Caring: The Nibbler Case II 01/11 Author: Daydreamer Author E-mail: Daydream59@aol.com Rating: NC-17 for language, graphic violence, and disturbing imagery Category: SAR - character exploration Spoilers: none Keywords: MSR; M/Sc/Sk friendship Archive: Yes, please. Feedback: Yes! Please! Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner are owned by Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, Fox Television Network, etc. They are wonderfully brought to life by David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson, and Mitch Pileggi. I will make no profit from this, and neither will Fox if they sue me, for I am poor and have nothing material they can profit from. Comments: Check out my web page, Daydreamer's Den, brought to you by the talented Shirley Smiley, WebMistress Extraordinaire! http://www.geocities.com/daydreamersden Summary: Seriously injured and with Scully in danger, Mulder is forced to walk alone through the dark corridors of a killer's mind to find his hidden secrets. Profiles in Caring: The Nibbler Case II 01/11 October 17, 1998 10:00 a.m. They were sitting together comfortably, Mulder propped in the bed, Scully ensconced in the recliner/bed thing that the nurses had brought in for him to sleep on, and he was settled into a wooden rocker, unearthed from the nursery or peds ward no doubt. Mulder had slept well, which meant Scully was happy. And if Scully was happy, after the emotional ups and downs of the past few days, then Mulder was ecstatic. And he was content to see them that way for a short while. "Sir?" Mulder was speaking, and Skinner looked up, distracted from his ruminations. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "What did you say?" "I asked if Nathan's trial went on as scheduled. Am I still going to have to testify?" Skinner shook his head. "I've been out of the loop. Took myself off things once you two were settled here. Someone called yesterday but I was talking to your doctor and I hung up on them." He smiled sheepishly, then straightened as he pulled his AD persona together. "I can check if you'd like." Mulder nodded. "I'd like to know what I'm facing here. Do we get to go home, or do I still have to see him again?" Skinner had his phone out and was dialing. "This is Assistant Director Skinner," he said when a woman answered. "I need to speak to Jacobson." There was a pause while the line was transferred, then he went on, "Mulder is awake, Jake. Oh, yes, he's doing much better, thank you. Look, he wants to know if he still has to testify, and if so, when." Skinner was silent, and as Mulder and Scully watched, the blood drained from his face. "Are you sure?" he whispered hoarsely into the phone. "No, no, I'm sorry. Of course you are." The AD pulled himself together, then spoke one last time. "Well, I'm sorry about that. I won't hang up on you again. Keep me informed at all times and I'll get in touch with DC and allocate additional funding and manpower for you. Just keep looking." He closed the phone, his head dropping for a long moment, then he lifted his eyes to meet his agents'. "When they got down the side to reclaim the body, Nathan was gone." There was a long silence as Mulder and Scully just stared at Skinner, and then Mulder gave a huge sigh and said, "All right," as he struggled to push the covers off and shift himself on the bed. "Help me up." Scully and Skinner exchanged a quick look and then responded simultaneously, "NO!" Mulder shook his head, then said, "No, I don't mean up as in out of bed. Even I think that's beyond me -- today. I just meant, help me sit up." As they started to protest, he cut them off with a wave. "You know as well as I do that there's work that has to be done here, and I can't do it if I'm flat on my back." His face took on a slightly detached look, as if he was withdrawing to some place no one could follow him. His voice shifted, becoming low, and he was speaking to himself, as if he had forgotten there were others in the room. "I need someone to get the files, too. I need to have them here where I can read them, see them, hold them in my hands." Scully interrupted. "Mulder, you're too weak for this. Not this time. You have to let someone else be the primary on this one." "She's right, Mulder. The man nearly killed you. Again. You're too close to the whole situation. And you're just not up to this." Skinner was doing an abbreviated pace by the door to the room, his eyes carefully averted as he spoke. "Listen to me," Mulder ordered, and he waited until both of them were looking at him. "You don't understand. This is not optional. None of this is optional. It doesn't matter how weak I am, or how strong, or how well I am, or how ill, or how much I want to do this, or how much it turns my stomach. *None* *of* *that* *matters!*" He paused, drawing a deep, ragged breath. "What *does* matter is that that monster is loose again, and I'm telling you, there won't be any period of escalation this time. He's *already* escalated. He had his," here Mulder made a face, frowning and wrinkling his nose in disgust, "his *taste* of it all, the thrill of the hunt, the excitement of the chase, the arousal of first blood. He's in a frenzy -- consider it a *feeding* frenzy, if you will." Mulder bared his teeth in a death mask grin, and Scully actually took a step back, so real and terrifying was his look. "This fucker *is* going to kill. We'll see the first body within twenty-four hours. And there isn't anything that you," a nod at Skinner, "or you," another nod, this time at Scully, "or I," finger pointing to his own chest, "can do to prevent it." Scully moved forward, making "shushing" noises and touched him, halting the cataract of words that spilled angrily from his lips. "Enough, Mulder. You're already upsetting yourself." Her limp was still noticeable, but the stiff bandages that encased her ankle had given her her mobility again. He reached out, clutching at her hand, pulling her close. "The really bad part, Scully, the really awful part is, I can't even *start* to track this man, I can't begin to crawl behind him, until the first body shows up." He paused, licking his lips and grasping her hands even more tightly, until she began to wince. "And here I am, *eager* for the body. My heart is racing and my adrenaline is up, and *I'm* on the hunt now, too. And somewhere inside of me, I'm forgetting that 'the body' is, at this moment, a real, live, living, breathing human being. Maybe a mother with children, or a man who just got engaged, or some small town cop who's never had to deal with anything worse than the political scandal of ticketing the mayor for speeding. And this person has to *die* before we can look for this bastard. Before we have a place to start." There was a long silence, and Skinner approached the bed cautiously, reaching out to gently extricate Scully's hands from Mulder's grip. He didn't seem to notice. He was gone to that place deep inside himself where the world's reality faded before the surrealism of his thoughts. "And I'm here, waiting, and instead of thinking how horrible it is that someone has to die, I'm wishing it would hurry up and happen. Because the sooner we have the body, the sooner we have a starting point, the sooner we have a chance at catching this fucker." He stopped, panting for breath, then slowly refocused on the two people who stood by his bed. "Now, Scully," he said, this time in a quiet, even voice, "help me up. Get me some more pillows, whatever it takes. I've got to be able to sit up. I need to read. Find my glasses, will you?" They could see him ticking items off on an invisible list inside his head. "Skinner," he paused, then looked up sheepishly at voicing the man's name in that way. Though their relationships had progressed far beyond that of supervisor and subordinate, the older man was still usually "Sir" at work, and both he and Scully were working on becoming comfortable with calling him "Walter" at other times. But in Mulder's mind, he still was "Skinner," as he had been for so many years. "Er, Sir? If you would, the files?" Scully looked at Skinner, watching as the indecision in his face slowly turned to acquiescence. He nodded once, then left abruptly, and Scully reluctantly began to assist Mulder into a semi-sit. When Skinner returned an hour or so later, he carried cardboard cartons, stacked three high, and was followed by the agent who had been on guard duty carrying his own boxes, and a hospital security officer who had been drafted as well. He walked in, nodding at the corner behind the door, then waited while the men deposited their burdens there. His own boxes he took to the chair beside Mulder's bed. Turning back, he thanked the men, adding, "Agent Reynolds, if you would please resume your post? Given the circumstances, let's all be especially vigilant, shall we?" Skinner placed one box on the bed near Mulder, saying, "These are the most recent files. The others contain the older material." Mulder nodded. He had already opened the box, and was engrossed in the first file. He worked his way through the box, oblivious to Scully and Skinner. They sat together quietly, not sure what they could do to help, and planning what would probably be a useless strategy to "manage" Mulder and make sure he ate and slept and allowed himself to heal -- even in the midst of the case that had fallen in their laps. At length, Mulder looked up and asked, "I don't suppose there is any possibility you're going to let me establish a command center at the local PD, is there?" Skinner rose to his full height, folded his arms across his chest, and said in a dead quiet voice, "Absolutely not." Mulder nodded as if this was the expected response, and then said, "I need a cork board. One of those portable things if possible. If not," he shrugged, "it can go up on that wall. He pointed to the wall before the bed. "It'll fit under the TV." The TV was bolted to a rack near the ceiling and the wall beneath it was the only open expanse in the room. To the right was the door to the hallway, to the left was the bathroom and a small window overlooking the roof of another section of the hospital. The fourth was, of course, the one the bed was against. There was also a small armoire there, designed to hold clothing and suitcases and other items a patient might bring in, but not need while hospitalized. Mulder's was, not surprisingly, empty. Scully had learned at some point in their relationship that leaving clothing in Mulder's hospital room was a recipe for escape, and she was very careful to remove anything he might wear to get out, including shoes and gun. These items, along with his ID, other clothing and suitcase, were safely stashed in her hotel room. "It needs to be the width of the wall. I'd make it longer if I had more room." He was eyeing the window, as if assessing the possibility of bringing the cork around the corner and covering it. "At least six feet, top to bottom, and lots of tacks. If you go with the portable things, it may take more than one. I don't care, just get them. I've got to have a place I can put the pictures up. I have to be able to *see* what he's done." Skinner had pulled a small notebook and was jotting in it, nodding as he wrote. Scully had taken the files Mulder had already been through, and was making her own perusal of the material. "And then I'm gonna need some of the photos blown up. I marked 'em as I went through the folders." He watched as Scully lifted a photo from the folder on her lap, turned it over, then held it up for Skinner to see the penciled "X" on the back. "Sometimes, I need to be able to hold it in my hand, but sometimes, it has to be big enough to look at from a distance, to see the whole picture, as it were. I can't always do that with regular eight by tens. "I'm gonna need a phone too," he went on. "Preferably a land line, but if that's impossible, get me an exemption to use my cell. I am gonna need a couple more phone lines anyway." "Phone lines? I don't think so, Mulder. I can get you what you need, and Scully and I will do all we can to make sure you can both work and still be cared for until your injuries heal, but I don't think even I can get the hospital to put in phone lines for your impromptu command center." Mulder went on as if Skinner hadn't spoken. "And a fax machine. That's not negotiable, Walter, and neither is the laptop. With a modem. I'm going to have to have phone access." Mulder was once again ticking off items on his mental list. "Here," he started flipping through folders, silently urging Scully to do the same. "These are the ones I need blown up. At least twelve by eighteen." He thrust the photos out, and Skinner stepped forward, taking them. "I need them back ASAP. I have to be able to *see* what Nathan has done. I've got to have it in front of me. And get that wall in here immediately. I can't work without a wall." His voice descended into petulant grumbling as he went on under his breath, "Shouldn't have to work like this at all." He stopped, somewhat abashed as he realized he was both giving orders to his boss, and then criticizing him for the speed in which they were carried out. "Oh, and, uh, I'm sorry, Sir. You can get me a newbie to fetch and carry. I don't mind working with green in this situation. You certainly don't have to run my errands for me." Skinner shook his head, smiling slightly and said, "No, I think I'll 'fetch and carry' for you this go round, Agent Mulder. It gives me an opportunity to monitor the case, and keep an eye on you." Mulder nodded again, dismissing Skinner from his thoughts as a wave of pain crashed over him, signaling that the pain meds were wearing off. "Scully, you're gonna have to get that doctor in here, get me something for the pain. It interferes with my concentration." He fixed her with a look, adding, "And you know I have to work, so don't even start objecting." At her reluctant agreement, he added, "But you're gonna have to make sure that whatever he gives me kills the pain, but doesn't put me to sleep. There's gotta be something that will keep me alert and functional, and still keep the pain at a manageable level. There's got to be a happy medium in there somewhere. So dig out your little PDR and find something, and then get it in here, please," he paused, gasping as a particularly strong ripple of discomfort slashed across his belly, "because, I'm not feeling too good now," he ended somewhat plaintively. "Find me something that's gonna let me work." Scully rose, nodding now and went to stand by Skinner at the door to the room. "Oh, and one more thing," Mulder called out from the bed, "I don't want either one of you alone, not for a minute. Travel in twos. In other words, get a bodyguard for each of you. He's gonna come after someone. More than likely, Scully or me, but I don't want to miscalculate and have him come after you, Sir. I don't know when, and I don't know where, but he's gonna come back for one of us." ************************************************ October 17, 1998 9:45 p.m. Mulder had been through every box, reading at his incredible speed, and using his amazing memory to categorize and sort through the sheer mass of information. He sighed wearily, then ripped a piece of yellow lined paper from the legal pad in his lap, and waved it at Skinner. "All right," he said. "This is it." Skinner turned from where he had been setting up Mulder's "wall" and took several steps to stand beside the bed. He reached out and took the paper, saying, "This is what?" "These are the people you need to put a guard on. You need to find them and you need to warn them and you need to watch them." Mulder's eyes were closed now, and he had laid back heavily into the pillows supporting him. "These are the ones I think he's marked. He's gonna go after one of them at some point." "Are you sure?" Mulder shrugged, eyes still closed, face etched with pain. "There's no way to be sure, but if I had to lay odds ..." His voice trailed away, and then he muttered, sotto voce, "Pain meds, Scully?" At her gentle touch, he opened his eyes and gave a half-smile. She squeezed his arm, then ducked out the door. "He's gonna go after one or more of them at some time, Sir," Mulder went on, redirecting himself toward Skinner. "Probably more than one of them. Like I said, there isn't going to be any period of escalation. He's already peaked, and it's going to be one killing after another until he's caught. He's gotta know we're right here, we're close. He knows he isn't going to get away. He isn't going to calmly run -- if he was he would have run when the van overturned. But he didn't. And something in this area has triggered his hunger again." Mulder stopped, the faraway, detached look sliding over his face as if he had left the room without a backward glance at the mere mortal who could not follow. "He's connected to this place, this area. I don't know how. It's part of what I need to figure out. What kept him here when he could have run? What keeps him here now? He wasn't born here, but he lived here as a child, into his teens. He enlisted in the Army; dishonorable discharge. I had requested the information on the circumstances of the discharge seven years ago, but then, the verdict on the first trial came back and it was life, so they didn't pursue it anymore. *I* didn't pursue." His eyes regained their focus and he turned to look at Skinner. "I need to know what happened. Can you get someone on that right away? It has to have something," Mulder paused, face contorting briefly, then rubbed his brow and went on, "to do with all of this. Until I can figure it out, I don't even know what direction to point people in." He sighed heavily, then closed his eyes and mumbled in exhaustion, "I'm fucking useless." Skinner folded the piece of paper and stuck it in his breast pocket. "I'll get someone on this right away," he said as he began to gather the materials that were strewn about Mulder's bed. "As far as the other research, I'll have someone on that first thing in the morning." He cast a deliberate glance at his watch, then looked up as Scully reentered, a nurse with a syringe behind her. "I hope that's got something to make him sleep, as well," the AD commented, smiling when she nodded. "I don't need anything to make me sleep," Mulder protested. "Scully, c'mon, you know how foggy that stuff makes me." "Sorry, Mulder," she said cheerily. "Doctor's orders. You're out for the night." It was a vivid testimony to his exhaustion that he offered no further resistance, watching in resigned silence as the RN slipped the needle into the valve on the IV, and depressed the plunger. Within minutes, he was snoring gently, and Scully and Skinner were settling into their chairs for the night. ********************************************** October 18, 1998 3:20 a.m. Five hours and thirty five minutes later, Skinner's cell phone rang, waking all three of them. He answered it, there was a brief pause, and then he said, "All right. We expected this. I want the scene photographed from every possible angle." He looked up. Scully was already standing, pulling her blazer on and slipping gingerly into her shoes, the bandage on her ankle making it a bit of a production. "Agent Scully is on her way and she will supervise the crime scene." He covered the phone and spoke softly to Scully. "Tonight, or in the morning?" "Autopsy?" She looked at her watch, grimaced, then said, "It'll be morning before we're done on site. I'll just do it then." Skinner nodded and spoke into the receiver again. "She'll accompany the body to the morgue and begin the autopsy immediately. She's gonna be the acting on this one, but I want copies of everything forwarded to me here at the hospital." He closed the phone without another word, then stepped into the hall to arrange for one of the agents on duty to go with and stay with Scully. When Skinner left, Scully walked over to the bed, leaned down and gave Mulder a quick kiss, then stood, her hand lingering on his brow to gently brush back the persistent flop of hair that rested there. "I'd tell you to rest," she said softly, "but I think it would be useless. But I am gonna tell you to listen to Skinner. If you overdo on this one, you're not gonna help anyone, least of all yourself. He's right, you know. The surgery was intense. You shouldn't be involved in something like this at all." She sighed then, her hand dropping down to cup his cheek. "But one thing I know, Mulder, one thing I understand: you could no more leave this alone than you could fly to the moon. But please -- don't hurt yourself further." She paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I couldn't stand it." She stared down, blue meeting gray, and said in a forced, light tone, "So, take it easy and do what the big guy says." Mulder pursed his lips and blew, a soft raspberry of both exasperation and acceptance, then nodded. He pulled her back down for another kiss, then said, "Go. Make sure they get everything. We can't afford to be sloppy on this one. Every angle. Every possibility. Put someone on a ladder and shoot straight down -- or a roof if that's feasible. Get it in context. I need to see what's around. Make them pick up *everything,* I don't care what it is, I need to see it all. Everything. And get pictures in situ first, before anything is bagged." Scully made a moue of distaste, then said, "I know what I'm looking for, Mulder. It'll be all right. I just hope this isn't the local make out area or you know what we'll be bagging all night." Mulder chuckled softly. "Maybe it'll be a big field, and there won't be anything worse than cow cookies." She smacked him lightly on the arm, saying, "You better listen to the doctors and Skinner while I'm gone. I want you well enough to lead the next three in the morning foray into the local wilds." She stopped then, embarrassed as she realized the import of her words. "You know what I mean," she whispered. He nodded gravely as she left, calling, "Stay off your ankle as much as you can." Skinner reappeared and walked over to the bed, nimbly relieving Mulder of the folder he had picked up, and removing the younger man's glasses from his face. He placed the folder on the table by the bed, then deliberately folded the glasses and set them on top. "There's no point in doing that, Mulder. You need to go back to sleep. Until the photos come in, until we have Scully's report, there's nothing new for you to look at. Reading the old data again, isn't going to tell you anything new. The information you're looking for from the Army hasn't come in yet. None of the other requests for information on Nathan's childhood, the people he knew in this area, jobs he's held, nothing has turned up yet. Believe me, when it does, I'll be the one waking you up. But in the meantime, you've done enough for today. It's the middle of the night. You go back to sleep." His hand reached out to hover over the light switch. "What are you doing?" Mulder asked. "Did you not hear me? I'm turning the lights back off, so you can go back to sleep." "I can't go back to sleep." "You don't have an option, Mulder," Skinner replied. "You're good. As an agent, you're one of the best. As a profiler, you probably are *the* best. But you're not the only one that the Bureau has at its disposal. And I will yank you from this case and deny you access in a heartbeat if you don't abide by my orders and the doctor's orders. You rest when you're tired, you take meds when you hurt, and you are brutally honest about how you are feeling at all times. You have any problems with that, we'll haul everything out of here now, and I'll send for Fermelli and he'll take over." "I hate Fermelli," Mulder said petulantly. "He's an arrogant asshole." Skinner smiled sweetly. "I know. And if you don't want that arrogant asshole taking over your case, roll over like a good boy and go to sleep." And he clicked off the light. End part 01/11 Profiles in Caring: The Nibbler Case II 02/11 October 18, 1998 4:10 a.m. The night was quiet when Scully reached the crime scene. The hushed voices of the men and women who stood waiting patiently mingled with the sounds of crickets in the woods and the rustling of small animals, disturbed by the humans' encroachment into their domain. There was a crisp tang in the air, an odor of pine and lingering wild flowers that was stolen in the autumn's chill breeze. The cold bite of the steady wind reminded her that winter would not be long in coming. She sighed and surveyed the scene. The site was, if not a field, at least a clearing in a sparsely wooded area rather than an urban, trash-filled area, and she was quick to count herself lucky on that count. No dumpster diving tonight. As she took a moment to assay the situation, she noted first the silence that had met her arrival, then the number of astonished looks and several outright gasps that escaped the other officers and agents. It caught her by surprise and she found herself looking around and asking, "What?" Agent Jacobson came forward and said, "I tried to explain to them, but I guess it was still a shock." "What was a shock?" she asked. "Come with me. See for yourself." He turned and headed toward the body, laying off to one edge of the clearing. It was loosely covered with a tarp, but Scully could still make out the form beneath, humped and broken where it lay. Jacobson was moving along the edge of the clearing, making a wide circle toward the body, and she called out to him, "Stop." He paused, looking back at her. "Mulder always widens the scene. Why don't you retrace your steps to me, and we'll increase this circle by about ten feet. She was nodding, confirming her own decision. "That should be enough." Jacobson was staring at her now, and she spoke again. "Let's get the tape moved back, and get the techs in here to bag and tag. And is the van here yet?" "Any time now," the agent answered. "They had to wake everyone and wait for them to get to the office." "Well, other than resetting the tape, there's nothing to do until the lights and cameras get here." She was interrupted by the rumble of a mobile forensic van pulling up to park behind the car they had arrived in. "Oh, good. Now we're ready to start." The next ninety minutes were spent in photographing the scene from every conceivable angle. One of the younger and more athletic agents was even sent up several trees to get shots from overhead. Techies swarmed over the ground, gloved hands collecting the minutiae of a dozen late night rendezvous, a hundred teenage keg parties, and untold numbers of hunting expeditions. Shotgun shells and casings from .22s and .38s were found, along with bits of paper, snags of cloth, crumpled cigarette packs and butts of every brand; discarded bottles and cans, used condoms and dirty needles. A broken handled Jim Bowie knife, dirt encrusted and stained with old, dry blood was recovered as were a pair of pantyhose and a man's belt. Scully began to rethink her position that country was easier than city for evidence collection. Brown paper bags rustled as the techs continued their search, and when she finally pronounced the area "clean," the sun was almost upon them, and the morning birds had been singing cheerfully for a full thirty minutes. So involved in following Scully's instructions, so engrossed in the intense attention to detail she demanded, the initial shock at her arrival had been forgotten until she began to move toward the body. The woods fell silent again, even the birds were still as she stepped to the tarp and lifted it. Her mouth rounded into an "O" of astonishment, and one hand came up quickly to cover it. She stared down at the body for a moment more, and then swayed and Jacobson hurried forward to take her arm, and pull the tarp from her hand, dropping it back over the body. "I'm sorry," he murmured apologetically. "In the fervor of the moment, I'm afraid we all forgot. That was what I wanted to warn you about." Scully took several deep breaths, waited a moment longer, then gently shook off the man's hand. "I'm OK," she said, "but you're right, it was a shock." She reached back over and threw the tarp off completely, exposing the body to full view. It was a woman, petite, with hair the exact shade as her own. She was about the same size, height and weight, and her face had been bitten away. There were numerous other bites across her nude body, and she lay in what was once a pool of blood. The ground beneath her was dark now, the blood having been soaked into the ever thirsty soil. "It's a rather obvious ploy, don't you think?" she asked when she had regained her voice. "I'd think it would reinforce Mulder's belief that Nathan is gonna go after you." She shrugged. "Possibly. And it does explain why he didn't get one of the people on Mulder's list. He was trying to make a statement here." She looked around, spotted the coroner and waved him over. "I've done all I can here," she said. "Let's bag her and get her to the morgue so I can get started." "You gonna do it now, then?" the older man asked. "Yeah." Scully looked up at him and smiled. "If I can get a cup of coffee first." ******************************************** October 18, 1998 8:30 a.m. Skinner had switched his phone from ring to vibrate, and the subtle but steady quiver against his leg woke him. He took a quick look at Mulder -- asleep again -- and rose to step out into the hall. "Skinner." "How is he?" Scully's voice was clear, but he could hear an undertone of tired in her words. "He went back to sleep. Didn't want to, but I insisted. And I actually won. He's sleeping now." He paused, then asked, "How about you? What did you find?" She sighed. "It was messy. There's so much stuff to sort through, and quite frankly, I doubt any of it is gonna lead us to Nathan." "Where are you now?" "In the ME's office. He's plying me with coffee." Skinner could hear a deep-voiced laugh from the background. "I'm gonna get started on the autopsy next. They're doing the trace exam now." "How long?" "For the trace? An hour or so." "Autopsy?" "Two to three hours. It looks pretty straightforward. Cause of death was almost certainly loss of blood." "So you should be back by two?" "Around then, yes. Unless something unforeseen comes up." "Anything else?" "Well," there was a pause and he could almost see her debating on whether or not to mention it -- whatever it was. "Out with it, Scully. If you have to think about it this long, I need to know." "I just don't want you to read too much into it, that's all," she said defensively. "But?" "She looked like me." "The victim?" "Yeah. Well, she didn't exactly *look* like me -- I don't know what she looked like. Her face was gnawed away. But her hair is like mine, and she's my size." She drew a deep, shuddery breath that he could hear through the phone. "It was a pretty deliberate choice I'd say." "And it helps explain why the people on Mulder's list are all still tucked up nice and snug in their little beds," Skinner added. He blew out, then pulled his bottom lip into his teeth for a minute. "All right. We won't read too much into it for now. It could be nothing more than a warning. Or he may have realized you were unattainable and tried to take a pale imitation. You're already under guard; there's not much else we can do. Just be careful, and make sure you stay with -- who is with you, anyway? Reynolds? Saud? Gresham?" "Gresham." "OK. Stay with Gresham. Make sure he stays with you." "He's already told me he has a weak stomach for autopsies," she warned, laughing a little. "Tell him to get over it," Skinner growled. "Better yet, I'll tell him myself. But he stays in the room with you, understood?" "I hardly think Nathan is going to snatch me from the county coroner's morgue. Too many LEOs floating around." "Still. Gresham stays. Got it?" "Yes, Sir." There was a pause and then she asked, "Oh, and Sir? Could we not mention this to Mulder yet? The resemblance? You're already reacting a bit more strongly than I would like. I told you I didn't want this blown out of proportion. And Mulder, well, he's liable to go completely nuts." She dropped her voice, adding, "You know how he gets." Skinner thought for a moment, then said, "All right. For now. But you know he's going to find out when the pictures come back." "Yeah. I know he has to know. I just figured maybe we could buy him a few more hours rest. Stall on the other reports till after lunch, maybe. Every hour he rests goes a long way toward healing." Skinner pushed the door open and peeked in at his agent, still sleeping. He drew back, then said, "I'll try and let him sleep as long as possible. Call me when you're done -- before you head back over here. Call me sooner if you find something new." *********************************************** October 18, 1998 Morning Mulder had awakened when they brought the breakfast trays, gamely nibbled at his meal of clear liquids; hot tea, apple juice, and jello, then spent a couple of hours rereading files and having Skinner hang and then rearrange pictures, papers, and other assorted bits of data on the cork board that now covered one side of the room. When he had begun to wince with each breath, the AD had insisted he lay back down and rest. "When will Scully be back?" Mulder shifted uncomfortably in the too narrow, too short bed, one hand attempting vainly to plump up the too flat pillow. Skinner looked up from his own study of crime scene photos. "Two, or thereabouts." At Mulder's frown, he glanced at his watch and added, "It takes time." He walked over to the bed and awkwardly fussed with the pillow that refused to plump. "You should rest while you can. Once the reports start coming in, you won't want to rest, and quite frankly, I won't be able to let you rest. We both know we need to find this guy, and find him quick." He touched Mulder's shoulder gently. "And I'm already hating myself for knowing I'm gonna be letting you work as hurt as you are. So please, rest now." He smiled slightly. "It'll help ease my guilt." Mulder snorted, but closed his eyes obediently and was soon softly snoring. Skinner studied him a moment and resolved to find some decent pillows for the man, even if he had to send an agent to the local K-Mart. Mulder's sleep was short-lived, however, as the pain meds soon began to wear off and they were back to waiting for time to pass so that another dose could be administered. A liquid lunch and a quick injection in the IV later, and his agent was finally sleeping, looking peaceful and possibly even getting some beneficial rest for a change. He had moved back to his chair and was deep in review of the files once more, searching for something, *anything,* they could have missed, when a vibration in his pocket told him he was wanted on the phone. He rose, checked Mulder once again, then stepped into the hall. ************************************************ October 18, 1998 12:15 p.m. "Skinner." The voice was loud in the young agent's ear and he grimaced as he looked over at the autopsy table. "Uh, Sir?" Damn! His voice was cracking. He had to get it together. "This is Gresham, Sir." He glanced at the table again, saw that he was still the focus of attention and struggled on, despite the vision that danced before his eyes. "Agent Scully is, uh, waiting for ..." He glanced up again, meeting blue eyes, as his hand covered the phone. "Test results from the exams." "Oh, yeah." Damn, he was shaking. He couldn't lose it here, not now, not in front of her. She was so calm and collected. How could she be that way in the midst of this horror? From the receiver, he heard Skinner again. "Gresham? Are you there?" He hastily removed his hand and spoke again. "Uh, yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir. Agent Scully is waiting for test results from the exams." He couldn't keep his eyes away from her. Her green hospital scrubs were blood-streaked, her hair was disheveled and several strands clung to a small spot of crimson that dotted her cheek. But she was utterly calm, waiting patiently for him to finish the call. He didn't want to, but he looked across the room to where the Medical Examiner sat by another body, and felt his hands begin to shake. He looked back to Scully and she nodded slightly, so he went on. "Agent Scully would like to go to the hotel and get some sleep until the test results come back." He gulped hard, his eyes scanning the room with the mesmerized pull of a passerby to an accident. "If that's all right with you, Sir?" "I think that's imminently sensible, Gresham. Scully's unavailable?" "Uh, yes, Sir. She's still, uh, occupied with the, uh ..." Here his voice faded away. He couldn't bring himself to say it, couldn't force the words out. "Finishing up, is she?" Skinner's voice was so calm, almost amused, and Gresham fought back a sudden wave of nausea. There were tears in his eyes, and he blinked rapidly, pushing them back, trying desperately to ignore his surroundings. "I'm glad she's being reasonable for a change. Tell her Mulder is sleeping, and she's to take as much time as she can to rest. Is that clear?" "Yes, Sir." He glanced up again, blinking to clear his eyes once more, and covered the phone as he answered the inquiring nod. "He said take all the time you can." His stomach was heaving again, bile filled his mouth, and he wanted nothing more than to wheel and run, but his feet were locked in place, holding him immobile. "And Gresham?" Skinner was speaking again, and he forced himself to listen. "You are to stay with her, no matter what. In the room. Not in the hall. You got that?" His eyes were wide as he looked over at the table again, and he shivered at what he saw. "Yes, Sir. Stay with her." He swallowed hard again, and choked out, "No matter what," his voice cracking on the last word. A nod from across the room, and he closed the phone, then tossed it lightly to its owner. He looked over at the ME again, his body slack and lifeless where it leaned against the lockers. The face was unrecognizable, all features had been chewed and gnawed until very little flesh remained. The belly had been ripped open with sharp teeth and the entrails pulled out, and he had watched it all. He looked up at Scully again, seeing her held tightly in Nathan's grasp, her features composed despite the pain he knew she must be experiencing from the way the Nibbler held one arm up behind her back. Her ear still bled from the bite he had inflicted, but she stood patiently, not resisting, not provoking, just waiting. Exactly the kind of demeanor he wished he could exhibit. He looked down at the floor, seeing the cuffs that held his ankles locked in place to a stanchion, seeing the dark spread of urine on the floor as his bladder finally betrayed him. Nathan was tying Scully now, laying her on top of the body that still lay on the table, covering her with the bloody cloth. And he was advancing toward him. He shook, wanting to be brave, wanting to die with dignity, but knowing he was crying, and his nose was running, and he'd wet his pants. The last thing he heard as teeth bit into his throat was Scully calling his name. "Howard! Howard! I'm so sorry, Howard!" And the last thought he had was that he hadn't even realized she knew his first name. End part 02/11 Profiles in Caring: The Nibbler Case II 03/11 October 18, 1998 2:30 p.m. Skinner saw him stir, then blink, then yawn, and then, right on cue, he spoke. "Where is she?" The AD laughed. The man was incredibly predictable in some situations. He studied his agent for a moment. He looked better. There was some color in his face, and he didn't wear that perpetually pinched expression that people in pain were wont to have. Was he feeling better, or were the drugs just very effective? Hard to tell. "Intelligent woman that our Agent Scully is, *she* decided to go back to the hotel and take a nap, since she was up most of the night. We don't expect the first reports to start coming in until around six. I expect we'll see Scully about then." Skinner had to smile at the crestfallen expression on Mulder's face. "Six?" he whined. "She won't be back until six?" He frowned then twisted in the bed and pounded the terminally flat pillow. "God, I hate hospitals. She's the only one that can make being here bearable." This last was muttered under his breath, and Skinner had to strain to hear. When Mulder realized the older man had heard, he looked up and sighed. "Sorry, Sir, no offense intended. It's just, I ..." "I know, Mulder, it's OK. Look, I sent Saud out to pick up some pillows. Real pillows, not these pieces of cardboard wrapped in plastic the hospital likes to pretend are pillows." He hefted two large blue plastic bags and dragged out six pillows and new pillowslips. "Not as good as Scully, I know," he said through teeth clenched together to hold the pillow as he slid the case on, "but maybe it'll help you get more comfortable." Mulder grinned. "Pillows? Damn, looks like I was lucky you stayed with me. Scully never brought me real pillows." He sighed contentedly as Skinner slipped the first one under his head, and went back to covering the rest. ***************************************** October 18, 1998 3:45 p.m. His phone was vibrating again. Mulder was tucked up in the bed, the new pillows behind him and one at his side supporting his arm as he reread and reread the files from all of Nathan's previous crimes. He lifted the small black phone, almost hidden in his large hand and said, "Phone," as he flipped it open and spoke. "Skinner." "This is Amelia Capehart, Mr. Skinner. At the county office? I've been running these tests for your Doctor Scully, and I have some results, but I can't reach her. I even went over to the morgue, but it's all dark and locked up and I can't reach the ME either." "Agent Scully went back to the hotel to rest. Why don't you messenger what you have over to me, and I'll make sure she gets the results." He could hear the woman's sigh of relief. "Yes, sir. That would be fine. I'll send everything on over. It's my daughter's birthday, and I need to get on home, but if you have any questions, you can call me there. She's just having a few friends over, nothing elaborate. And I'll be there all night. I'll put my number on a note and attach it to the results." "Thank you. We appreciate you coming in to work on this. Have fun at your daughter's party." Skinner closed the phone. "It's always such a shock to be reminded that while we are consumed with finding a madman, people go on with their ordinary lives." Mulder quirked an eyebrow in inquiry. "That was the tech they called in to do Scully's tests. Couldn't get rid of the results fast enough. It's her daughter's birthday, and she needs to get home." Skinner shook his head. "Amazing, isn't it? She's doing tests on saliva, blood, and other secretions, trying to separate the donors out, she knows what's going on, knows this madman is out there, and all she can think of is getting home for the kid's party." "Distance, Sir. She probably does these kinds of tests a lot. Has to keep her distance to keep her sanity." Mulder shrugged. "You should know how that works. I mean, you know Nathan is out there too, but you found time to send someone for pillows for me." He snuggled back into them self-indulgently and smiled up at his friend. "Yes, but, you're working the case ..." "And?" "And you've been injured trying to stop this crazy man ..." "And?" Skinner shifted awkwardly. "And I wanted you to be comfortable," he admitted. "That's not all. Why did it matter if I was comfortable?" "Because I care about you." The man stared at the floor then raised his hands in surrender. "OK, OK, I get the point. Geez, make a simple observation ..." Mulder laughed and after a second or two, Skinner joined him. "So, uh, Walter, since you care about me, what can you do about getting Scully back over here?" ********************************************* October 18, 1998 6:00 p.m. Skinner watched surreptitiously as Mulder stared at the watch he held in his hand. Sure enough, as soon as the minute hand hit the twelve, he spoke. "It's 6:00, Walter. Can we call Scully now?" The AD laughed. "God, Mulder, you're worse than a kid on Christmas Eve. But yes, we can call her now." Mulder flushed but repeated his request. "It's six, Walter. This is not just Mr. Lonely Hearts wanting his lady love. I'm a little concerned we haven't heard from her by now." Skinner sobered instantly. "Mulder, if you were worried, you should have said something." "I didn't want to create a fuss. And I'm sure she's just catching up on her rest, but I'd feel better if we at least check in with her." He twisted on the bed, then scratched at the IV site with irritation. "It's just a little unusual for Scully to want to go to the hotel and nap when I'm still in the hospital." He flushed again. "I mean, I don't want to seem self- centered here, and I'm really glad she decided to catch some rest while she could, but really ... When was the last time Scully slept on a case without you or me having to force her to?" Skinner had his phone out, dialing, even as Mulder finished speaking. He had gone from amused at Mulder's clock-watching to dreadfully concerned, all in the space of a few words. "Ring ..." Mulder was right, of course. It *was* out of character for Scully to want to go rest, when Mulder was still laid up, and the case was still ongoing. "Ring ..." And he should have realized that from the get go. "Ring ..." God, if something had happened to her, he would never forgive himself. He forced himself to look over at Mulder and smile. "Ring ..." What he really wanted to do was throttle Mulder for not speaking up about his concerns earlier. "Ring ..." Of course, that wouldn't do any good, and if Scully didn't answer the phone soon, the younger man would heap enough guilt on himself that anything Skinner could possibly say would be superfluous. "Ring ..." Where the hell was she? Why wasn't she answering the phone? "Ring ..." Mulder's expression had shifted from excited to anxious to embarrassed as he admitted his concern, to excited again when Skinner dialed, to impatient as he waited, and now his features were settling into extreme worry. "Ring ..." Skinner closed the phone. "She's probably in the shower, getting ready to head back this way." He started dialing again. "I'll just call Gresham and get this cleared up once and for all." Mulder nodded grimly. He was sitting upright, one arm clutched protectively around his abdomen, and his eyes never left Skinner's form. "Ring ..." Skinner stared at his agent, his friend. He would never be able to keep the man in bed if Scully wasn't at the hotel. "Ring ..." He couldn't bring himself to think of the ramifications of her going missing at this point. Every time his mind tried to connect Scully with the Nibbler, his faculties just shut down and refused to go there. "Hello?" Skinner jumped. The voice was sudden and loud in his ear, startling him from his thoughts. "Gresham? Scully's not answering her phone. Where is she?" "I'm afraid Agent Gresham went to pieces, and I had to take over as the lovely Agent Scully's escort. I'd chat longer, but I have to run. Something I ate earlier just didn't agree with me." ***************************************** October 18, 1998 6:45 p.m. As Skinner entered the room, he reeled at the foul odor that assaulted his senses. It was the reek of death; new death and old death, and over it all the pain of dying. The morgue was a charnel house. Blood was everywhere as were bits of tissue and organs, viscera and even small body parts -- fingers, eyeballs, ears. Skinner's stomach heaved as he looked around. The ME was propped in a lopsided position against the steel lockers that held bodies. He'd been eviscerated and his face was gone. He was covered in blood and his head hung at an odd angle, leading Skinner to believe his neck was broken. The wall of lockers behind and above the now deceased ME was a scattered mess. Streaks of blood ran down the stainless steel fronts, doors were ajar, and here and there, the sliding trays were pulled out, and left there, empty, like a beggar's outstretched palm, overlooked by passersby too consumed with their own lives to take notice of anyone else. The bodies that had once lain on those shelves now decorated the autopsy bays. From fresh murder victims to weeks old corpses far into decay, all had been violated, life taken in death now desecrated by Nathan's twisted touch. The work on the older corpses appeared to have been done with hand and knife. Appendages had been removed and scattered about the room with what the Nibbler must have thought was a decorator's flair. Walking in the room would be impossible for the time being; the floor was covered in blood and body parts, and another fluid that Skinner suspected was semen. His hand rose to cover his mouth and nose and he bowed to the inevitable. Despite his threats to Mulder before he left, regardless of his own vow to himself to keep the man in his hospital bed, his friend, his agent, his crack profiler was going to have to see this for himself. He sighed heavily and spoke to the agents and officers waiting behind him. "Close it up again. No one goes in or out until my man get here." Another sigh escaped his lips. "He's going to have to see this himself." ********************************************* October 18, 1998 8:00 p.m. "Stop looking so guilty. This is far from the first time that I've checked myself out AMA." Skinner glanced over at his agent. The man was propped against the car door, using the seat belt shoulder strap as a cushion for his head against the window. One hand held the door handle in a white-knuckled grip and the other lay tight across his belly. He looked uncomfortable, but not in a tremendous amount of pain at the moment. He'd had another shot of the painkillers just before they'd left the hospital. Skinner could only hope it would last for as long as it took Mulder to make his on-site examination. The plan was that Mulder would give them a direction to go in, and then he would go back to the hospital and get back into the bed. Skinner snorted at the thought. Yeah, right. "What?" Mulder turned slightly to look at the AD. "Nothing. I was just thinking. You *are* going to go back to the hospital without a fuss when we're done here, aren't you?" Mulder just stared at him and Skinner sighed. "Yeah. That's what I thought." "You said he mutilated the other bodies as well?" "Well, mutilated doesn't seem like a strong enough word, but, yeah, he did." "Anything that looked like a message, a pattern, symbols of any sort stand out to you?" Skinner shook his head. "Nothing leapt out at me, no. But the scene was -- disturbing. I was having a hard time getting beyond the individual atrocities so I could view it as a whole. I'm sure there are plenty of things I missed." He took a deep breath and added quietly, "Thank God." "Who do we have identified as dead?" "The ME, Gresham, another deputy from the county office, and the six deceased that were in the morgue at the time." "Nine bodies," Mulder mused. "Wonder if that's significant?" Skinner shrugged and stopped the car. "We're here. You wait while I get the wheelchair." "I can walk." Skinner halted halfway out of the car and whirled on the younger man. "Mulder -- do not push me on this. I don't want you here. I don't want you involved. I'm worried to death about Scully and now I have to worry about you, too. You will use the chair when I say, and you will go back to the hospital when we're done here, or so help me, I will pick you up and haul your ass back bodily. You got that, Mister?" Mulder stared at the AD stonily, but made no further move to get out of the car. Skinner grunted in acknowledgment and went to the trunk to get the wheelchair. He helped the younger man in and wheeled him into the county offices. It was a short elevator ride down to the basement that held the morgue. Two armed guards, looking slightly green, stood outside the doors. "You can call the sheriff, let him know we're back. And get the techs down here and ready to work." Skinner pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and passed it to Mulder wordlessly, then produced another which he held to his nose. "All right." He took a deep breath. "Unlock it and let us in." ****************************************** October 18, 1998 11:45 p.m. "I can't get a feel for him. This is all too deliberate, too staged. The real Nathan, he's not here. This is for show, meant to shock and frighten." Mulder winced and stumbled and Skinner's arm was around him at once. "Well, if his goal was to shock and frighten, he was successful." Skinner was practically carrying Mulder as they made their way back to the wheelchair. The pain meds had obviously worn off, but Mulder had refused to leave yet, saying he wasn't done. "There has to be a message," he panted. "He took Scully, but didn't kill her. He wants to play cat and mouse. So he had to leave me a way to find them." He stopped by a wall, and Skinner stopped with him, still supporting the fading man. "God, it's got to be here! Why can't I see it?" He began moving again, heading for the wheelchair, and Skinner began to think that getting Mulder back to the hospital wouldn't be as big a problem as he'd assumed. They reached the chair, and Mulder suddenly pulled away, pulling himself erect and turning back to face the room. His eyes scanned rapidly and his lips moved as he took in the scene, then collapsed into the chair. "Nine bodies, nineteen ears. Where did the extra ear come from?" "What?" Skinner stopped and started to count ears himself. God, this was too much like Viet Nam. But sure enough, there were nine bodies and nineteen ears. Where, indeed, did the extra ear come from? Just then a young deputy stuck her head into the room and called excitedly, "Hey, Sheriff, we finally got through to Holsteen's house. Wife's not home. Babysitter says she came over here to eat dinner with her husband since he had watch tonight." "Oh, shit! That's it, then." Mulder slumped back wearily into the wheelchair. "That's not Gresham." "What do you mean, it's not Gresham? How do you know?" "I should have seen it sooner. Look at the wounds to the chest. It's not him." "If it's not Gresham, who is it? And why do you assume it's Gresham that's missing with Scully?" "It's the kind of thing he would do. Gresham was the only other Bureau person here." He pulled himself up wearily and made his way over to the body they'd identified as the young agent's. "It's the deputy's wife. The breasts are gone, the hair was cut. It's a woman, I'm sure of it." He dragged the pants down, proving his point. "And I know where Nathan has gone." End part 03/11 Profiles in Caring: The Nibbler Case II 04/11 October 19, 1998 12:40 a.m. "He isn't in there. He's done something to them, or rigged something to happen, so that if I don't do everything *just* right, they'll die. Scully and Gresham and the babysitter and the kids." Mulder looked at Skinner, naked pleading on his face. He was seated in the passenger seat of the car, the door held open as Skinner squatted before him. "I can't explain it. You have to keep the locals away, keep them back. It has to be me. I can think like him. I can *feel* what he's doing. Please don't make me explain it. Just believe me when I tell you, they're going to die if we don't do this just right." Skinner studied the young man in the dim light of the car's overhead. A fast trip by the hospital, Mulder protesting every step of the way, had yielded another injection of the pain medication, and the man was, at least, semi-alert and semi-functional. But he was far frailer, far more unsteady, far more depleted than he had been when they originally left the medical center a little over four hours ago. Exhaustion and pain had carved lines deep into his face, and his shoulders slumped as if holding the weight of the world upon them. He didn't want to let him go. Mulder was more than just his agent, more than just the best profiler the Bureau had seen since John Douglas. He was his friend, a hard- earned appellation that still took the AD by surprise when he thought of the trials and tests that friendship had been forged from. And right now, his friend was half-dead on his feet, wounded and in pain, but even more than the physical trauma, he was half-out of his mind with worry. Worry that would only be ended by letting Mulder lead the way into the house before them. He studied Mulder a bit longer, then shook his head. "I believe you, Mulder, really I do. But you can't do it." He lifted one hand to forestall the objection he saw coming. "It's not that I doubt a word you've said. I'm sure the threat is very real. But look at you. You're dead on your feet. You can barely sit erect, let alone walk unaided." He shook his head again. "No. You just can't do it." Mulder slumped back into the seat. "You're sentencing them all to death." "Are you sure he's not in there?" Mulder looked up, a faraway expression in his eyes. He was silent for a long moment and Skinner could almost see him examining his reasoning one last time. Finally he spoke. "No. I'm not absolutely sure. But I'd say it's a very, very good possibility that he's not in there at all. It seems too early in the game and this was too easy -- finding where he went." "Then you can go in, but I'll come with you. If he's not in there, it shouldn't matter if there are two of us attempting to identify his traps." Mulder narrowed his eyes as he looked at the big man. "You?" Now it was his turn to shake his head. "There's no sense in both of us getting killed if something goes wrong." "Mulder, you can't go alone. I'm willing to admit you need to be first on the scene in there. But you can't go alone. And frankly, I'm not letting anyone else go with you. I've been with you enough, seen you in action enough, I'm starting to know when to back off and when to push." The AD straightened, pulling himself up to stand. "And when to declare ultimatums. And this is a time for an ultimatum." He stared down at the man in the car. "I'm declaring an ultimatum now." He reached down with one hand and grasped Mulder's arm just above his wrist. "If you want to go into the house, I'm your escort. No further discussion will be tolerated." Mulder turned his head to study the house, noting the sidewalk of round stones that led up to the wide front porch. The streetlight behind them illuminated the dwelling enough to discern that it was a frame Cape Cod, covered in a pale yellow vinyl siding with green shutters and trim. A nice place to raise a family. A house filled with love and laughter. Probably very cheerful and homey during the day -- and when it hadn't been desecrated by a man like Nathan. Letting his eyes drift shut, he cast a last prayer up to the heavens that Scully would be unhurt, but for some reason, he felt she would be. He was thinking like the Nibbler. I wouldn't kill her now. I'd wait. But, what would I do? How would I set things up? Where would I go? It was too soon to expect Nathan to make a last stand or seek out a confrontation. He was playing games now, setting the stage for some bigger production yet to come. So far, the price for his entertainment had been the deputy, his wife, and the ME. And the woman found in the field. Four lives for one sick bastard's thrills. And who knew what they would find inside ... "Mulder?" He jumped, then shook his head rapidly to clear the thoughts, blinking twice before looking up at Skinner. "Hmmm?" "You still with me?" The older man's face was etched with concern. "Oh. Yeah." He raised a hand and dry-washed his own face, feeling the stubble of beard that covered his cheeks and chin. He'd have to be careful when he kissed Scully; her sensitive skin would get beard burn in a heartbeat. He needed to get in there and see her. Somehow, he knew she was still alive. Tired eyes slid shut again as his mind raced through the possibilities. Killing those people. The violation of the corpses. Stealing Scully and Gresham. And now, profaning this young family's house with his acts. It was all part of Nathan's game; the killer was toying with him now. Setting him up. He couldn't say what shape the others would be in, but Scully would be alive. He was sure of it. "Mulder! Are you OK?" "I -- I'm working things out." The profiler tapped a finger against his temple. "In my head." Skinner nodded slowly, unconvinced. "Stay here, understand?" He waited for the slight nod before continuing. "I'm going to talk to the locals. It was their man that was killed. They're not going to want to let us go in alone." "Work it out, Sir." Mulder's head was leaned back against the headrest of the seat. "There'll be more dead bodies if you don't." "I will, but in the meantime ..." He reached out and grasped Mulder's arm, waiting until the exhausted man pried open dry, red eyes and gazed up at him. "You. Stay. Here." Mulder nodded again. "Not going anywhere." One arm was wrapped around his waist, cradling his bandaged abdomen. "Can't. Much as I want to, much as I'd like to, I just can't." His eyes slid shut again. "I'll wait." Skinner patted his shoulder. "I'll be back in a minute." Mulder could hear the crunch of the gravel drive beneath the big man's feet. What would he do if he was Nathan? There'd be another body -- but not Scully. Gresham? Maybe. It depended on if the young agent was injured, and how badly. But probably not Gresham either. Something that would make a big statement. Something that would shock and repulse. Not Scully -- Nathan needed her to get to him. Not Gresham -- the young agent was not important in the killer's eyes. Not the babysitter either. But a child. The gruesome murder of a child would attract attention. The media would pick up on it immediately. The vision would haunt the public. Law enforcement would turn out in droves for two things -- death of one of their own, and murder of a child. And Nathan had done both. He wanted them to sit up and pay attention. Mulder sighed softly. What was driving this madman? What was the motivator? He needed the background material he'd requested. More information on Nathan's upbringing and what it was that drew him to this area. More information on the previous victims, the people he was sure had been 'marked.' He just needed more information. One hand came up to push his hair back and he was surprised to see it was trembling. He dropped the hand quickly, feeling it brush against his belly and he moaned quietly. It hurt. Through the haze of pain, he heard the gravel crunch again and then the AD was there, a looming presence that was both familiar and comforting. Skinner gave a gentle tug, watching as his friend rose slowly to his feet, swaying slightly. Reaching out quickly with his other hand, he steadied the injured man, holding him tightly until he stood still. "How's the pain?" Mulder shrugged. "It's there. It's tolerable." He stared up at the house with a mixture of eagerness and dread. "When can we go in?" "We're cleared." He pressed a button on his keyring and the trunk popped open. "Let's get you into your vest." Mulder snorted, but he let the older man lead him to the back, and raised his arms unresistingly as Skinner slipped the heavy Kevlar vest on him, waiting patiently while the AD zipped it, then did up the fasteners. "I can do that myself," he grumbled softly. "I know." Skinner's long fingers were working the catch through the hook on the last fastener. "But I'll feel better knowing it was done right." He straightened and shrugged into his own vest, quickly doing up the catches. "Weapon." He lifted a shotgun, cracking the barrel to peer down it before loading the shells. He grabbed a handful more and shoved them in a pocket. "Ready?" "You're not going to need that, you know." Mulder began moving toward the house, feeling Skinner right behind him. "He's not there. Rather than guns, we'll need explosives experts." "They're here, waiting." Skinner gestured at the street where the local Explosive Ordnance Unit van was parked prominently amongst the more prosaic county and state cars. "What are we looking for?" "A way in." Mulder headed up toward the porch, walking a few feet to the side of the walk. "Stay off the stones. We can have those checked later." He hid an amused smile as Skinner skittered onto the grass behind him. When they reached the porch, Mulder crept into the azaleas, then knelt slowly by the foundation. He lifted one hand behind him. "Light?" When Skinner placed a mag light in his hand, he trained the powerful beam under the steps and porch. "There's one right beneath the welcome mat." He passed the light back, the tried to rise, but failed. The vest was heavy and tight and he just couldn't move. "Aw, shit!" he whispered softly, but then strong hands were lifting him to his feet, holding him in place, and there was a dry cloth wiping the beads of sweat off his forehead. "That was too easy, Mulder," Skinner said as he pocketed the cloth and helped the younger man out of the bushes and back onto the grass. "It's supposed to be, Sir. He wants us to get in. This -- " he gestured at the porch, "is just him going through the motions, reminding us who's in charge." Skinner eyed Mulder speculatively. "And who is in charge, Agent Mulder?" "He is, Sir." The younger man turned and met his gaze and his eyes were clear and purposeful despite the pain Skinner knew he was in. "But I'm gaining on him." They went up the steps and onto the porch, Skinner whispering instructions to the EOU over the radio clipped to his vest's shoulder. Mulder walked to the front window, giving the space before the door wide berth. "Light?" When Skinner passed it over again, he trained it on the window, peering into the room beyond. It was a standard living room or den, devoid of anyone. "We'll go through the glass in case he wired the frame for movement." Before Skinner could speak, Mulder had smashed the window with the handle of the flashlight and had his head through the opening, peering around at the sill. "It's clear." He knocked the rest of the glass free, then began to attack the mullions. A hand on his arm stopped him. "Let me." Muscles rippled beneath the shirt as Skinner grasped the wood and pulled and soon the window was nothing more than a gaping hole. "Can you get through?" Mulder nodded, wincing as he lifted a leg and bent his head, then stepped over the sill and into the house. The AD followed on his heels. "Should we walk in here?" he whispered. "Nothing's ever certain with these lunatics, but we ought to be able to." Mulder began to prowl the room. "He had limited time. He didn't know when we'd start looking for Scully. Or someone could have discovered what he did at the morgue, for that matter. The thing under the porch was for show. We may find one more problem, but no more than that. He just didn't have time." Mulder had made a circuit of the room, not touching anything, but examining every object in detail. He looked up at Skinner. "Nothing here. No threat, but nothing to lead me to him either." He shook his head wearily. "You ready to move on?" The older man nodded. His heart was racing, the blood pounding in his veins. The fringe of hair on the back of his neck was erect, goosebumps adorned his back and arms. He could feel the unsettling surge of adrenaline as it coursed through his body. This was like being back on patrol in Nam. And he didn't like it at all. "Gotchere back. Move out." His voice was low and husky, more of a growl than speech. The shotgun was cradled in his arms, a talisman to evil, ready to be brought to bear on anything that moved. Mulder gave him a strange look, then stepped into the hall leading back to the kitchen. "They'll either be in the family room or upstairs in the bedrooms." "How do you know?" Skinner's toe caught on a throw rug and he stumbled slightly, righting himself immediately and muttering a soft curse. Mulder shrugged. "It's where I'd put them." When he turned to look at the AD, his eyes were dark and sad, and his face was twisted in a grimace of disgust. Skinner hurried forward, reaching out to grasp the slighter man's shoulder. "*You* didn't put them here, Mulder. You didn't do any of this. Getting them out alive, the ones here that survive, that's what you're doing. You're saving lives, Mulder. And no one else can do it like you." He squeezed the shoulder tightly. "I'm just sorry it's such a shitty experience for you. I'd save you from it if I could ..." The man's voice trailed off. Mulder offered a wan smile. "I know you would, and I appreciate it. But ...." He shrugged again, turned and moved forward. "Let's find Scully and the others." The hall led to the kitchen, spotlessly clean with nothing out of place. Mulder glanced at the wooden block that held the knives, but all were accounted for. Moving across the kitchen, they moved through the small breakfast room and into the family room. Again, it was neat as a pin with nothing out of place. Mulder stopped in the middle of the room, turning slowly as he took in each wall. Sofa and table on one, TV and cabinet on the second, easy chair and piano on the third, and the fourth wall was taken up by a stone fireplace that extended from one side of the room to the other. He studied that for a moment, then turned back to the piano. An electronic metronome sat in the center of the top and just visible beneath it was a scrap of paper. Mulder studied the setup carefully, then eased the paper out from under it. The slight movement started the timer and the room was soon filled with the steady tock -- -- -- tock -- -- -- tock -- -- -- as the machine began to count out its rhythm. Mulder looked up at Skinner, then pointed down at the note. "I cleaned for you." The AD read it, then met Mulder's gaze. "What's it mean?" "He killed someone. The body's here. He just cleaned up this time. Mulder glanced back at the kitchen. "Probably in there." The metronome provided a steady counterbeat to their exchange. Tock -- -- -- tock -- -- -- tock. "The body? Where?" Mulder shook his head. "Not the body. The murder. I'm not sure where the body is yet." "Where is Scully?" Skinner was getting antsy; the gun was little consolation against an enemy you couldn't see, couldn't hear, and couldn't find. Every nerve in his body was on edge, his senses alive. He was just waiting for something that would give him some direction, some guidance on what to do with the nervous energy that was building up in him, coiling within him like a spring wound tight. Waiting ... Tock -- -- -- tock -- -- -- tock -- -- -- "Upstairs. Bedroom. Gotta be." Mulder moved as quickly as he could back through the kitchen. As he passed the far wall, he stopped, halting in place and staring at the oven. Tock -- -- -- tock -- -- -- tock -- -- -- It was on. Tock -- -- -- tock -- -- -- tock -- -- -- Low heat. Tock -- -- -- tock -- -- -- tock -- -- -- Slow cook. Tock -- -- -- tock -- -- -- tock -- -- -- He closed his eyes tightly, then yanked the door open, gagging at what he saw. Tock -- -- tock -- -- tock -- -- It was a partially cooked haunch of meat. Tock -- -- tock -- -- tock -- -- A child's thigh. Tock -- -- tock -- -- tock -- -- The gag turned into a retch, and he was soon heaving into the sink, the AD supporting him, and every exertion sending waves of pain through his injured abdomen. His stomach was empty and he only brought up bile. He heaved until the bile turned red and he was vomiting blood and then he sagged into Skinner's strong embrace. Tock -- tock -- tock -- "Mulder?" The AD had laid the shotgun on the counter. One hand held Mulder tight against his chest, the other reached for paper towels and extended them to the panting agent. Tock -- tock -- tock -- "Hmmm?" Mulder wiped his mouth, his cheeks, his forehead. He wet a towel and wiped again, then again. It seemed there was no way to be rid of the slime of being part of Nathan's little adventure. Tock -- tock -- tock -- "Is the metronome getting faster?" Mulder pulled himself erect, listening intently. Tock -- tock -- tock -- "Oh, fuck!" Mulder's exclamation was as much moan as cry. He began hobbling toward the stairs, bent protectively over his belly. "Get them in here. Get them in here. We're out of time! Get them all in here!" End part 04/11 Profiles in Caring: The Nibbler Case II 05/11 Tock -- tock -- tock -- "What the hell is going on, Mulder?" Skinner breathed as he fumbled with the speaker clipped to his shoulder. "Team One, Team One! Inside! Now!" Mulder was moving up the stairs, slowly, too slow, and Skinner halted him halfway up. "Stay. I'll go. You can't carry anyone, and we don't need to have to carry you too." Tock -- tock -- tock -- "I have to see the site. I need to see it!" Behind them, the sounds of the team coming through the window and filtering through the house were apparent. "Here!" Skinner called. "Mulder, what's happening?" "The house is rigged." He took another painful step upward. Tock -- tock -- tock -- "How long do we have?" Skinner looked at Mulder as he spoke, appraising the long, lean body. With the belly injury, a fireman carry was out. Instead, he scooped the tall, but more slightly built man into his arms and bounded up the last few steps. The stairs opened into a loft area, with rooms on each side. The door to the left was open, and the room was empty. Mulder fidgeted in his arms, and he put him down gingerly. "We have until the metronome stops." The younger man was studying the door. "We need someone from EOU in here." Tock -- tock -- tock -- "Here!" A short, squat, gray-haired man advanced, looked at the door, then whistled. "I thought this guy hadn't had time to set much up." "*We* don't have time to fuck around admiring his skills," Mulder snarled. "Can you get us in?" "Oh, yeah." The man smiled, a carnivorous expression that changed his face from that of a dear old grandpa to something fierce and ferocious. "I live for this shit." Tock - tock - tock - "Just live *through* it, OK? And fast." Skinner was holding Mulder erect now, bearing the bulk of the man's weight and he wondered how much longer his agent would be able to even balance on his feet. "How many are we expecting in there?" "Scully, Gresham, the babysitter, and the other child." "Injuries?" Tock - tock - tock - "Probably." Mulder swayed and Skinner gripped him more tightly. "Almost in." The explosives guy used a screwdriver to carefully back out a screw, turning it to the right, Skinner noticed. Clever. "Someone have a camera?" Mulder was craning his neck, looking at the people waiting on the stairs. "And get everyone out that doesn't need to be here." "Medical?" Skinner was nodding at the agents on the stairs, dismissing some, holding some in place with a look. Tock - tock - tock - "No time. We get them out. Snap some pictures of the room if we can. And run like hell!" "This is it." The gray-haired man had a small pair of clippers, holding them over a blue wire. He took a deep breath, as did everyone, and then snipped. There was a moment of silence from the men and women assembled, the only sound the steady beat of the ever-present metronome, counting down to disaster. Tock - tock - tock - The EOU man pushed the door open, then gagged and turned away. "I'm done." He pushed through the people on the stairs, one hand over his mouth and disappeared. Mulder was moving forward, through the door, into the room, Skinner's hands still clinging to him, holding him up. He stared in horror, searching for Scully. The room was a mass of red. Blood and tissue and other things covered the floor and walls and -- he drew a thankful breath -- the people. Tock - tock - tock - The babysitter was tied to a chair, facing the door. A mutilated piece of the dead child was by her feet. Scully was in another chair, holding a matching piece of the body. Both women were unconscious. Gresham lay on the bed, a blood-soaked towel wrapped around his throat, and as Mulder stared, his chest rose slightly. Alive. Tock - tock - tock - He pulled away from Skinner and stumbled to the chair that held Scully, fumbling with the ties that bound her. He managed to loosen one arm and she flopped forward, almost knocking him over. But Skinner was there supporting them both now. Tock - tock - tock - An unknown agent had appeared and was cutting through the remaining ties that held Scully in the chair. He reached out to lift her, but Mulder pushed him away. Tock - tock - tock - "Let him take her, Mulder. She's alive. She's not too badly hurt. Just drugged I'd say." He shook the younger man slightly. "Let him take her. We've only got a few minutes here ..." His voice trailed away as he prayed his words had reached the tortured profiler. Tock - tock - tock - Mulder looked up, pleading with his eyes. "Make them wait for me, please ..." "Of course," Skinner replied, then he nodded at the agent who lifted Scully and disappeared out the door. "What now?" "Pictures," Mulder snapped. "Now." Flashbulbs popped and he was temporarily blinded, but the scene was being captured as quickly as the tech could work. She moved carefully through the carnage, the shutter clicking steadily as she recorded the latest atrocities of the man known as the Nibbler. Tock - tock - tock - "Slice 'em and dice 'em," Mulder muttered, and Skinner's stomach roiled to hear the tone in his agent's voice. He was heading somewhere deep and dark and dirty, somewhere no sane person should have to go, and Skinner wasn't ready to let his friend tread this path alone. "Not now, Mulder," he murmured, shaking the arm he held gently, and forcing the younger man to focus on his face. "Not now. There's no time." Scully was safely down the stairs, and two deputies were releasing the sitter, then carrying her down the stairs. "Is she injured?" Skinner called. "No." It was Mulder who answered. "Drugged. Like Scully. He didn't want them, or they'd be dead. This," he gestured around the room, "was all for me. But why? What am I supposed to see?" Tock-tock-tock A folding stretcher had been brought upstairs, and the injured man, Gresham, was being loaded onto it carefully, strapped in, and carried down the stairs. "Let's go, Mulder." Skinner was pulling the man back toward the stairs. "It's getting faster again." Tock-tock-tock The AD bent slightly, preparing to lift the lanky agent, but Mulder gasped suddenly, halting him. "Wait!" He whirled back to the room, moving quickly despite his injuries, and Skinner had to scurry to catch up with him. "What?" The AD could hear the metronome beat increasing again, and he was feeling time run out. "The other child!" Mulder was yanking open a closet, disregarding any safety steps, ruffling clothes, shoving things aside. "Where's the other child?" Skinner paled. In the heat of the moment, he, too, had forgotten the other child. And they were almost out of time! Tock-tock-tock "We need help up here!" The AD called out loudly, strongly, as Mulder fell to his knees by the bed, peering under. "Here she is!" He spoke softly, calling the child. "C'mon, sweetie, it's OK. We're the good guys. Police." Tocktocktock The child didn't move. She stared at Mulder with wide eyes, but stayed just out of his reach. "Police, honey. Like your daddy. It's OK. Please come out." Tocktocktock The child remained motionless. Mulder lifted helpless eyes to the AD. "She's traumatized, terrorized. She won't budge." Tcktcktcktcktck Skinner gave a roar of rage. He placed both hands under the bed and heaved the whole thing, mattress, box springs, and frames going up, and over, and sliding across the room. He took one look at the terrified child, scooped her up, grabbed Mulder by the arm, half-dragging him to the stairs, then down them and through the living room. Tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk "Go, go, go!" He was shoving the child through the window, watching as waiting arms took her and ran. Tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk He shoved Mulder through next, then clambered out behind him, lifted him, and leapt from the porch. Tktktktktktktktktktktktk He hit the ground running and was a third of the way up the drive when there was a sound behind him, a loud "whoosh" that rapidly turned into an explosion. Superheated air blew past him, singeing his head and back, and knocking him to the ground. He lay over his friend, covering him with his body, and waited for the roar to end. Pieces of debris rained down upon and around him, and he found himself tucking Mulder into a ball beneath him, trying to protect the younger man from injury. The roar faded and then there were people there, lifting him up now, pulling him away, and Mulder was being loaded onto a stretcher. He tried to rise and follow, but his legs wouldn't seem to work, and the world was suddenly going dark, and then he decided he would just lay down and rest for a bit. And he did. **************************************** October 19, 1998 7:20 a.m. It was the smell that tipped him off. That all too familiar hospital smell. Nothing like it, and nothing that would mask it. He took a deep breath, then paused, making an assessment. Bandages covered the back and top of his head, and he could feel the tight skin and stinging sensation that told him he'd been burned. He moved both arms. No IV. That was a good sign. Wiggled fingers and toes. Everything seemed to work. He opened his eyes and the room swam into blurry view before them. He looked to each side of the bed, wall to his left, curtain to his right. No one seemed to be waiting to see what had happened to him. He frowned. That was odd. If he was injured, it was a sure bet he'd been with Scully and Mulder -- or at least Mulder. His friend positively *attracted* injuries, accidents, and explosions. Explosions! There'd been an explosion! Mulder had been with him! He threw back the covers, then halted as the damn safety rail got in his way. He scaled it quickly -- it was awkward, but easier than trying to get someone in here to let him out, or trying to find the secret hidden mechanism that released the damn thing. He was on his feet, looking down at the too-short, too-small, too-thin gown that barely covered him, then shrugging and pulling back the curtain. Mulder lay in the other bed and he gave a sigh of relief. The man was sleeping -- or, he swallowed hard -- unconscious. He stared at the still form a moment longer, noted the slight but normal movements in his extremities, and decided he was just sleeping. So -- that just left the question of where they'd put Scully. He looked around for a robe, or slippers, or anything he could dress in, found nothing, and grabbed a blanket from his bed. Wrapping it around himself, he padded out into the hall in bare feet, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw an agent posted outside the door to his and Mulder's room, and another across the hall. He nodded approvingly as he scanned the corridor. There was a third agent standing guard outside the next door down and he frowned in question. "Agent Gresham, Sir," the young woman said as she noted where his eyes had traveled. "Agent Scully is across the hall, and as I'm sure you've realized, Agent Mulder is with you." "Who decided this arrangement?" Skinner glared at the woman as he waited for her answer. She gulped visibly, then admitted, "I did, Sir. It seemed the sensible thing to do at the time." Skinner allowed himself a small smile and nodded. "Good work, Cafferty. I'm glad *someone* can be sensible." He started across the hall, then paused. "Get someone up here to talk to me about their conditions. And I want the sheriff and the SAIC up here as well. I'm going to check on Scully, but I want to be notified if Mulder so much as rolls over, is that clear?" The woman was nodding, her brown hair bobbing about her face as she made mental notes of the AD's demands. "Oh, and Cafferty, since you seem to be the only sensible person here, could you see about getting me some clothes?" He nodded, then said, "Thanks," as he moved through the door into Scully's room. He studied the woman in the bed. She, too, was sleeping. Small bandages covered two places on her right forearm, another was visible just below the neckline of the hospital gown she wore, on her collarbone, and yet another bandaged her left ear lobe. As he watched, she stirred, one hand coming up in an unconsciously graceful move to sweep the hair back from her eyes. Long lashes blinked twice, then deep blue eyes stared up at him, first drowsily, then in surprise, and finally, fully alert. It was uncanny how quickly this woman could wake. He made a silent wager with himself, then counted to three in his head. "Where's Mulder?" she asked, and he grinned openly. He'd won again. First question and in less than three seconds this time. It was nice to know there was some predictability in their crazy lives. "He's asleep in the room across the hall." He paused, then answered her unasked question, "He's OK. I've requested a doctor come up to talk to me about his condition, and yours." She looked at him, studying the gauze that swathed his head, the blanket he wore as a robe, the bare feet. One eyebrow arched critically. "And about yourself, I assume?" He snorted quietly, then at her insistent look, nodded shortly. He had opened his mouth to speak again when there was a noise behind him and a tall Asian man in a white coat entered the room. He was followed by Cafferty, who was holding a blue plastic bag with the K-Mart logo on the side. She handed it over with a diffident smile. "I'd already taken the liberty to send someone, Sir. We were just waiting for you to wake up." Her smile widened as Skinner nodded his thanks. The Asian man studied him with a frown, then spoke. "Mr. Skinner, you should not be out of bed." "I'm fine." He opened the bag and saw a black sweatsuit, gray T-shirt, a package of boxer shorts, socks, and a man's travel kit. He whistled appreciatively. "Very good, Cafferty. Thanks." A quick look back at Scully, then down at his blanket-robe and he was frowning as well. "Look," he said to both Scully and the doctor, "I need to talk to you both. Give me ten minutes to get myself together and I'll be right back." "Mr. Skinner," the doctor said again, "you really should be resting." "Scully, while I'm changing, will you please explain to Doctor ..." "Lee," the man interjected. "Doctor Lee, that there isn't time for anyone to rest. We *all* need to be up and functioning as soon as possible." It was closer to twenty minutes than ten, but when Skinner emerged from the bathroom, Scully was seated next to Mulder's bed, and he was awake. She was also dressed in sweats, and she answered his silent inquiry with a brief nod at the door. "Cafferty. She has a set for Mulder, too, but I vetoed that." Skinner nodded. "All right. Status?" he demanded. "He's weak, but he hasn't suffered that much more damage," she said impartially. "He should be able to work -- *from a bed.*" "Ahem?" Mulder cleared his throat. "Do I get a say in this?" "NO!" It was simultaneous. "You shouldn't have been up yesterday, Mulder --" Skinner lifted a hand to forestall the protest that was on the younger man's lips. "I know there was no choice, but we have to make sure we have choices now. You have to rest as much as you can." He looked at the doctor, waiting to speak, then added, "Once I find out how everyone is, we'll regroup, get you moved back to the other room, get the pictures of the last scene brought up. We'll get the investigation back on track." "The hunt," Mulder said in a small, strained voice. "What?" "It's not really an investigation anymore, is it, Sir?" Mulder lifted haunted eyes up to meet Skinner's gaze. "The investigation was over long ago." Mulder's tone hardened, and an unfocused look bled into his eyes. "Now we just have to hunt him down, like he did all those other people." "Mulder ..." Skinner could see Scully tighten her grip on his hand, and the man's eyes cleared. He looked at her, then smiled, and it was like watching the sun burst through on a gray-cloud day. Skinner found himself smiling as well. "So," he turned his attention to the doctor, "can you give me an update?" The man spread his hands in defeat, then shrugged. "Where do you want to start?" "Mulder." "His wounds are healing. Walking around and being exposed to that explosion didn't help, but I understand you caught the brunt of the force, and Agent Mulder was not further injured." The doctor opened the chart in his hand, read for a moment, then went on. "I've got him back on the same pain meds he was on before. He *should* be sleeping twenty hours a day for the next week, but I understand he has to work. Just keep him off his feet, make him rest and eat -- I'm letting him try some soft solids tonight -- and we'll *all* watch him carefully." "Can he be moved back to the other room?" The man nodded, then made a note on the chart. "I'll set it up." He looked up. "Now, as for Doctor Scully -- she has eleven human bite marks on her body, none of which are serious. They've all been cleaned, and two were sutured." He opened the second of three charts that he held. "The previous head injury has continued to heal nicely, as has the ankle." The man looked up to speak directly to Scully. "You were drugged, Doctor, and we're still not sure what it was. I've had samples of your blood sent to the lab and as soon as the results are back, I'll let you know." "Get samples for Agent Cafferty as well," Skinner said. "Our labs may be better equipped than yours for this type of, uh, testing." "As for you ..." The doctor turned to stare at Skinner, who promptly lifted a hand to silence him. "I'm fine." "You are not *fine,*" the man insisted, opening the third chart to read from it. "You shouldn't even be up. You've got some fairly serious burns on your neck and head." Mulder grinned. "Your skin *is* pretty exposed there, Sir." Skinner growled, a low, throaty sound that hovered beneath his words as he spoke. "If you value what's left of your life, Agent Mulder, you'll end that train of thought right now." "Better listen, Mulder," Scully said with a laugh. "He hasn't shot you -- yet." Doctor Lee was staring at them as if they'd all lost their minds. "As I was saying," he went on, clearing his throat as he spoke, "you also have some lacerations and abrasions from flying debris on your back and arms, and you've suffered a slight concussion." "I'm fine," Skinner repeated, ending the conversation. "When can Mulder be moved?" "I don't think any of you understand how serious your injuries can be. You act as if this was some big joke." The doctor lifted a hand, slicing through the air to punctuate his words. "Well, it's not! This is serious. Head injuries, burns, that stomach wound -- any of those could become life-threatening." "Did you see Agent Gresham, Dr. Lee?" Scully was on her feet, her cheeks burning with emotion. "What was done to him -- *that* is life-threatening. And it's going to happen -- again, and again, and again, if we're not allowed to do what has to be done." She softened her words at the doctor's distressed look. "We're not ungrateful for your concern, Doctor, and we're not as callous as we might appear. What we do -- it's well, difficult -- and humor is defensive." She sat again, exhausted. "And it's important." Skinner picked up where Scully left off. "Agent Mulder has a talent -- a gift, if you will ..." "Curse." Skinner cut his eyes to the man in the bed. "... an ability to find men like Nathan, to understand them, to know what makes them tick well enough to track and apprehend them. And now, with Nathan on the loose, we have no time for niceties such as bedrest and delicacy. We have no time at all." Dr. Lee closed the third chart. "I'll arrange to have Agent Mulder moved immediately." He turned and moved to the door. "Doctor?" Skinner called. "Agent Gresham? What can you tell me about his condition?" "His condition is the reason I'm permitting you to overrule me concerning health issues for all of you." The man paled and made a grimace of disgust. "This man, Nathan, must be stopped. Agent Gresham, well, it just isn't human what was done to him." End part 05/11