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

+++++++++++