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