TITLE: Neither Here Nor There - 3

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. 

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."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

+++++++++

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

"Lobster," Amanda said.

+++++++++

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

"Has there been an accident?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, I have your information. Thanks."

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

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

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

++++++++++

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

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

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

"Both. Either."

"You're turning into a raisin."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

+++++++++

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

It was Skinner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He said never mind," David said placidly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

++++++++++

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shook his head, not meeting her eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scully swallowed hard. "Monday would be fine."

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

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

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

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

Had he forgotten Scully's birthday again?

Shit.

++++++++++

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"My legs hurt."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So Dave knew that Mulder----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

++++++++++

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How did you know I pulled your file?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What should I do, Dana?"

She shook her head, still trying to think.

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

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

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

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

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

+++++++++

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

++++++++++

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But you're in love with Scully."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

++++++++++

"Skinner got you a transfer?" Mulder asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

++++++++++

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

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

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

"He transferred to the ATF? Already?"

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

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

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

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

++++++++++

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