyelashes were, and felt an odd 
pang under her ribs.  She pressed a finger to his neck to 
feel his pulse.

"Cut it out, Doc," he said, and opened his eyes.  "I'm not 
fainting." 

She moved her index finger to track his vision.  Looked 
normal.  "You need stitches," she said crisply.  "Your 
color isn't good.  I'm taking you to the hospital." She 
pressed the handkerchief, hard, against the back of his 
head.  "Now keep that much pressure on it." She waited to 
see if he was doing it, and turned away to try to catch 
Skinner's eye.

 "Sir!" she called.  Skinner turned around, and pushed his 
way out of the knot of officers.  "Henderson's hurt." 
Behind her, David muttered something.  Scully lowered her 
voice.  "Shut up, David.  You can bleed to death from a 
scalp wound."

Skinner had made his way to her side.  "Henderson, go get 
taken care of," he said.  "You did some good work today.  
Both of you."

"I wasn't quick enough, sir." David said, still holding the 
handkerchief to his head.  He seemed unaware that his 
fingers were bloody.

Skinner raised his eyebrows.  "That's not what Agent Mulder 
says.  He's going to put you in for a commendation."

David looked as though he was thinking, "Oh, right," but 
just stared back at Skinner, before saying, "Yes, sir."

"He needs to go to the emergency room, sir." Scully said, 
pulling her car keys out of her pocket.  "I'll take him."

Skinner looked marginally less grim.  "Don't argue with 
Scully about injuries, Agent Henderson.  You're off the 
clock.  Mandatory twenty- four hours before debriefing."

+++++++++

Sitting on a gurney, waiting to be stitched up, David 
looked hang-dog.  "I let Mulder down," he said.  "Alden 
almost stabbed him." A nurse was snipping hair away from 
his scalp wound.

"That's ridiculous, David," she said.  "Mulder never says 
anything nice about another agent.  If he told Skinner---or 
me---that you did well, then he meant it." She put both 
hands on his knees.  "Stop being such a guy."

The resident came in with his tray of needles.  Scully 
stepped outside, but she had the feeling that David wanted 
her to stay and hold his hand while he was being sewn up.

In the hall, she pulled out her phone and called Mulder.

"Scully?" he asked.  "Alden won't talk.  We're getting 
warrants.  How's Dave?"

"He's pretty depressed.  He thinks he let you down." A 
silence.  "Mulder?"

"Yeah, I'm here.  It's just a new concept."

Scully ignored that.  "What actually happened?"

"We were just going to question Alden.  He looked straight 
at me and realized I was law enforcement.  I think he was 
watching one of the scenes.  He faked me out by swinging 
the briefcase, then whacked Dave across the head and 
dropped it at his feet to trip him.  Dave yelled that he 
had a knife, and...and held him until I got my gun drawn." 
She heard him draw a breath.  "Skinner's getting a video 
from an ATM across the street.  I'll look at it.  Dave was 
right there on the suspect.  He had his gun out before I 
did.  Scully?"

"Yeah?" She heard rustling, as though Mulder was covering 
the phone.

"Call me paranoid, but something 'is' off.  Wallace isn't 
as happy as you'd think.  He's here now.  I don't know if 
it's a pissing contest between him, and Skinner, but----" 
he trailed off.

"You should talk to Henderson.  He's getting his scalp 
stitched now."

"Yeah, I'll call him later.  Alden's screaming for a 
lawyer.  Scully, we're getting warrants for Alden's office, 
and home.  We've towed his car, but we think he may have a 
locker or some place he's stored trophies.  I've got to go 
talk to Skinner.  Tell Dave not to worry about anything."

"Mulder? How are 'you' doing?"

"Scully, I'm good."  She could hear Mulder's grin over the 
phone.  "I'm very good.  You?"

"I'm good, too, Mulder," she said.


End 04/06

+++++++++++

NEW & REVISED: "Neither Here Nor There" 05/06
Author: Tesla 
Feedback: Tesla@hiwaay.net
Rating: NC-17 for violence, sexual situations, and language 

See part one for detailed headers.


David was glum on the way back from the hospital, but she 
couldn't tell if it was because he was in pain, or because 
he was going to have his hair cut to Bureau Standard to 
even it up with the shaved patch.

She insisted on taking him to his place.  He sat down at 
his miniscule kitchen table, his dried blood still on his 
neck and hands.  Exhaustion etched fine lines around his 
mouth and eyes.  "My neck's killing me," he said.

Scully made a decision.  "Get something to wear, and come 
back to my place."

He looked up at her, startled.  "Come on, Mul---David." she 
said.  "You're feverish and I want to be sure you're all 
right." She braced for an argument, but without a word, 
David stood up and crossed to his bedroom, unbuttoning his 
shirt as he went.  She heard a drawer open, then nothing.  
She followed him, and stood in the doorway.  He was sitting 
on the edge of the mattress, putting on sports socks and 
running shoes.  He already had changed out of his suit, but 
he was still wearing his bloody shirt.

He looked up, and said heavily, "I'm coming." She took a 
step to the bed, and carefully helped him pull his shirt 
off.  She saw a old Georgetown sweatshirt folded in a 
laundry basket, and picked it up.

"I don't want to nag you," she said, handing it to him.  
"But I'd really like to get you back to my place."

"How can I resist?" David asked, taking the sweatshirt.  

Scully pulled the collar wide so it wouldn't brush his 
stitches as he pulled it over his head.  She had to repress 
a smile; she wasn't used to this meekness.

Back at her apartment, Scully put his cell phone on her 
coffee table, and David folded his six feet two onto her 
loveseat.  "I think the shots they gave me are making me 
sick," he said dispassionately.  "I feel weird." He threw 
his wallet on the table beside the cell phone.

"I'm getting you some Sprite," she said from the kitchen.  
"Here." 

David took it, and looked at her over the rim of the glass.  
He had a strained expression, and she realized he was 
probably at the end of his endurance.  Men.  

"Come on.  We'll take a nap together." That must have been 
the right thing to suggest, because he put the glass on the 
floor and stood up, slightly swaying.

They walked straight back to her bedroom, Scully peeling 
off her jacket and blouse and hung them on the back of a 
chair.  She pulled on a long t-shirt and got into bed 
before David had his shoes off.  He slid into her arms 
wearing his sweatshirt and boxers.  

Familiar, and not familiar.  Tending the wounded.  She 
smoothed his hair, carefully avoiding the wound.  

He sighed, and buried his face into her neck, one hand on 
her solar plexus.  She brushed her lips against his temple.  
The late afternoon sunlight stretched across the floor.  
Scully began to rub his back in long, slow strokes.  She 
meant to soothe David, but she ended by dozing off.

++++++++++

When she woke up, it was dark.  David was lying like one 
stunned, his breath rasping.  Cursing, she flung off the 
blanket, and switched on the light.  His hair was plastered 
to his face with sweat; she put two fingers on his wrist.  
He could be having an allergic reaction.  Christ, he had 
'told' her he was.  

She pulled on her jeans.  Damn it all.  She should have 
known he wasn't just bitching about the shots; David didn't 
bitch.  Jamming bare feet into her boots, she came around 
the bed, snatching up his jeans.  It didn't immediately 
seem like anaphylactic shock, but she couldn't take the 
chance.

"David, you have to get up now." His eyes opened, mere 
slits.   "I'm taking you back to the hospital."

"Shit." With a grunt, he sat up and swung his feet to the 
floor.

She pulled his jeans over his feet with a grim feeling of 
endless deja vu.  At least she had a cooperative patient 
for once.  "You're having an allergic reaction."

"I need to talk to Mulder," he said, surprising her by 
standing up and staggering down the hall.  He picked up his 
cell phone, and shoved it and his wallet in his pockets.

"Don't press your luck," she said.  "We need to go now.  
Now." And she took his arm and dragged him out the door.  
He didn't try to argue.

One drive through red lights, one frightening coughing fit, 
and one re-admission, complete with Scully waving her 
badge, later, David was in an examination room with an IV 
in his arm and an oxygen cannula in his nose.  His vital 
signs were coming back to normal.  Scully stood by the bed 
rail, rubbing the back of his hand to soothe where the 
needle went into the skin.

He rebooted awake all at once, opening his eyes and saying, 
"I need to talk to Mulder."

"Wh-what? Why?" she stuttered.  He sat up, jerking at the 
IV line.  Not so cooperative a patient after all.

"I need to see Mulder.  It's about Patterson," he said.  
She just blinked at him.  "And the Baltimore killer.  
Where's my phone?"

"I don't give a damn about the Baltimore killer," Scully 
said, around a lump in her throat.  He was still pale.

"Yes, but you give a damn about Mulder, don't you? I need 
to tell him to get the boxes from Patterson's office.  
Patterson's evidence.  Where's my phone?" He tossed the 
sheet and blanket aside.  "Where's my gun?"

"You're on medical stand-down, so your gun's at your 
place." She lowered the bed rail, so she could sit on the 
side of the bed and push him back against the mattress.  
"David, don't make me sedate you.  You almost went into 
shock."

He looked as angry as he had when she flagged down his car, 
and she had a split second of realization that she couldn't 
talk to him like she did to Mulder. Mulder knew she always 
had his best interests at heart; David didn't. "I don't 
want anything to happen to you.  You're not out of the 
woods yet, because we don't know what did it." She held his 
arms hard, willing him to lie down.

David let her push him back, the anger gone.  "There's been 
two agendas all along.  Somebody wanted Mulder to fail; and 
somebody wanted Mulder to succeed.  If he had used 
Patterson's ideas or taken Patterson's advice, this would 
have blown up, and Mulder would lose his reputation as a 
profiler.  But he caught the killer." He held both her 
hands, squeezing them in his earnestness.  "The first 
question, about the Baltimore killings, isn't answered, and 
you and Mulder figured that out almost right away."

"I remember you being there, too, David.  But why does 
Mulder need to get the boxes of evidence?"

"They could disappear, like everything that you two touch 
disappears."

"But why is Patterson's evidence so important?"

"Because they're not evidence.  They're trophies." He 
started coughing.

Scully reached in her pocket and got out her cell phone.

+++++++++

Mulder was sitting in Skinner's office, drinking coffee and 
about to sign off on his preliminary report.  Alden's wife 
had hired a lawyer, and was definitely not going to let 
anyone in the house, without full judicial search warrants 
being inspected by her attorney.  Until the knife was 
identified, Alden was being held on the charge of assault 
on federal officers.

His phone rang.  Scully.  "Mulder, can you talk?" she 
asked.  She sounded hurried.

"Yeah, it's just us chickens, in the AD's office." After a 
glance up at him, Skinner returned to reading the warrant 
faxed by the prosecutor.

"I'm with David Henderson.  He had a bad reaction to an 
antibiotic, and he had to be re-admitted to the hospital."

"Is he okay?" Mulder asked.  Sheesh.  Henderson in the 
decidedly ungentle hands of Doctor!Scully.  He hoped that 
Dave didn't piss her off.

"He should be.  Here."

The phone changed hands.  Henderson came on, hoarse.  
"Mulder, don't let that box of Patterson's evidence out of 
your sight."

"It's right here, Dave.  Why?" But Mulder had a rush of 
dread, knowing what Dave was going to say before he said 
it.  "He didn't have a suspect because he's the suspect." 
His mouth tasted sour.

"Yes.  That's why he said the things he said.  
Complimenting you on the profile.  He was proud.  He 
thought you would never----"  Dave coughed.  "Get 
something----his trophy collection----and confront him." 
Mulder heard Dave cough again, and Scully saying something 
sharp.  A rustling.  "Someone tried to set you up, Mulder, 
and someone else---"

"Made sure it didn't happen." Mulder looked over at 
Skinner, who was still crisply signing paperwork.

"Mulder?" It was Scully.  "I think he's right."

"Yes, but it's okay.  We have the box.  Tell Henderson 
we'll go see Patterson together.  Later." He couldn't 
resist.  "And Scully? Be nice to Dave.   Ease up on the 
bedside manner.""Shut up, Mulder." She clicked off.

Mulder put the cell phone in his pocket.  "David Henderson 
is back in the hospital, but it's an allergic reaction or 
something.  He thinks we should confront Patterson."

Skinner didn't look up from his documents.  "And you agree? 
What do you think will happen?"

"We'll see if he blows.  I'll take the box of physical 
evidence with me."

Skinner looked up then, giving Mulder that familiar 
appraising glance.  "I want to see Agent Henderson properly 
credited for his work with you, Mulder." Skinner gave him a 
hard look, to see if Mulder understood the unsaid 
instruction.  Mulder nodded.

"I'll share credit on the collar, sure." He smiled 
unpleasantly.  "On both collars, hopefully."

"That would be best.  Use your judgment.  We can't do 
anything more on the Alden case until the district attorney 
gets the approval for the search warrants."

Mulder stood up, his back cramping.  "Yes sir.  Thanks for 
the back up."

Skinner nodded, curtly.  "If Agent Henderson is seriously 
ill as a direct result of Alden's assault, we can charge 
with second degree assault instead of third degree assault.  
Let me know."

As soon as Mulder stepped out into the hallway, his phone 
rang.  He answered it, and clearly heard Henderson say. 
"Doc, I swear to God I'll hurt you if you cut me off 
again." Then, "Mulder?"

"Jesus, Dave, is that any way to talk to senior ag---"

"You have to get to Patterson before seven tomorrow 
morning."

"Why?"

"Because that's when the hospital telephone system comes 
back on."

Mulder lost his fatigue.  "I'm coming to get you.  I'll get 
a video camera.  I want this on tape."

"No, I'll meet you there.  It'll be faster.  Your partner's 
taken my clothes, and I'll have to get some scrubs."

++++++++++

The admitting doctor finally agreed to discharge David, 
'against medical advice.' Scully hadn't waited for his taxi 
to arrive; she had walked out of the examining room while 
David was still in his hospital gown, carrying his jeans.  
He had lunged for his clothes, and only managed to get his 
wallet and shoes.  "Now, leave," Scully said, and left him.

She was shivering as she started her car; the temperature 
had dropped, and the ever-present drizzle was turning to 
sleet.  It was as though David had absorbed Mulder's 
paranoia through his skin.

She was angry at him for being single-minded, for ignoring 
her efforts to take care of him. But as she drove through 
the sleet, she admitted that she felt guilty as well; 
guilty that David was watching Mulder's back; guilty that 
she hadn't watched David's back.  She had told herself this 
afternoon that she was taking care of him, but in reality, 
she had used him to make herself feel better.  And he had 
almost gone into shock from the antibiotic.

Back to the first issue.  It made sense that someone wanted 
to destroy Mulder's reputation as a profiler.  No matter 
what the two of them did on the X-Files, they each had a 
fall-back.  She could teach or practice pathology; he had a 
peerless record as a profiler.  Whoever thought of this was 
clever enough to know that Mulder disliked and feared 
Patterson.  Pulling a "Silence of the Lambs" would have 
made Mulder a laughingstock, striking at him from an 
unexpected direction.  He was used to taking flak about the 
X-Files; but not about his other abilities.

She was angry at Mulder for being single-minded, for 
ignoring her efforts to take care of him.  Mulder.  Not 
David.

And David had been the additional factor.  He was, on the 
surface, not one who would be likely to support Mulder; he 
was on the fast track, himself.  No ambitious agent in his 
right mind would have gotten mixed up with either Mulder or 
Scully.  She would bet that David's career was going to 
take a downward plunge.

So she went home.  All the lights were on, from their dash 
to the hospital.  She dropped David's jeans on the couch.

Scully moved through her apartment, straightening things 
and turning out lights.  Almost everything about David's 
personality should have annoyed Mulder.  Someone had made a 
mistake, there.  They had underestimated both Mulder and 
David.

Maybe she had done the same.

++++++++++

Amanda sat on the floor beside Frohike's chair.  "I had to 
vent.  I had to tell someone." They hadn't been able to 
salvage anything from her lab, and her lab alone, from the 
electrical fire.  All of her samples were gone.  And so, 
therefore, was the hook she had on Mulder's attention.

Frohike's pants legs came back into her vision, then all of 
him, as he sat down heavily in his chair.  He held out 
another bottle of beer, and she accepted it.  "Well," 
Frohike coughed, "he has a strange effect on everyone.  I 
always wondered why there weren't more women around him.  
It's that thing he has with Scully." Setting his beer down 
next to his keyboard, he pulled off his glasses and 
carefully wiped them on his shirttail.  He didn't look at 
her.  "He'll never desert her, you know."

Amanda's breath caught.  "Oh, I know, Melvin.  He just 
sleeps with me."

"But don't desert 'him'.  Don't lay more guilt on him.  I 
wish it could work out, I really do.  But if it doesn't, 
then let it end naturally.  Don't just disappear.  That's 
the one thing he couldn't stand.  He takes everything 
personally and feels guilty for every bad thing that 
happens."

"You're a wise man, Melvin." "I keep telling everyone 
that," he said complacently.  "But you'd better get me the 
personnel file on everyone else who works there.  I find it 
odd that only your lab is gone."

Amanda sat up.  "Are you saying I should watch my back?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

She hesitated a moment. "So, you don't think it'll work out 
for me and Mulder." It wasn't really a question. 

Frohike's silence was answer enough.

++++++++++

The next morning, Wallace pretended to be awestruck by 
Henderson's haircut.  Skinner took one look at Henderson, 
and then at Mulder.  Skinner knew something was up, but 
from that one glance at both of them, Mulder understood 
that Skinner would let them play it out.  This was strictly 
a Bureau meeting, no outsiders.  Scully came in, with a 
medium-range glower at both of them, but sat down beside 
Mulder.

Henderson had a haircut like Mulder's, which wasn't 
surprising, since they had gone to Mulder's stylist.  
Henderson hated it, but it was difficult to find a stylist 
who worked the odd hours Mulder had free.  He wasn't happy 
about getting his haircut in the self-service Laundromat, 
but Mulder told him to cowboy up and be a man.

"This is a punk's haircut," Henderson had said, looking at 
himself in the passenger mirror.

"Hey, it's what I have." Mulder pretended offense, but only 
with half his attention.

"My point."

But that was after they had been to the hospital.  Now they 
were on the way to the debriefing with a video of 
Patterson, driving in the early morning light.

Mulder had checked the batteries on his camcorder, and then 
walked in with his box of evidence to wait for Henderson.  
It was a small box, really.  And most of it was taken up 
with duplicates of lab tests, blood samples, and the like.  
Just sitting in the lobby, riffling through the envelopes, 
Mulder knew what bothered him while reviewing it, and what 
had bothered him years ago.  A small detail, really.

It was that the hair samples had no FBI Lab stickers.  The 
identifying labels on the slides and on some of the bagged 
evidence were in Patterson's handwriting.

Patterson had only let him look at the files on the 
Baltimore killings once.  Then he had taken them back.  At 
the time, Mulder had burned with the kind of corrosive 
self-reproach that authority figures could trigger in him.  
Of course, that was before he learned to do it to himself.

The electric doors opened, and Henderson came in, dressed 
in scrub pants, a Georgetown sweatshirt and running shoes, 
his plastic hospital tag still on his wrist.  Even Mulder--
--who was aware of the irony----could see he looked 
terrible.

"How did Scully let you out of the hospital? You look like 
shit."

"She wasn't happy," Henderson said repressively.  "I guess 
her corpses don't talk back."

Mulder stifled an inner grin.  He could well imagine, 
considering the tone of the conversation he had overheard 
on the cell phone.  Henderson noticed the wrist tag, and 
yanked it loose before putting it in his pocket.

"I never can get those off." Mulder commented.  He stood 
up.  "Any suggestions?"

"Put one of the hair samples through the window so he picks 
it up."

"Let's do it." Walking down the hall, he had to say, 
"Georgetown? I thought you didn't like basketball."

"I went to law school there," Henderson said.

 In the same interview room as before, Mulder put Henderson 
behind him, to the side.  He picked out the sample of hair 
that felt right----as if the bag had been handled often---
and put it in one of the Bureau evidence envelopes.  The 
box itself was on the floor under Henderson's raincoat.

The door on the other side of the glass opened, and in 
swaggered Patterson.  He was almost gleeful.

"So you've got another victim, Mulder? Something must be 
up, for you to visit me at this hour." He wasn't even 
looking at Henderson, who had the video recorder open and 
aimed at him.

Mulder silently slid the envelope over to him through the 
opening.

Patterson opened it, and sat, staring.

"Don't you know her?" Mulder asked.  Without warning, 
Patterson threw himself at the window, clawing at it and 
screaming Mulder's name.  Mulder sat, willing himself not 
to blink or move, as Patterson sobbed and screamed, until 
two orderlies unlocked the door, rushed in and subdued him.  
He continued to scream as they forced him out.

"Did you get it?" Mulder asked, turning to Henderson.

Henderson nodded, closing the camera.  "We got it."

++++++++++

"...aspects of the actual arrest could have been handled 
better.   Agent Henderson, for instance, failed to 
properly..."

Scully had not been listening to Wallace, but she suddenly 
realized that Wallace was criticizing David's performance.  
Mulder was on his feet.

"What are you talking about, Mark? You weren't there.  I 
was." 

Scully craned to see David's face.  David, who was smiling 
cynically at the tabletop, didn't look up.

"Agent Mulder, I appreciate your loyalty..."

"Screw loyalty.  We weren't there to arrest him.  We were 
on a city street.  Alden recognized me.  He probably was 
watching one of the crime scenes---"

"Agent Henderson is not under your authority.  He didn't 
report his findings to his superiors.  He didn't advise us 
that a possible arrest----"

Scully saw David and Mulder exchange glances.  It was a 
cue, for Mulder put a camcorder on the table.  "You don't 
want to go there, Mark."

"What? You're the hero of this now, but remember, we still 
have five murders in Baltimore that you've ignored----"

Skinner interrupted.  "What's in the camera, Agent?"

"The Baltimore killer." Mulder took the recorder to 
Skinner, and he beckoned the others to come to his end of 
the table.  Voices came from the speaker.

Unnoticed, Scully moved one seat over, and sat next to 
David.  He was just tapping his pen on his legal pad, half-
listening to the audio from the tape.

"Are you all right?" she asked.  He shook his head.  At the 
other end of the table, Patterson's tinny screams were 
dying away.

"Sir," Mulder said.  "I suggest that Special Agent Wallace 
had the same evidence that I had, and deliberately 
concealed it."

"Mulder, you're a lunatic---"

Mulder continued over Wallace's voice.  "Further, he 
attempted to divert the attention of the task force to the 
UNSUB---to Alden--- when he knew quite well that his former 
superior had committed the Baltimore murders.  And now, to 
keep anyone else from going there, he's trying to black-
mark Dave Henderson."

He paused.  "Sir, again, who suggested that Bill Patterson 
had a suspect in the killings?"

Skinner sat very still for a long time, before finally 
leaning back in his chair.  "Mark Wallace." 

Wallace opened his mouth, and then shut it.  

Skinner ignored him.  "Agents, I suggest that this meeting 
is over.  Agent Henderson, the only criticism I have of you 
is that you checked yourself out of the hospital against 
medical advice.  I'm putting you on sick leave until you're 
cleared to return.  Agent Mulder, Agent Scully, Dr. Mathis-
---your work in these cases was of the highest Bureau 
standard.  I want your report, Mulder, for the Director's 
eye, as soon as possible."

Under his Marine stare, they all shuffled out.  Mulder was 
grinned at Scully.  "Jeeze, I could sleep for a week," he 
commented.  "I'm doing the report at home and e-mailing 
it." He barely waited for her to nod before he ran to catch 
the elevator.  He was still on his adrenaline buzz.

When she looked for David, he had slipped away.

+++++++++++

Scully went over to David's department.  It was business as 
usual; no one suspected the chief was going up on charges.  
David was just closing the door to his office, but he left 
it ajar when he saw her.  She followed, and saw that he was 
sitting down with his back to the window.  She closed the 
door behind her.

"What?" he asked.  He had the same strained expression he 
had worn only yesterday.  He seemed older with short hair, 
less open.

"Did you leave in the hospital gown last night?" she asked, 
coming to stand over him.  He was playing with the 
telephone cord, staring at nothing.

"The resident gave me some scrubs.  You forgot my shoes.  
He thought we were a married couple, because you were so 
angry." He tilted his head back to smile at her.  "Shocking 
commentary on the married state."

"Please let me give you a ride," she said.  She took his 
free hand, swinging it.  They looked at each other for a 
moment.  "I was in doctor mode last night," she went on.  
"I was worried about you."

He shrugged.  "I'm about to fall asleep.  Sure." He reached 
under his desk for his gym bag.  "My hospital clothes."

And he did fall asleep in the car, nodding right off, head 
against the window.  She wondered if he was ill, or just 
exhausted.  Once in they reached Arlington, she drove to 
her own condo, and parked in the basement before he 
stirred.  He followed her, in a replay of his first visit 
to the hospital, but this time he carried his gym bag with 
him.  

"I didn't mean it, either," he said suddenly, in the 
elevator.

"Mean what?"

"When I said I'd hurt you if you took the phone away from 
me."

Her eyes stung.  "I know that.  I think I threatened you 
first."

They didn't talk until they were inside her condo.  "Let's 
do this right." Scully said briskly.  "You put on whatever 
you've got in the bag, and I'll change, and we'll watch 
television.  I want to take your temperature later."

"You're the only woman I know who takes the fun out of 
playing doctor," he muttered, going into the hall bathroom. 

She put away her suit and pulled on a sweatshirt and 
flannel pajama bottoms, and heard him go into the living 
room.  The television was on the weather channel.  More 
rain, more cold.  She pulled the afghan from her bed, and 
carried it to the living room.  He was wearing Bureau 
sweats, and let her tuck the blanket around them both as 
she sat beside him on the sofa.  She took his wrist to feel 
his pulse.  Normal.  She kept his hand, holding it in her 
lap.

"I'm not sick; I'm tired," he said.

"No."

He pulled his hand out of her clasp, but only so he could 
put his arm around her.

"I'm trying to take care of you," she objected, snuggling 
into his shoulder.

"You are," he said, rubbing his chin against her head.

They sat together for a long while.

 ++++++++++

Aside from the complete lack of an after-glow, Mulder 
thought the worst thing about the successful closing of a 
casefile was the paperwork.  And, of course, meeting with 
the federal and state prosecutors.  He had caught a decent 
break on this case, though.  Alden had apparently returned 
to the Canterell apartment and seen Mulder and Henderson 
leaving.  When he saw them approach him on the sidewalk, 
Alden thought he was being arrested.  He carried the 
insurance applications of the last two victims in the 
briefcase he used to brain Henderson.

Mulder was so wired that he caught a couple hours of sleep 
at home, then drove back to the office to keep up.  The 
faces had changed slightly in Skinner's conference room, 
and Skinner himself had changed one dress shirt for an 
almost identical one.  Wallace, of course, was gone, but 
the assistant department head, a rather nervous woman named 
Basham, was in attendance.

Alden had said he was just processing the death claims, and 
he could have been; but most insurance agents didn't walk 
around with paring knives stolen from a customer's kitchen.  
He clamed up after that, but despite having a lawyer, 
Mulder would predict that he wouldn't be able to resist 
talking about the murders.  He would try to control his 
circumstances to the end.

Of course, Mulder would have to think about his insurance 
agent in a new light; he had to pay extra premiums ever 
since the federal employee's carrier had pulled his medical  
and travel records.  "At least get current on your 
vaccinations before you get on another international 
flight," his agent had begged him, almost tearfully.  She 
didn't know how funny that was.  And Clyde Bruckman should 
have taught him not to think all insurance people were 
alike.

At that point, the sleepless nights caught up with him and 
he went home to sleep until the next day.

+++++++++ 

 Since Alden was facing a charge of assault against two 
federal officers, it hadn't taken much to get federal 
search warrants.  Alden had been very cautious, but he 
still had trophies; file folders on his clients, with 
Polaroids attached.  He had apparently planned these 
certain crimes for years before committing them; a safe in 
his home office yielded a trove of S&M and snuff videos.  
The federal marshals were on the phone to Skinner, who told 
them to bring it all in for processing.

The assistant U.S.  Attorney, and the county prosecutors, 
were happy, happy campers.  They couldn't say enough 
complimentary things about Mulder, Scully, Henderson, Dr.  
Mathis, Skinner and all the other Bureau agents.  No one 
was tactless enough to mention Mark Wallace.

Mulder went down to his office, and found an anonymous e-
mail saying that Wallace wasn't going down alone; it was 
rumored that he'd filed dis-commendation reports on Dr. 
Mathis and Dave Henderson for by-passing the chain of 
authority and working directly with Mulder.  So he called 
Henderson, who was apparently just staying home for the day 
until Skinner decided his sick leave was up.

"It's not a rumor," he told Mulder.  "It's fucking true.  
It was on my desk before we even went in to the meeting." 
He sounded like he had just woken up.

"Shit," Mulder said.  "What does it say?"

"Usual chickenshit stuff.  You know, the kind of stuff that 
adds up, and if your boss decides he doesn't like you, he 
uses it.  Avoiding the proper chain of command and 
reporting directly to you without permission.  Lack of 
candor."

"He knew you were working with me.  He put your unit at my 
disposal."

"Yeah, the unit.  He didn't sign off on anything, though, 
and it makes me look like I was hot-dogging around trying 
to be your partner."

Mulder was momentarily dumbfounded.  "I don't get it."

"I do.  Wallace sent it in before we arrested Alden.  He 
could have withdrawn it, but since you had him suspended, 
it's insurance for him.  So the OPR has other things to 
look at besides his cover-up for Patterson." Mulder heard 
Henderson snort.  "It's not about me.  It's you.  No one 
wants you to have allies."

"I'm flattered, Dave, but don't you think----"

"No, Mulder, you think about it." Henderson sounded awake 
now.  "All your old partners are dead.  Agent Pendrell is 
dead.  Agent Spender is dead."

"Spender was a weasel," Mulder objected.

"He's still dead.  Agent Scully has been near death how 
often? And AD Skinner? And you? A review from OPR isn't a 
picnic, but everyone has them.  You aren't doing your job 
unless someone is after you.  Besides, Wallace is going to 
be discredited, anyway."

"Well, I'm glad you're so cheerful," Mulder said.  "Keep me 
posted." He hung up and turned to Scully, who had silently 
walked in.  "Can you believe this shit?" he asked.  
"Wallace sent in a bad report on Dave before we even 
arrested Alden."

Scully sat up, snapping shut the file she had been reading.  
"Why?"

"Dave thinks it's me.  Don't give me that look.  He thinks 
everyone's out to get me."

She suddenly laughed.  "We've brain-washed him, Mulder.  
Next thing you know, he'll start picking up cigarette butts 
and checking to see  if they're Morleys." She shook her 
head in disbelief.  "But why did Wallace report him?"

"Dave thinks Wallace was hedging his bets, getting someone 
to take the heat if anyone--if I--found out about 
Patterson.  He doesn't think OPR will gig him too badly, 
since Wallace is going down.  And Dave did make the 
goddamned arrest with me.  That should mean something."

Scully sighed.  "It would be nice to still have illusions 
about the OPR."

Mulder heard nothing further that day regarding Henderson; 
the OPR didn't contact him to expand on his report .  
Meanwhile, no doubt grinding his teeth, Kersh sent Mulder a 
commendation letter that was worth an X-File of its own.   

The whole experience was at odds with the usual run of 
business.  Mulder had almost forgotten how it felt to be 
treated like a valued agent, and said so to Scully, later 
in the week.  "It's kind of surreal."

"Give me a break, Mulder." She carefully saved whatever she 
was typing on her laptop, and closed it.  "You could be in 
position now to be tapped to be the unit head of Behavioral 
Sciences, if that's what you had wanted.  You chose another 
path." She smiled.  "We both did."

Mulder tapped the point of his pencil against his blotter.  
"Well, I did," he muttered.  "You----"

"I can't believe we're having this conversation again," 
Scully said, not quite rolling her eyes.  "I'm not some 
victim, here, Mulder.  I could have walked away from this -
- from you, and the X-Files -- a hell of a lot of times." 
She gave Mulder a warmer smile than he'd received from her 
in many a day.  "So cut it out, huh? I assumed the risk.  I 
assume it every day.  You can't assume it for me."

She stood up, and stowed her computer away in its Land's 
End carrier.  "Have a wonderful weekend, Mulder.  I'm 
taking a vacation day and going out of town."

"Oh, a hot pathology convention, huh?" he said, feeling 
irrationally cheered.

Scully settled her overcoat collar tidily.  "No, Mulder," 
she sighed.  "Not a convention." He waved at her, as she 
left the office, and then tossed the pencil into the 
ceiling tile.

He had thrown three more, and was considering his options 
for the weekend, when Skinner appeared at the door, wearing 
his overcoat and carrying a briefcase.

"Just a word with you before you go, Mulder," the AD said, 
with an unusual lack of grimness.

Mulder hoped he didn't look as much like a deer in the 
headlights as he felt.

++++++++++

"Stop arguing with me," Scully had said into the phone the 
night before.  "You're going away for the weekend with me 
whether you like it or not."

She grinned at the choking sound David made.  

"Well, since you're forcing me, all right.  But don't think 
you can stick me in some ratty motel.  I want a bed and 
breakfast with those little muffins in the basket on the 
bedside table, and separate bathroom, and no television, 
unless you sit in a common room with old people who ask you 
about your kids."

"My, you sound bitter.  This room has a hot tub."

"Oh," Dave paused.  "In that case,  I don't need 
television."

Scully's motives weren't entirely carnal.  She honestly 
wanted to see if she still liked David's company now that 
the case was over.  She also wanted to talk him into 
getting more tests done.  The emergency room doctor, 
apparently weary of Scully, Mulder, and all their works, 
had explicitly told Scully that Agent Henderson had not had 
an allergic reaction, that his pulse, respiration and 
temperature were still slightly off average.  David hadn't 
let her take his temperature in the past two days, and 
accused her of having Munchausen's Syndrome by proxy.  It 
was a pain in the ass dealing with a profiler.  But she 
still wanted to get some tests run on his blood.

As Mulder said, it wasn't paranoia when people really were 
out to get you.

++++++++++   

"He killed himself?" Mulder hissed.  He was sitting in 
Skinner's SUV, in the parking garage.

"Just like Blevins, if you get my drift," Skinner said.  "I 
don't know what it is, Mulder, but you have a gift.  
Wallace was on the Roush payroll before he transferred to 
his section.  Apparently, someone wanted confirmation that 
Patterson had been killing for a long time."

"Yeah.  And Dave Henderson conveniently goes into shock 
just before he can tell me of his suspicions.  He thought 
that there was a different reason for the Baltimore 
killings than the Alden killings.  A different killer."

"Yes, that's another issue.  Right now, Henderson doesn't 
need to have a high profile.  Someone doesn't like him." 
Skinner grimaced.  "I tend to find these things out, 
Mulder."

Mulder turned completely in his seat to face Skinner.  "Is 
Dave in any danger?"

"Only to his career," Skinner said.  "He's not you. Yet."

"Dave can keep his head down.  I'll get hold of him."

"See if you can, Mulder.  He's still on medical leave, so 
he doesn't have to report in for another week." Skinner 
allowed himself a small smile.  "Agent Scully intends to 
run blood tests on him."

Mulder snorted.  "You and I are used to it, sir, but Dave's 
not that excited about having a pathologist examine him."

But Henderson didn't answer his phone that evening.

++++++++++   For only the second time that winter, Amanda 
opened her apartment door to Mulder.

"I thought you might like to go out and eat, or something," 
he said diffidently.  "I haven't heard from you, and the 
guys said they hadn't heard from you.  Can I come in?"

"Oh, yeah.  I'm sorry." She held the door wider, and he 
entered.  This time, his expensive suit and topcoat were 
dry, and his hair wasn't plastered to his head, and he 
didn't look like he was going down under the waves.

"What's wrong?" he asked her, as she closed and chained the 
door.  He tipped her chin with a gentle hand and she 
shivered.  "Sorry, my hands are cold."

"I didn't get to tell you about the lab fire," she said, 
bracing herself.  "All of the samples you gave me are 
gone."

He put his hands on her shoulders, and looked straight into 
her eyes.  "The guys have more," he said.  "Did you tell 
Frohike?"

"Yes, of course."

"Did he tell you to go underground?"

"No, why?"

He squeezed her shoulders.  "Because he's more paranoid 
than I am.  If he thought you were in danger, he'd tell 
you.  He'd tell me.  Was it just those samples?"

"No, it was that whole end of the lab."

She watched his eyes track her face.  It wasn't fair that, 
just by standing there, he made her feel secure.  It wasn't 
fair that all he had to do was look at her, and her bones 
turned to water.  She focused on his mouth.

He smiled.  "What?"

"It's not fair what you do to me," she whispered, putting a 
finger on his lip.

Incredibly, his face flushed.  "It's not fair---I can't 
believe you put up with me."

"Are you crazy?" Amanda said, wrapping her arms around his 
neck.  "Put up?"

He bent slightly, and picked her up as he kissed her.  She 
wound her legs around his waist, and he carried her to her 
bedroom.  They fell on to the bed.  "Always wanted to do 
that," he said, nipping her earlobe.

"Let me know if anything else that occurs to you," she 
said, loosening his tie.  "What happened to dinner?"

"Let's work up an appetite."

End 05/06

+++++++++++

NEW & REVISED: "Neither Here Nor There" 06/06
Author: Tesla 
Feedback: Tesla@hiwaay.net
Rating: NC-17 for violence, sexual situations, and language 

See part one for detailed headers. 



Scully drove them to a modern inn located on a bluff 
overlooking the Potomac.  "It has a restaurant attached to 
it," she said, giving him a sidelong look as he got their 
bags from the trunk.  "There aren't any common rooms."

"It looks great," he said unconvincingly, looking around at 
the woods that came right up to the parking lot.

"Come on, you'll feel better after dinner."

"I always feel better after dinner," he replied.

Scully had reserved an upstairs room with bathroom and hot 
tub en suite, a fireplace, and a king-size bed.  David 
tidily began to unpack.

Scully was struck with compunction.  "Maybe this isn't how 
you want to spend your weekend?" she asked.  "You might be 
bored."

David laughed.  "You've got to be kidding.  I have you 
alone for a weekend? What's not to like?" He straightened 
up, his gun and holster in one hand.  "Which side do you 
want?"

"Either." She had to smile again at the sight of him 
stowing his gun away.  There was a definite advantage to 
dating another federal agent---no need to explain about 
having to have your weapon with you at all times, or why 
you had to leave your itinerary with the office, or why you 
had to leave a number at all times, or any of the hundreds 
of rules that Ethan, for example, had not taken seriously.

"I'm serious," he said, sitting on what was now his side of 
the bed.  "You noticed I was standing there with my bag 
packed? Hey, nice mattress." He bounced back up.  "What 
about dinner?"

+++++++++

"What about dinner?" Mulder said, buttoning his shirt.  
"Seafood?"

"Lobster," Amanda said.

+++++++++

  Scully and David had barely walked down the stairs at the 
inn, when the manager stopped them.  "You're a doctor, 
aren't you, Agent Scully?" the woman asked.  "We've called 
911, but----"

"Has there been an accident?" 

David turned and went upstairs.  "I'll get your bag."

"Show me," Scully said, and the manager turned and ran down 
the hallway to the rear of the inn, down the basement 
stairs, to a wine cellar, Scully at her heels.  

The wine cellar was well lit, and two waiters were lowering 
a woman to the floor.  Lowering a body to the floor; the 
woman had a rope around her neck.

"Stand back, and don't touch anything else." Scully felt 
for a pulse, even as she noted the coldness of the skin.

David materialized beside her, setting the medical bag on 
the stone floor.  "What happened?" She heard him say above 
her head.  "FBI."

"We found her when we came down for this evening's wine.  
Why would she hang herself here?"

"Listen, you're going to have to stick around until the 
local police come," David said.  "They'll want your 
statements.  Scully?"

"She's been dead for a while," Scully said, closing her 
bag.  "I can't do anything." She stood up, brushing the 
dust from her slacks.

"Are you sure?" the manager asked, blinking rapidly.

"Yes, I am," Scully said.  "You'll need to go lead the 
officers in here." She was aware of David's thoughtful 
glances at the noose, at the body, and around the room.  He 
met her eyes, and shrugged.  Some getaway weekend.

Two state troopers arrived with the ambulance crew.  While 
one of them was questioning the waiters, a sergeant was 
carefully walking around the cellar, taking notes.  Scully 
and David identified themselves as mere guests at the inn.

"So you think she hung herself, Agents? Not to make you 
work on your weekend off, or anything."

David stood, hands in pockets, still looking around the 
room.  "Funny thing about suicides." he said, 
conversationally.  "They need to step off something."

"Yes, I saw that," Scully said.  "Sergeant, you should have 
your medical examiner look closely for signs of manual 
strangulation."

"Why?" the trooper asked, looking up sharply from her 
notebook.  "Do you think this is a homicide?"

There was a sharp crack outside in the hall, and David's 
gun was in his hand.  He looked around the doorjamb, and 
relaxed.  "It's the medical examiner," he said, re-
holstering his pistol.

"Shit," Sgt. Austen said.  "He always this edgy?" she asked 
Scully, smiling.

Scully had raised her eyebrows.  "No.  He doesn't like the 
country."

"Sorry.  I think it's a homicide because there's no chair, 
or step-stool, or box, or garbage can for her to step off." 
David pointed to the rope.  "I think she was strangled, 
then the killer threw the rope over the rafter and hoisted 
her up.  When you examine the rest the rope and the rafter, 
it'll tell you." He flashed a lopsided smile at the 
sergeant.  "Your medical examiner will tell you the same 
thing.  Dr.  Scully already saw the finger marks.  Didn't 
you?"

"Yes," Scully said, depreciatingly.  "Really, Sergeant, 
Agent Henderson and I don't want to get involved in your 
investigation.  We're guests."

"I don't mind," the sergeant said.

"We really don't want to interfere with your 
investigation," David said pointedly.   "We were on our way 
to dinner, so unless you really need-"

"No, I have your information.  Thanks."

David took Scully's hand and they went back upstairs to the 
restaurant which seemed about to close.

"Gosh, people need to eat," he said.  "Why do they assume 
we aren't hardened professionals who can eat pizza in the 
morgue?"

"Been there, done that," Scully replied.  Having someone 
hold her hand made her want to giggle.

++++++++++

"First real profiling I ever did was with Frank Black.  It 
was one of his last cases just before he, um, decided to 
retire."  David leaned forward and turned off the jets of 
the hot tub."  A couple of guys in Pennsylvania were 
robbing all-night restaurants.  They would herd all the 
staff and any customers into the walk-in refrigerator, and 
then shoot them at close range with shotguns.  The very few 
survivors couldn't tell us anything." 

Scully lolled back in the water, sipping her wine.  "Don't 
stop," she said.

David kneaded her shoulders.  "Talking, or massaging?"

"Both.  Either."

"You're turning into a raisin."

Scully stretched out her arm and carefully set the wine 
glass down on the tile floor.  "David, tell me something." 
She turned in the water and faced him, placing her palms 
flat on his chest.  He was warm.

"If I can," he replied, holding her waist.

"Damn lawyer.  Aren't you worried about the OPR?"

"Well, not too much.  I was kind of expecting it.  As you 
just said, I 'am' a lawyer.  I'm on our union committee.  
I'll file a counter-grievance or something and it'll all 
get washed out when Wallace goes out with the tide."

"You're the union rep for your department? You're such a 
dweeb."

"Yeah, go figure.  I was the only one in the office who 
could read the reg book." He pulled her hand from his chest 
and showed her the fingers.  "Look.  All shriveled.  Let's 
get dry and just go to sleep."

Wrapped in the complimentary spa robe, Scully came out of 
the bathroom, yawning.  David was standing at the window, 
looking at the river glinting below through a bent louver 
in the blinds.  In the half light of the bedside lamp, she 
could see his strong swimmer's shoulders and the long 
muscles of his legs thrown into sharp relief by the 
shadows.  She let the odd combination of lust and affection 
pull her to his side, and she put her arms around him.  He 
covered her hands with his own, leaning back into her.

"I heard that yawn," he said.  "Let's call it a night.  
Tomorrow, let's not go to the autopsy.  You workaholic."

"Me? You're the one who turned into Mr. Profiler."

The mattress was deep and soft.  Scully, despite her yawns, 
was still awake.  She dug her chin into David's shoulder.  
"What was Frank Black like as a profiler?"

"He was. . .well, he was psychic," David said, speaking in 
the remote voice someone losing consciousness.

"'Psychic?'" she asked.  But he was asleep.

 +++++++++

Before dawn the next morning they were awakened by Scully's 
cell phone.

It was Skinner.

"Agent Scully, I was called by the Sheriff of St. Francis 
County.  He has requested, and I have signed off on, your 
temporary assistance in this matter.  He would like your 
profiling assistance at this time to handle a homicide 
investigation."

"Sir, this is a routine homicide.  There's no need for 
Bureau profiling."

"Yes, there is.  The victim is the Sheriff's daughter.  He 
has a small department, and since you're on the scene, you 
and Agent Mulder can..."

Scully winced.  "Sir, Agent Mulder isn't here."  She could 
hear the clanking silence all the way from Washington.  

"I was told that you were there with a male agent," Skinner 
said finally.

"It's not Mulder.  It's David Henderson.  He's still on 
sick leave."

"Busted," David said.  He took the phone from her hand.  
"Sir, there's no need for a profile.  Someone manually 
strangled the girl and hoisted her by a rope to make it 
look like a suicide.  It's a boyfriend or ex, who 
confronted her and killed her and had to think fast.  The 
rope is a nylon type used in boating.  The end was cut with 
something, and it'll match the rest of the coil that's 
hanging on the wall.  Anyone can do this.  But I can't, 
because I'm on medical leave and you specifically wrote on 
my assignment letter that I can't go back to work until a 
Bureau-approved doctor clears me." He paused, rolling his 
eyes at Scully.  "Thank you, sir." He clicked off the phone 
and handed it back to her.

"What?" she asked, when no explanation was forthcoming.

"He said never mind," David said placidly.  

Scully grinned back.  "God.  It must be the legal 
training."

The phone rang, and they looked at each other.  "Hello?" 
She answered.  It was Skinner, again.

"Agent Scully, please tell Agent Henderson that Mark 
Wallace committed suicide on Friday." He clicked off.

She froze, holding the phone.  David put his hand on her 
forearm.

Scully looked at the phone as if more information was on 
the screen.  "He said your boss committed suicide."

David sat up.  "Fuck.  Fuckity fucking fuck fuck." He 
rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, and fell back 
into his pillows.  "My career is toast.  You don't bring 
down your boss and succeed.  I hope I saved my resume.  
Good grief."

"You said you weren't worried about the review board," 
Scully said, appalled.

"Yeah, I wasn't, but dead men win." He reached over to the 
bedside table and picked up his watch, looked at the time, 
and put it down.  "Jeeze, too bad I talked us out of the 
murder investigation.  I could use another week away.  
Shit.  I wanted to work up the Alden prosecution."

Scully shivered and slid back into his arms.  "How bad 
could it be?"

"Ah, come on, be nice to me." He pinched her breast.  "I 
may be headed to Idaho."

But for the life of her, she couldn't think of anything 
optimistic to say.

++++++++++

It wasn't quite dawn yet, when Skinner called Mulder to 
tell him that a request had come in for Scully and Dave 
Henderson to assist a sheriff's department.  A murder at a 
bed and breakfast.

"I wanted you to know, in case Agent Scully is detained 
Monday," Skinner said.  He was even more curt than usual, 
but the message overwhelmed any thought Mulder had about 
the medium.

"Scully and Henderson are at a bed and breakfast," he 
repeated, stupidly.  "Together?" Beside him, Amanda jerked.

"They were in the same room," Skinner said in a monotone.  
He hung up.  At another time, Mulder would have wondered 
why Skinner was so torqued about it, or why it was anyone's 
business---

It's none of my business, Mulder told himself, his eyes 
stinging.  He sat up and swung his legs out of bed.  Amanda 
rolled over, her back to him, and he went into the living 
room, closing the door behind him.  Skinner sounded pissed 
off; but he always sounded pissed off.

He walked into the kitchen, and got a bottle of juice out 
of the refrigerator.  It must have been when she took him 
to the hospital, he thought.  After it was all over with.  
He put the juice back.

Dave didn't know.  Dave thought they were just partners.  
How could anyone understand what Scully----

A sob came from somewhere in the middle of the back.  He 
bent over, holding on to the sink.  God, it hurt.  It hurt.  
But why? What was he expecting her to do? Stay in some 
sterile realm of the spirit? He grabbed a handful of take-
out paper napkins and blew his nose.  Jesus.  He felt worse 
than when he had told her he loved her, and she just rolled 
her eyes.  Even through the drugs, that had hurt.  It still 
hurt.

She was with Dave Henderson.  She had gone off with him for 
the weekend.

When had she stopped asking Mulder to have dinner in a 
'decent' restaurant? How long was it since she had stopped 
complaining about the mondo-fifties motels he loved to book 
them into? She found someone who didn't argue with her.

Mulder always thought she had enjoyed arguing.  It was part 
of their thing.

And there was Henderson, who was honest and mindful of the 
rules, who had, for all intents and purposes, deliberately 
crashed his career for the truth.  Who didn't know how to 
tell a lie and didn't know how good a profiler he was.

Mulder sat down on the kitchen floor, his arms wrapped 
around his belly, trying not to break down.  He looked up 
at a sound.  Amanda, wrapped in his ratty afghan, was 
standing beside him.  She knelt quickly, and put her palms 
on his face.

"What's wrong?" she asked.  He shook his head, feeling his 
eyes watering again.  "It's freezing in here.  Come back to 
bed."

He shook his head, not meeting her eyes.

"Come on, bunny.  It's too cold."

He got up and walked quickly past her and back to the 
bedroom.  The room was lit with the television, some sports 
show.  She was right behind him, and they got under the 
covers together.  He wanted to tell her it was nothing, to 
leave him alone, but he was afraid if he spoke, his voice 
would wobble.  Amanda silently pressed up against him, 
rubbing his back between the shoulder blades, right at the 
knot of feeling.

"It's all right," she said in his ear.  "It's all right, 
Mulder."

No, its not, he thought.  Scully needed someone, but she 
didn't want me.  And I'm such a bastard that if she called 
me right now.  .  .No, I wouldn't leave.  But I would want 
to.

He turned to face her, his face twisting despite his best 
efforts, and started to cry.  Amanda wrapped arms and legs 
around him, and he pressed his face into her neck, his 
breath coming in hard sobs that hurt his throat.  He held 
onto her, gripping her so hard he could feel the pulses in 
her skin.

He became aware that he was saying, "It hurts.  It hurts." 

And that she was saying, as she held him,  "I know.  I 
know." The sobs made him shudder, and felt like they were 
wrenched from his gut.

"I hate this.  I hate being like this," he said finally.  
His throat was raw.

"You can't hold in everything," Amanda said.  "You do too 
much of that."

He was too embarrassed to raise his face from her shoulder.  
"You should have known me when I profiled all the time.  I 
should have been on Prozac."

"You're burned out," Amanda said into his hair.  "I bet you 
never take a vacation."

"Not unless you count disciplinary suspensions." He still 
felt wired, his nerves jangling.

"Sun's up," she said.  "Let's take a run."

He propped himself up on his elbows.  "Run?"

"Yes.  I know you have your stuff in the car.  Go get it."

+++++++++++++++++

"David, I want you to go back into the hospital and let us 
run your blood tests." She paused.  "Please?"

David lay flat in the sheets and laughed in an abandoned 
way that was new to her.  "You're such a hopeless romantic.  
Can I go after the weekend? It would be a crime to miss the 
goddamned craft festival."

Scully swallowed hard. "Monday would be fine."

 ++++++++++++   After the fifth mile, Mulder found he could 
think clearly.  Clearer.  Whatever.

If Henderson was in danger, it could be due to his 
involvement with Scully.  One thing about Dave, he could 
pick up that kind of a vibe.  And Mulder had closed off his 
feelings about Scully for so long, he couldn't even 
identify them any longer.  The chicken or the egg?

And why did he have to be in a hospital bed before Scully 
cut him any slack? She wanted intimacy, she claimed, but 
when he tried to open up to her, she shut him down.  So he 
was flippant, which made her more remote, which made him 
more flippant.

Amanda turned back and went home.  Mulder continued on, 
past his own apartment building.  It was a beautiful day 
for once in this bleak February.  His pace slowed.

Had he forgotten Scully's birthday again?

Shit.

++++++++++

Amanda was relieved to hear Mulder's voice on the intercom.  
She buzzed him in.  He looked totally different now, his 
face weary, but no longer so nakedly hurt.  He probably did 
break down like this in the aftermath of an intense 
profiling situation.  His voice had the ring of truth when 
he told her that; but she would bet her DNA that it was the 
news that Scully had gone somewhere with his friend that 
had so shattered him.

But look at him; he was already on his way back to normal. 
Frohike had warned her that Mulder thought rejection was 
normal.  What kind of parents tell a kid that it's his 
fault his sister was abducted? Who expected a kid back, 
back in 1973, to get his dad's gun and defend his home? 
Frohike had told her more than she had wanted to hear.

"Take a shower with me?" he asked.  She was still wearing 
her running clothes.

"Sure," she said.  "The heat's on now, thank God."

He put his hands on her shoulders as they went to the 
bathroom, so she could feel how cold they were.  "I'm 
frostbitten."

"Yes, you're pitiful." She pulled off her sweatshirt and 
sports bra, and turned to see him staring.

"Did I do that?" he asked, his voice shaking.  He touched 
her arm, and she looked in the mirror to see red finger 
marks on her arms.She pulled a face.  "You should have seen 
my ass after that spanking." She reached around the shower 
curtain and turned on the hot water.

"There's a difference." His voice was weary, and he skinned 
off his clothes and following her into the shower.

Amanda swiped her wet hair back.  "Don't make everything a 
guilt trip." She stepped back so he could stand under the 
water.  He looked achingly vulnerable when wet.  He opened 
his eyes and, despite himself, smiled.

"What are you looking at?" he asked.  "You should have 
thought of that before you sent me out in the cold to run 
laps.  I'm an old man."

"Oh, sorry."  She rinsed her hair, managing to slide her 
breasts against his arm.  "Almost done."

"I'm not kidding.  My knees won't take it."

"And I'm just getting clean before the hot water goes."

"My legs hurt."

"Did I ask you to do anything?" she said.  She stepped out 
into the bathroom, wrapping her hair up in a towel.  
"You're too old and tired.  I understand. "

She didn't even hear the curtain rings; he left the shower 
running, and grabbed her as she walked beside the bed.  He 
twisted, and pulled her over on top of him on the sheets.

"Hey, you're wet," she objected.

"So are you." He gently pulled her hips into position, and 
she was opening up to him, and he was inside her, and the 
pleasure almost hurt.  She felt like she had touched an 
electrical circuit, and he kept stroking her clit with one 
finger.

"That's it, baby," he said, and his voice was so tender she 
could pretend he loved her as she came.

++++++++++ "Do you mind if we stop by the hospital to see 
Dave?" Mulder asked Amanda that Monday, after he picked her 
up for dinner.

"No," she said.  "This is the guy you worked with on the 
Alden case, right?"  Like she didn't remember everything he 
said to her.

"Yeah.  He's seeing Scully.  In fact, they almost got stuck 
helping some small town sheriff's office investigate a 
murder last weekend."  He scowled over the steering wheel.  
"I want to find out what happened to him.  Being associated 
with the X-Files division hasn't been good for his health."

David Henderson was in a semi-private room, with, 
thankfully, no one in the other bed.  He was propped up, 
reading "Surfing" magazine."Cowabunga," Mulder said, 
closing the door behind Amanda.

The patient lowered the magazine.  "You never disappoint 
me, Mulder," he said.  He saw Amanda, and raised his 
eyebrows in inquiry.

"Amanda, this is Dave.  He's from California."

"Oh, you're Amanda?" Henderson said, and suddenly smiled.

Amanda almost took a step backwards.  Naturally, Mulder 
wouldn't have noticed, but damn!  'Lucky, lucky, Scully,' 
she thought.

"I was Mulder's chauffeur and dropped him off at your place 
a couple of times." Dave explained.

Mulder shook his hand, clasping it for a second.  "What the 
hell is going on here, Dave? I can't get anything out of 
Scully.  She's having them run tests on you?"

Henderson shook his head.  "What I had was a viral 
infection from catching a cold in February.  She and 
Skinner are obsessed that it's something weird.  They're 
nuts.  It was just a simple virus."

Mulder straightened up.  "What are your symptoms?" Amanda 
thought she could see him turning into Agent Mulder, FBI, 
right before her eyes.

"A bad cold," Henderson said, his voice hardening in turn.  
"Don't you start." 

Oh, two of them.  Great.  Testosterone filled the air.

"Did Scully tell you that Skinner nearly died from a virus? 
That he was clinically dead at one point? That I saw 
another man die from a virus? That we've seen a lot of 
people die from simple viruses?"

"Yeah, both of them.  But I don't have anything like that.  
AND my lungs are almost clear."

"Wasn't your breathing affected before?" Mulder pursued, 
sitting down beside the bed.  "Didn't Scully say that it 
wasn't an allergic reaction?"

"Show me your medical degree, Mulder.  Skinner is just 
looking for some reason for me to leave the Bureau.  He 
thinks...." he looked at Amanda, then back at Mulder.

Mulder held up a hand in surrender.  "I'll talk to 
Skinner," he said.

"That's it? No candy, no fruit, no flowers, no magazines? 
Jeeze, Mulder, thanks a lot.  At least look in that drawer 
and throw me some socks.  My feet are cold, and I can't 
move around until this IV is empty.  Scully has every 
weirdo from the metro area coming in and taking blood 
samples."

"She's kinky, what can I say?" Mulder stood up, grinning, 
and opened the tiny wardrobe.  "Here," he said, tossing 
Dave a rolled up pair of socks.  "I wanted to stop and get 
you a pizza, but Amanda wouldn't let me."

"What?" She pretended indignation.  When Mulder had turned 
his back, she had seen Dave bend a look of concentration on 
him, only to have it dissolve into blandness when Mulder 
faced him.

So Dave knew that Mulder----

The door opened, and Scully came in; Amanda recognized her 
from Frohike's secret screen saver.  She looked startled to 
see the others.  "Mulder?" she asked.

Mulder went to the door and stopped her from entering.  
"Scully, le me talk to you for a second." Scully backed out 
through the door, Mulder following, tossing "Excuse us"  
over his shoulder.

Amanda and David looked at each other.  He had the same 
look as a moment before.  "Can they be any more paranoid?" 
he asked her.  "Mulder----" he exhaled.  "Well, you know 
Mulder."

"Not really," she said.  She sat down in the chair Mulder 
had just vacated. "I'm just his fuck puppet at the moment,  
but I'm hoping for a more meaningful title." 

"Gee, why?" he asked, squeezing the balled-up socks with 
one hand.  "It's succinct and to the point," He stared at 
the closed door.  "Wonder what's happening," he said, half 
under his breath.

"What about you?" Amanda asked, emboldened.  "How long have 
you been with Scully?"

He looked down at the socks in his hand.  "Not long.  I'm 
guess I'm just a puppet, myself." He unrolled the socks, 
face losing the blandness and seeming more ill than when 
she had first seen it.  "Upgraded to lab-rat status."

Mulder and Scully came back into the room, both with grim 
expressions.  "We've got to go, we've got reservations," 
Mulder said from the doorway.  "I'll come back and see you 
later, Dave."

"Nice to meet you, Amanda," Dave said to her, but he was 
looking at Scully.  Amanda was amused to see Scully flush, 
as if Dave had reprimanded her in some way.

"I'm sorry, we weren't introduced," Scully said, her 
expression stiff.  "I'm Dana Scully, Mulder's partner."

"Yes, Agent Scully.  I've heard about you from Frohike."

"Oh, my God," Scully said, spontaneously.  "Don't tell me."

Amanda squeezed Dave's forearm, and stood up.  He held up 
his hand, which was now inside one of the socks.  "Good 
bye," he made the sock squeak.

Amanda burst out laughing, mainly at the confusion on 
Mulder and Scully's faces.

++++++++++

"I didn't mean to be rude," Scully told David, sitting on 
the bed and taking his hand.  "I was embarrassed.  I sort 
of walked in on them once.  And what's with the sock 
puppet?"

"You mean, walked in on them as in they didn't see you but 
you saw----" he snorted.

"I saw more of them than I wanted to," Scully said.  "I 
wonder what she meant about Frohike? I'll kick his ass.  I 
can't even imagine what he told her."

"Never mind that.  When are you and your little gang 
letting me out?"

"There's an anomaly in some of the results," she said 
evasively.

"Dana," he said.  She looked up.  "Are you talking about a 
nanotechnology, or are you talking about the black oil?" 
His blue eyes were dark.

Scully took a deep breath.  "What do you know about either 
one?"

"Don't look so surprised.  You're not the only one who can 
pull personnel files.  Not that I had to.  The X-Files 
aren't top secret, you know.  I think you should start 
telling me what you're worried about."

"I don't know.  It's not what Skinner had.  It's not the 
virus that Dr. Sacks had."

"Are my test results in normal limits?" he asked.

She nodded, reluctantly.  "But there's just a couple of 
others.  And your temperature---you're consistently higher 
for no reason."

"But if there's nothing wrong, get your pals to clear me 
and let me out."

"How did you know I pulled your file?"

"I have a friend in personnel.  She called me, and told me 
that you came down and pulled it, about twenty minutes 
after Mulder did.  So she gave me copies of your files.  
Her own personal copies, since you two are stars of the 
personnel board."  He pulled his hand away from hers.  
"Tell me about my results."

"They're in the normal range." She couldn't look at him.  
"But I'm looking for poison."

"Poison?" he repeated.  "Were you planning on telling me? 
Or just telling A.D.  Skinner?"

She narrowed her eyes.  "Ah.  Now I know how you heard 
about nanites.  He's been very busy."

"He was here today, dropping little terse hints that not 
only is my job in the toilet, but that I'm in danger.  
What's going on with him? What does he have against me?" He 
grimaced.  "I couldn't tell if he has a thing for you, or 
for Mulder, but something's not right."

"What did Skinner suggest?" Scully asked before she 
processed the rest of his statement.  "Wait.  Did act like 
he had a personal interest in me?" She stood up, and walked 
to the window and back.  "God.  You may be right.  He was 
completely on your side until he called last weekend.  He 
wouldn't have just come to visit someone that doesn't work 
for him."

"He suggested that I could find ample opportunity as a 
profiler for the ATF," David said.  "It sounded like one of 
those offers you don't refuse." He caught her sleeve.  "And 
why would Skinner have told Mulder? Mulder's not your 
boss."

She couldn't think of anything to say.  Mulder knew.  But 
he had a girlfriend.  Why did she feel as though she had 
betrayed Mulder?

"What should I do, Dana?"

She shook her head, still trying to think.

He blinked at her for a moment, then fingered the adhesive 
holding in the IV line.  "Never mind.  Just get me out of 
here."

Scully slid off the bed.  "Don't pull on that.  It may be 
tomorrow.  Besides, I got the insurance coverage cleared, 
myself."

"Whatever," he said, his head still bent.  "I'll see you 
later."

Scully went to the door, and looked back, but he was 
pulling on his sweat socks.  She had the feeling she had 
missed some cue, but she didn't know what.

She went home and did all the things she usually did, but 
she was restless.  She drank a cup of tea, Scully got up 
from the sofa and went into the kitchen to put her cup in 
the dishwasher.  It was no use, she thought.  She snapped 
off the kitchen light, and went to the closet for her coat.

+++++++++

 It was half-past eleven, and the third shift had just come 
on on David's floor.  No one stopped her; no one did more 
than glance her way as she went down the corridor.  Of 
course, she had been there often enough.  She saw an aide 
come out of his room; third shift check.

She put her palm on the half-opened door, and slid through, 
turning to hold the handle as she shut it.  But the quiet 
snick of the latch was enough to make David open his eyes.  

He turned his head to see who had come in.  His eyebrows 
drew together.

"I 'am' sick," he said starkly, his face lit only by the 
wash of light from the muted television.  He sat up, 
pushing the bed table away.

She crossed the room to him, and pressed the dim setting of 
the wall light.  "No, no, you're not.  Nothing's changed." 
She unlatched the bedrail and lowered it.

He followed her movements.  "Then I'm in danger?" he asked 
warily.

Scully perched on the side of the bed, facing him.  "Not 
that I know of." She started to pick up his wrist to feel 
his pulse, but changed her mind, and pressed her fingers 
onto his palm.  His hand closed over hers, strong and 
irrationally reassuring.

"Have you come to discharge me?" he asked, the beginnings 
of a smile starting to show.

"No. I want those last test results to see why you have a 
fever." He shifted to the other side of the bed, giving her 
more room, and she responded to the mute invitation by 
sliding further onto the mattress.

"Well, did you bring me a cheeseburger?" he asked.

She shook her head, smiling unwillingly.  "I just didn't 
want to leave you up here by yourself." She felt almost 
embarrassed.

His thumb rubbed the back of her hand.  "Well, I am kind of 
busy here.  There's a Northern Exposure marathon on right 
now, and I can't remember why Joel ended up in  Alaska."

"You looked very involved in it.  I can always go," Scully 
said, kicking off her loafers.  David released her hand, 
and she reached up to turn off the light, then changed 
position to sit beside him on the bed.  He draped his arm 
around her, and she settled into his shoulder with a sigh.  
She couldn't believe she was doing this, but she wasn't 
really his treating physician.  It felt right.  It felt 
nice to just be there.

As if reading her thoughts, David said, "Relax.  The word 
at the nurses' station is that I'm your new boyfriend.  One 
of the aides told me.  She came in and watched 'Secrets of 
the FBI' with me.  I must say, it was very enlightening.  
Put your feet under the blanket if you're cold."

"You don't feel feverish any more," Scully said.  She 
turned her face into his neck.  She missed the usual David 
smell, that hint of chlorine from the pool and whatever 
swimmer's shampoo he used.

"I like how you check my temperature," he murmured into her 
hair.  His breathing was smoothing out.  They were both 
going to sleep.  She didn't resist.

Just before she went to sleep, she heard herself ask in a 
small voice, "David, do you love me?" and heard him reply, 
matter-of-factly, "Of course I do."

++++++++++

"We should start a support group," Dave told Amanda.  She 
had brought a report from the lab to the hospital as an 
excuse to visit.  He wasn't surprised to see her.  His 
mysterious fever was gone, and he was about to be 
discharged.

"What, the 'I-Fucked-X?'" she replied flippantly.

He stopped in the middle of packing up his bag.  "No," he 
said, his blue eyes very somber.  "I was thinking more on 
the lines of 'The X-Files Broke My Heart.'" He looked 
around, saw his Walkman, and jammed it on top.  "Don't 
pretend you're tougher than you are.  I'm getting out while 
I'm ahead."

"I don't understand.  If you love Scully, why leave?"

"I'm transferring.  When an Assistant Director tells you 
that you should leave, it's not healthy to stay."

"What about Scully?" She sat down on the other bed.

"Yeah, well, I'll have to get over her, won't I? But it's 
not like I ever fooled myself.  Especially since she kept 
calling me Mulder." He looked up from zipping his bag.  
"You can say everything you like about it being better to 
be with her and hear his name than him being with her and 
calling your name.  But it's not."

"Do you think either you or Mulder can stop from quoting 
from movies?"

"Not going to happen.  We're vid kids." He opened the 
dresser to check the drawer.  "You're in love with Mulder, 
but you can't tell me he was happy about finding out Scully 
was seeing me."

"He wasn't.  He got a call from Skinner one morning.  He---
"

David interrupted her.  "Son of a bitch!  I knew that 
relationship wasn't healthy.  He had no reason to say 
anything to Mulder." He straightened up.  "Well, it doesn't 
matter.  He offered to get me transferred to California, 
and I'm going.  It's not worth it."

"But you're in love with Scully."

"But she doesn't love me, and she never will." He sat down 
on the other bed, looking winded.  "So what the hell.  
Might as well get it over with.  You should get the hell 
out of Dodge, yourself.  If you stick around, you'll hurt 
more by the end.  There's the doctor."

The door, which had been ajar, opened, and Mulder walked 
in.

Mulder came in, staring at Amanda.  He looked from her, to 
Dave, and back again.

"I had to bring some results by," she said.  She knew he 
had heard at least part of the conversation----she knew 
that non-expression----but she wondered how much.

Dave didn't say anything at all.  He just waited.

Amanda, with a presence of mind that later surprised her, 
swung her feet to the other side of the bed, slid down, and 
went out the door behind Mulder.  She was down the 
stairwell before she asked herself why she was going.

Answer: she couldn't deal with two upset males.  She really 
didn't want to know any more about Mulder's feelings for 
Scully.  She had come to see Dave for confirmation of her 
worst fear, and he had put into words what she already knew 
what she should do.  She would open that letter from 
Caltech.

Giving up Mulder was going to be like giving up crack.

++++++++++

"Skinner got you a transfer?" Mulder asked.

"I'm definitely off the Alden murders.  He made me an offer 
I couldn't refuse."

"I've had offers I didn't think I could refuse."

Henderson exhaled impatiently.  "Well, that's the problem, 
isn't it? I'm not you."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Mulder said, trying 
for lightness and failing.

Henderson lifted both palms, and let them fall.  "She'll 
never be satisfied with less."

Mulder walked to the window, and looked out.  "Why are you 
so sure?"

"You evidently missed the high points of the conversation 
just now.  Believe me, I'm sure."

Down below, Mulder saw a blonde woman getting into a 
minivan parked beside the service entrance.  "I don't think 
she loves me, either, you know." He drew an s-curve in the 
condensation on the window.

"You two need to work through this crap," Henderson said 
from his seat on the bed.  "And you're being deliberately 
obtuse.  Both of you are.  This isn't a rerun of 'Friends.' 
Everybody knows about everybody.  Except Skinner.  I don't 
know if he's jealous of Scully, or doesn't want you to have 
someone else watching your back."

"Isn't it kind of arrogant to decide this for her? Have you 
thought about asking her?" Mulder wiped the window with the 
edge of his hand.

"I'm deciding this for me," Henderson replied.

"Again, you shouldn't leave her out."

"What do you want? For me to spill my guts for you to 
analyze? It's over.  This conversation is over.  It's all 
over." Henderson picked up his bag and walked out, for once 
getting the last word.

++++++++++

Scully didn't hear from Dave for a week.  When she finally 
called his cell phone, she received a "disconnected" 
message.  She sat and looked at the phone for a moment 
before going to the basement to find Mulder.

"Mulder, have you heard from Dave Henderson lately? He 
checked out of the hospital before they could re-do the 
blood screen."

Mulder didn't look up from his laptop.  "He said something 
about taking a transfer."

"He transferred to the ATF? Already?"

"I don't know about the ATF, but he wanted to go back to 
California.  You know these surfer dudes." Mulder picked up 
a file.  "Did you ever get the results back from the police 
department out there, on that claw?"

"That wasn't a claw," she said automatically.

At lunch, she drove over to Arlington to David's apartment 
building.  He had said once it was a sublet, but surely he 
couldn't leave in a week.  He couldn't pack and leave in 
that short a time.

But no one answered when she rang the doorbell.  He had 
gone.

++++++++++

End 06/06

Notes: All this began before the horrors of Sept. 11, 2001.  
It also began before several major changes in my real life.  
Rewriting this with the enthusiastic encouragement of 
Amanda helped me more than I can ever express.  (So I gave 
her lots of sex scenes!)  Also thanks to Linda, and all of 
you who wrote and asked me if I was going to finish this.  
I can only hope that all of us can return to the little 
pleasures of reading and writing, and thereby find the 
little joys that help alleviate the day to day fears.