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

+++++++++++