TITLE: Neither Here Nor There - 2

AUTHOR: Tesla 

RATING: NC-17 

Keyword: Case file, UST, Latent MSR

ARCHIVE: Let me know so I can dote 

SPOILERS: All seven seasons to "X-Cops" are presumed, but we swerve into a slightly altered universe after that. 

DISCLAIMERS: Items in mirror are closer than they appear. Anyone who is offended by serial killers, Others, explicit sex, explicit violence, explicit language, beer drinking, and/or inaccurate portrayals of the D.C. area...well, you wouldn't have gotten this far. Kisses to the Surfer God and 1013 Productions. The real world is too much with us, but sometimes fiction can give us a little respite. 

"It's me."

Amanda looked through the peephole, and saw Mulder. She was horribly conscious that she was wearing a sweatshirt and flannel pants, and her hair was flat, and she hesitated. Then she saw that he was dripping wet, and she fumbled quickly at the locks.

He stepped in, gingerly wiping his feet on her floor mat. "I know I didn't...I'm sorry, but..." He trailed off.

Amanda put her hands on the lapels of his coat. "No, Mulder, it's fine. Please, take that off, you're shivering. Come in, let me close the door. I was just watching television."

The corner of his mouth quirked. "Frohike gave me your address. I think he suspects." He stripped off his raincoat and suit coat, and let her hang them up on her coat tree. Grunting, he bent slightly and tugged clumsily at his shoelaces, jerking the shoes off and leaving them on the mat. They were expensive and thoroughly wet.

"Mulder, what's wrong?" Amanda asked, pulling him back to the bedroom, where the light was on. "Come get a towel. What happened?" she asked, her voice sharper than she intended. She saw the boxer's tape on his knuckles as he went into the bathroom. "Did you hit someone?" She picked up the remote and put Comedy Central on *mute.*

Mulder emerged after a moment in bare feet, toweling his head. "I put my socks on your towel rack. And, no. I hit myself. Well, I hit a mirror in a men's restroom in the lobby of a mental hospital."

Amanda felt a tender pain from her throat down to her loins. She stepped up to Mulder and put her arms around his waist. "It's okay," she said. "It's okay." His arms folded around her and his damp cheek rested against hers. She felt him shiver slightly.

"I don't want---I don't want---" Mulder muttered into her hair.

'Jesus Christ, I'm going to be one person who doesn't ask you for something,' Amanda thought. What she said was, "Mulder, just relax. If you weren't a federal agent, I'd offer you one of my Tylenol codeine from my dental work."

Mulder hugged her tighter. "I may take it. Or a beer."

"If you want a beer, I'll get you one. You can take a shower, if you leave my mirror alone."

He laughed, and let go. "You got a deal."

Amanda went in the kitchen, praying she still had beer. If not, she was take her last ten dollars and go to the kid next door and buy his. She heard Mulder thumping around in the shower, at the same time she discovered two Rolling Rocks behind the wilted head of lettuce. Giving thanks to the beer gods, she went back to her bedroom with both bottles, and hung up the soaking wet dress pants, tie, and shirt Mulder had tossed on the end of her bed. The bathroom door was partially open.

'Mulder. In my shower.'

The water stopped, and Mulder mock-bellowed. "Hey, beer now or the mirror goes!"

She clinked the bottles together, and the door swung open. Mulder was wearing her bath sheet, looking a little less miserable. "Hey, the robot show!" he said, taking one beer and twisting off the top. "Can we watch?" The bath sheet slipped dangerously.

"Why do you think it's on that channel?" Amanda asked, and picked up the remote. Mulder pulled the covers back on the unused side of the bed, and shed the towel. After a heartbeat, she followed him.

She would never have believed it, but she dozed off, to wake up when the television turned itself off. Mulder was snoring gently beside her, flat on his back, but pressed along her entire left side. She gently touched his arm, his skin cool to her touch. "Hmm?" he murmured. "Did I take the covers?" and he rolled towards her, wrapping the quilt around them both, and falling back into sleep.

Amanda drifted in and out of wakefulness all night, not wanting to sleep. She didn't want to forget the feel of Fox Mulder breathing on her neck, even his turnings in bed, and the snores. Once he moved suddenly, and whacked her with his knee. "I'm sorry," he said, in the same dreaming voice, and rubbed her leg. He kissed her, lightly, on the neck, and she felt his eyelashes brush as he closed his eyes.

She woke up, with him cradling her, to the sound of his cell phone. He pulled slightly away from her, and answered it.

"Mulder." A pause. "You don't mind, Dave? Okay." He raised his head out of the blankets and peered over her head. "About twenty minutes. Same place. You're a fine young agent, Dave. I have a shaver in the locker. Cool." He clicked off. "Gotta go," he told Amanda.

Amanda pulled the pillow over her head and pretended to go back to sleep. He fumbled around for a while, and was trying so hard to be quiet that he kept dropping his keys, wallet, badge, gun.

After the door closed behind him, Amanda lay under the coverlet for a long time, not asleep, not moving, not thinking.

The sheets still smelled of him.

++++++++++

Scully and Dr. Mathis had been in the anteroom of the morgue debating which chemical tests they could use next. Evidently, the Canterell family was in no hurry to come and get Carla. It was sad, and on one level, and it bothered Scully; but it made the testing less of a rush job. She had already changed clothes, but the chief was still in her scrubs.

Someone came in the swinging doors behind Scully, and Dr. Mathis looked up, and smiled. "Oh, someone else without a life. Nothing like a warm morgue on a cold Friday night. What can we do for you, blue- eyed boy?"

"Someone called and said you needed the crime scene Polaroids," David Henderson answered. "I do check my messages once in a while."

Scully felt herself stiffening, but forced herself to turn around. He was carrying in an accordion file, and nodded pleasantly at Scully before he put the file on the table. "We can get our digital ones on the laptop. These are the County investigator's pictures." He set out several stacks of pictures on the tabletop, long fingers sorting them in neat stacks. "I'm right in thinking you're looking for something he placed under her body?"

"Garbage bags," Scully said. "Do you have the inventory?" She was not going to ask him about Mulder's whereabouts. She would not.

"Yes, and here's something I thought about on the way over here." He flipped through a stack of shots showing the kitchen, and the kitchen cabinets. "See under the sink? There's a box of garbage bags. It's nearly empty." He riffled through the next stack. "But there's an empty box in the kitchen trash can, on top of the old garbage. Don't you usually take out the old liner, open up a new box, and throw in the old box? I'm just speculating---it just seems reasonable that she wouldn't have put a couple of days of garbage and then remembered the empty box." He shrugged. "The fingerprint lab is processing it, but he probably had the gloves on."

"So the killer used up the rest of the box, opened a new one, and used some of those. He put in everything that he thought was incriminating, and when he left, he looked like he was just taking it out to the dumpster." Scully said, thinking out loud.

"Yeah. County has someone processing the garbage in the apartment. They had already looked in the neighborhood dumpsters for a weapon or anything with blood. Someone's at the landfill, following the dumpster from her apartment. Sooner them, than me." He gave Scully a sudden smile, and she almost took a step backwards. Henderson was really handsome, when he smiled. Maybe that's why he didn't do it too often. Mulder's tremendous presence tended to overshadow other agents, of course, but Henderson had something.

"The team meets again here tomorrow," he said. He carefully replaced the photos in his file. "Can I walk you out, Dr. Scully? I sent you a copy of the interview with Patterson, but I'd like to talk with you about it."

"All right." Scully picked up her briefcase and topcoat.

In the corridor, she pulled on the topcoat as she walked. "What did you find out?"

"Nothing. Patterson wanted to spook us, to scare Mulder. Mulder thinks he had a suspect in the Baltimore killings, and they discussed the similarities. Patterson is still pretty deep in his psychosis, I think." He hesitated, as they stood at the outer doors. "Considering that he's insane, I don't understand what the use was in going there. Mulder...." he shrugged. "Something wasn't right about that idea."

"Well, Patterson wrote the book on profiling," Scully said, dryly. Henderson's expression didn't change, but she had the impression that he had withdrawn. He opened the door for her, and they walked in silence to their respective cars.

Scully was annoyed; who was Henderson to tell her about Mulder's angst?

Scully wasn't surprised by Henderson's car following her out of Quantico, but he followed her up all the way from the highway to Arlington. She waited until he was behind her at a red light, and threw the car into park, flung off her seat belt and ran out of her car to pound on his driver's window. "Open it!" she shouted.

She saw him jerk in surprise. "Fuck," she heard, muffled by the glass, and he slowly opened the window. "What is it?"

"Are you following me?" she demanded, sticking her head in the window. He looked startled for a nanosecond, then almost lunged out the window at her.

"I live here! And I'm going to that bar! Get back in your goddamned car, the light's changed!" A driver tapped on the horn behind them. Henderson hit the window button, and Scully had to leap to keep from having her sleeve caught by the glass. She jumped back in her car, and put it into gear while pulling the shoulder harness over her arm. Sure enough, Henderson passed her, squealing his tires rather unnecessarily, and pulled into a parking space in front of a faux-Irish pub in the building next to her condominium. Thinking hard, Scully drove into her underground garage, parked, and then sprinted up the stairs to the street level.

Henderson, still at his car, was just slamming the trunk, no doubt locking away his files and briefcase. At least he read the manual.

"Hey!" she shouted. He swung around, and stood waiting for her under the entrance canopy, his hands jammed in his trench coat pockets. As she came closer, almost slipping on the wet sidewalk, she could see his expression was murderous.

"Can I buy you a drink?" Scully asked meekly.

Henderson looked totally taken aback. "Sure."

They went inside, hung their rain-sodden topcoats, and found seats at the bar. Shamrocks and leprechauns and televisions all tuned to ESPN dotted the walls. Henderson pulled the knot of his tie loose, then undid the top button of his dress shirt.

The bartender came over and looked at them in inquiry, tossing napkins on the bar. "Bourbon and water on the rocks for me," he said. "This is a late night place. Takes a long while to fill up." His eyes were slightly squinting and the corners of his mouth were tight. Anger was still coming off him like fog from dry ice, though he was speaking in a normal tone of voice.

"The ambience stinks, but it's close. I live across the street."

"The same," Scully told the bartender. 'I can't believe I'm provoking this man,' she thought. She was almost enjoying herself. "I live next door."

"You scared me out of my wits back there. I almost rear- ended your car," Henderson said, giving her a sidelong look. The bartender set down their drinks. "Run a tab," Henderson told him.

On either side of them, the stools were empty, but the bar was slowly filling up. Henderson stared straight ahead at the array of glasses. He looked like he was grinding those perfect white teeth.

"Look, we got off on the wrong foot," Scully said.

Henderson turned to face her, eyes narrowed. He said nothing.

"Okay, 'I' got off on the wrong foot."

He nodded after a moment. "Okay. In case you were wondering, I don't wanna transfer to the X-Files."

Scully couldn't resist. "Oh, Mulder's already getting to you?"

"God, no. It's being trapped in Skinner's office with him on a regular basis that I couldn't take." He picked up his glass and took a drink. "You two may not be scared of an Assistant Director of the Bureau, but I didn't enjoy our little visit with him today."

"Welcome to my world," Scully said. "I take it you went to report to Skinner after you saw Patterson?"

"Yeah. It must save a lot of time in meetings to have the reporting agent just go in and start off by telling the boss to fuck off. I felt like the sidekick in 'Top Gun.' "

"I'm not laughing at you. Really. Don't you want to go with him to talk to Kersh?"

Henderson gave her an austere look.

Scully grinned. It was too funny to hear this from a perspective not far removed from her own. "Never mind. But you and Mulder are getting out a good profile. He doesn't pull the all-nighters like he did when we were first partners." Scully pushed her hair back, wondering how friendly Henderson would be if he knew that she had pulled his personnel file and read it. The personnel clerk had commented that Agent Mulder had done so too - was Henderson transferring? Scully wondered if Mulder had asked Frohike to check on him. Probably.

"Thanks, but it's all Mulder. It's an education being around him. He doesn't miss anything. But you know that, since you're out in the field with him all the time."

"I think he's brilliant," she said. "But he's my partner. So you were downtown before you came back to Quantico? Oh, of course, your office is out there."

"I dropped Mulder off in Alexandria," Henderson said innocently. "But he may be wandering the streets in the rain, thinking of new ways to torment Skinner."

"That'd be Mulder." She stirred the ice cubes in her glass. Scully had also called Frohike. He acted pretty wary, but when she told him she wanted to make sure that Mulder wasn't driving around with another little Krycek, he had promised to do a quick hack. On paper, David Henderson was your average federal employee: no tragic family stories, no lost sisters, no Roush stock, no trips to either polar ice cap. In person, he was. . .lickable.

Scully almost jumped. Where had that thought come from? She cleared her throat softly. "So how did you end up with the Bureau?"

"I was recruited out of law school," he said. "I thought I was interviewing for the DOJ, and somehow took a wrong turn."

"A lawyer? That explains the tassel loafers." It was the tiny cinnamon freckles on his nose and cheekbones. It was the cobalt-blue eyes.

He grinned. "Hey, you asked."

"If I have another round, you may have to walk me home," Scully said, feeling flushed. "Um, how do you know Dr. Mathis?"

He smiled, and raised his glass to the bartender with his other hand, shaking it. "I got to know Dr. Mathis when I was on the rotation, you know? Catch the next crime scene with Wallace. So, I decided I was going to be cool. I went down, and she let me watch her autopsy a really, really bad one. So I was cool, right?" He stopped while the bartender set their drinks down on fresh napkins. "So we get the call. And I go out with the boss, and I'm thinking, just be cool, Dave. Be like Fonzie. And I am cool. And then they take us up to the crime scene, and Wallace says, 'Gross! I could heave!' All my bravado wasted."

She smiled and nodded. His haircut was what you'd expect to see on Mulder---growing into his collar and obviously not styled. He had apparently never heard of whatever gel Mulder tended to use. Except Mulder was such a fashion trendoid. Why had her mind jumped to Mulder? "Do you do this often? Go out and drink? I mean, go out and drink with women agents who abuse you?"

"Hardly." Henderson seemed to feel the changed mood between them as well.

Scully propped her elbow on the bar and her chin on her hand. "Why not? You're a good-looking guy."

"You're teasing me," Henderson said, blinking. "I'm not one of those bar guys. I usually work with women partners. I'm the Alan damn Alda of Violent Crimes. New age, sensitive male, politically correct for the kinder, gentler Bureau." He started laughing. "No wonder you thought I was gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that."

'A Seinfeld fan,' she noted silently. She wanted to touch his dark hair and see if it was as soft as it looked. "I shouldn't have said it. It's just been so long that I've seen Mulder, I don't know. . ."

"Work and play well with others?" he suggested.

She nodded. That was it, exactly.

"Hmm." Henderson finished his drink. "Maybe I 'am' gay."

She shifted so that her knees were touching his, and she was looking into his face. He had apparently never heard about her severe, unfriendly reputation. "Are you?"

All around them, the other customers spoke quietly, ordered drinks, watched the television, and smoked their cigarettes.

"No," he said solemnly, and stared back into her eyes.

Scully didn't want to break the moment. She put one hand out, not quite thinking about it, and Henderson took it in his. He raised her palm to his mouth and pressed his lips to it for a moment. She felt the touch of his mouth up to her shoulder. Then he lowered their clasped hands to his knee.

"This is good,' Scully thought briefly. 'I like this. I want-'

"I'd better walk you home," he said, his voice casual. His thumb stroked her knuckles.

"So soon?

"I'm getting ideas." His eyes were now so dark they looked black in the dim light of the bar.

"It's nice to have someone have normal ideas," Scully said, glad to finally say it. He didn't look as surprised as she did by what she had revealed.

"Well, I've got them." He waited for her smile, and then kissed the palm of her hand again.

She licked her dry lips. "Not my hand, David."

Changing his grip on her wrist, he pulled her closer as he leaned in, and kissed her, hard, just as if he wasn't afraid she would break. She held his head in her hands, her fingers in his hair. He was like the men she had met in college, long before the joined the government, before she met Mulder and saw an X-File.

"Get a room," someone behind them said and laughed.

"Walk me home," she said.

And just like that, she and David Henderson were in her condo elevator making out. He knew not to grab her where the holster rested in her waist band, and she knew he was wearing a shoulder holster. "Always use Federal Express," she said, and not only did he understand the feeble joke, he was laughing.

It had been years since she had laughed so much, especially when they went back through the lighted living room to her dim bedroom. There they were, in their suits, each taking off a topcoat, a jacket. Trying to keep their faces straight, they each removed their holsters and checked that their weapons were on safety; two sets of credentials; two cell phones.

It was ridiculous. It had been years since she had laughed in her bedroom with any man. The rain had started again, sluicing down her windows.

"Hah! I win, I got a tie," David said, pulling it loose, and snapping it off. He draped it over the back of the same chair he had draped his coat and other belongings over, away from where she'd placed her things. "It wouldn't look good if I had to badge someone and whipped out yours," he quipped.

"No. No, it wouldn't." She'd been thinking the same thing.

He stopped dead, one loafer off and one on. "Damn, lady, what's with this black bra and white blouse look? No wonder you don't take off your jacket."

Scully smirked at him. "For a profiler, you're very unobservant."

"Oh, right, like I'm going to not look in your eyes when you're talking. You've got red hair and a gun."

She pushed him backwards onto the bed and lowered herself beside him.

"No need to be pushy." he murmured, leaning on one elbow to unbutton her blouse.

"You were too tall," Scully said. She popped a button off his dress shirt, and hesitated, her mouth open in dismay.

"No one ever did that before." He grinned. "Cool." He pulled her to him by the front of her open blouse and kissed her open mouth. Somewhere in removing her pantyhose and bra, he saw her tattoo, and blinked at it. "I'd like to see this in the light," he said, and then she felt his tongue outlining it.

"You like it?" she asked, with difficulty.

"Tastes great," he said, and begin kissing his way up her back, deliberately tickling her enough to make her giggle. When she rolled over and grabbed his arm, she had to taste his throat to see if he really did smell faintly of chlorine.

He did.

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

David lay heavily on top of her. She was wrapped around him, unwilling to give up the feeling of skin to skin. "I have to get up," he said into her ear. She stroked his broad swimmer's shoulders. "Let me up for just a second, sweetie."

"No," she said, holding him tighter. She liked it.

"I have to take this off," he said patiently. "I'll come right back." She let him go so fast that they both started laughing. He went in her bathroom and came back quickly in the cold night air, as she held the comforter up for him. He slid under it and into her embrace. Outside, the rain was washed down the window.

"What is it?" David asked.

"What's what?"

"I can hear the gears grinding, " he replied, smoothing the hair out of her eyes.

She wanted to ask him to stay. "Um, do you do this often? Are you always this much fun?"

"I hope I'm always this much fun, but no, I hardly ever do this. Or, never. I never do this. I can't remember doing this for years. And I'm going to go to sleep in a minute."

"And I thought you were a new age guy." She pulled his hand to her cheek. "If you're too weak to leave, that's fine."

"I don't have to explain protein loss to you, Doc," he said, his eyes closing.

But Scully fell asleep before his breathing settled.

The next morning, she felt him wake up with a jolt. She wrapped herself around him. "Remember who you're with?" she said into his neck. She couldn't believe how well she had slept.

"Yeah. I just remembered I have to pick up your partner." He yawned widely, chin bumping the top of her head.

"He lets you drive?" she asked, indignant.

"Had to," David said laconically. "It's my car." He groaned, and squeezed the arm draped on his chest and sat up. "Glad I live close." He looked down at her, eyes glinting. "Can I take it we're friends, now, or are we just going to pretend it didn't happen?"

"Maybe both," Scully said, more provocatively than she intended.

David looked at her for a long moment. God, in the light of day he was still handsome.

"Yeah? Well, cover up the girls, or it'll happen again."

++++++++++

Driving in to the briefing, Henderson told Mulder about the plastic bags. "I gave Agent Scully our report about Patterson. I still don't like it. Something's not right. It bothers me."

"It bothers you because you were in the presence of evil. It bothers you because there's something wrong. I don't know yet, either. Something's off." Mulder rubbed his bandaged knuckles. "So you and Scully kissed and made up?"

Henderson snorted, swerving the car violently and passing an SUV. "I told her I didn't want to transfer to your department."

"I'm hurt, Dave. Really, I am. Once you get used to him, Skinner is just like a big brother. Wait until you see him really mad. His entire head gets red. You should be out in the field with him when something goes wrong."

"Yeah, sure," Henderson said, turning into the parking lot. "He'd turn me into his bitch in sixty seconds."

Mulder was still laughing when they walked into the conference room.

++++++++++

Scully seemed to be in a good mood for a meeting on a Saturday morning. "Good morning," she said as she set her briefcase down on the table on the other side of Henderson, and opened it. "Good news on the search of the landfill. The County guys found trash bags with bloody sheets." She put the digital pictures of the Canterell apartment on the table. "Dr. Mathis is walking them through the labs, herself. She called me."

Mulder felt an almost painful shock. "There's something on them. He couldn't leave the building. Someone would have seen him. So he went back and shoved them through the garbage chute." He turned to Henderson. "Remember how the basement dumpster was just emptied?"

The others had come in. Wallace said to them all. "Fingerprints has a partial print off the box of garbage bags. It doesn't match the victim's. We're running it, just in case." Everyone sat down. Scully took out a set of autopsy protocols and began flipping through the pages.

++++++++++

The thing about situational flings, Scully thought as the briefing dragged on, is that you have to take full advantage of the situation. She picked up a Post-It notepad, wrote, "You have a hickey on your neck," and slid the pad over to Henderson. He leaned over, casually, read it, and wrote. "You look hot." He pointed with his pen to something on her file. It would have been flirtatious, but Henderson gave her a sideways look that gave "hot" another shade of meaning.

Mulder glanced inquiringly at them.

Henderson said. "How should we structure any information about the autopsies? What do we publicize, and what do we hold back?"

Wallace and Mulder began arguing. David sat back in his chair and said, his lips barely moving. "Stop it."

Scully almost snickered. Under cover of the increasingly acrimonious discussion amongst the senior agents and Mulder, she said, her voice pitched very low. "So, you're coming over tonight?"

"Oh, yeah," David said, not taking his eyes from Mulder.

++++++++

Scully was looking for leftovers to heat up when her phone rang.

"Hey, Scully," Mulder said. "I'm not sure the murders in Baltimore are connected to the last three. They're very similar. Do you think you could double check and see if there is anything really different in what the autopsies showed?"

She cradled the phone on her shoulder and tightened the belt of her robe. "That's interesting, Mulder. I think I indicated my doubts about that in my report, which you should have."

"Yeah, but you weren't definite. I would like to refocus the investigation on the last three. Well, two, really, since the District victim was cremated."

"That's a good idea. I can review the stuff here over tomorrow. Dr. Mathis is also interested, so she'll give us all the time she can."

David came into the kitchen, pulling on his shirt, saw her talking, and mouthed "Mulder?"

She nodded. "I think we should go over the victims' property," Mulder was saying in her ear. "Do an investigation like we're doing a security check for Kersh."

"What, look for fertilizer sales?" She scowled at David, as he picked up one of the containers and sniffed at it. He quickly dumped it into the garbage disposal. "Never mind. I know what you mean. Look, it's Saturday night, Mulder. I don't mind working tomorrow," David gave her a horrified look, "but we're not going to find anyone to talk to until Monday. I'll review my reports, and give you a call tomorrow afternoon."

"Good," Mulder said. "Hey, Scully? What about Henderson?"

"What about him?" she asked, warily. David smirked, and went back into the living room. She heard the television come on, very faintly.

"You don't mind him working with us, do you? He's pretty good with this stuff, all things considered."

Scully grinned to herself, rejecting several remarks. "Well, I think he'll back you up all the way," she said. "In fact, he'll probably work on Sunday."

"Okay, then. Talk to you tomorrow." They hung up.

After a moment, she heard David's cell phone ring, and burst out laughing. "Bite me, Doc!" he yelled. She picked up her own phone and ordered pizza.

David walked back into the kitchen when he heard her hang up, so she could hear him talking to her partner. He was as solemn as usual. "Things bother me about the whole Patterson thing, Mulder. It's like there's several different agendas going on."

He had Scully's full attention, and, apparently, Mulder's. "First - do the Baltimore murders have 'nothing' to do with the Virginia murders? But who wants you to involve a disgraced unit chief? Who wants you to fail? Second - why were we given just his notes? Something bothers me, but I don't have it worked out. Third - Patterson had powerful friends who don't want any further disgrace and publicity for him, or for the Bureau. Why were you sent to stir it up? Why didn't Skinner answer you when you asked him?"

Scully felt the back of her neck prickle. If David only knew what could be stirred up; how many times Skinner couldn't answer their questions. And how weird was it that she had checked his neck for implants?

David listened to something Mulder said, and replied. "Yeah, I don't, but I was still paying attention. Do they really want these solved? Wallace does, yeah, I don't think he's going to pin them on Patterson. Nice trick, since he's in a straight jacket most of the time. I'll look at my notes and call you." He clicked off and caught Scully's appraising look. "I'm not just a pretty face," he said, not smiling. His gaze drifted over her face, but he didn't ask another question.

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.