Profiles in Caring: The Nibbler Case (1/2)Title: Profiles in Caring: The Nibbler Case (1/2) 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/Area51/Dunes/2113/ Author's Notes: I would like to thank Kitty for the use of the title of her poem "The Misuse of Red." While I have used the title for another purpose, it's an excellent poem and can be found on the Poetry Archive at http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dungeon/9727 Summary: Mulder is called to testify when a serial killer he caught and convicted in 1991 is extradited to another state to face charges. As he and Scully are transporting the convict, a sudden storm causes problems, the killer escapes, and begins tracking our injured duo through the mountain woods. Profiles in Caring: The Nibbler Case October 14, 1998 5:10 p.m. "Explain to me again why I am 'lucky' to be with you on this assignment, Mulder?" Mulder sat slouched in his seat, eyes closed, his long legs splayed loosely against the floorboard in front of him. "C'mon Scully, a trip to the mountains at the height of the color season? Do you know how hard it is to get reservations at any hotel this time of year?" He grinned. "It'll be fun." One eye opened mischievously, as he darted a glance in her direction. Seeing the gathering storm surrounding them, he straightened in his seat, and turned toward her. "It's really getting bad out there. You want to stop for a while? Or want me to take a turn driving?" "I'm fine, Mulder," she responded. "I'll drive." Lightning flashed against the darkened sky and the van pulled to the left in the increasing wind. It began to rain, huge, heavy drops that splashed forcefully against the windshield, and hammered on the roof, their pounding drowning out the engine and making it necessary to speak up for simple conversation. Mulder reached out and patted her shoulder. "All right. Just don't be too stubborn to stop if it gets too bad, or ask for help." "You know me too well," she said, flashing a quick smile, but keeping her eyes focused on the highway ahead. The wind continued to batter the van as the road was brightly lit, then a heavy roll of thunder crashed around them. "Anything is better than having to keep checking on 'Nathan the Nibbler' back there." She gave a delicate little shudder. "He really creeps me out." The smile on Mulder's face disappeared and worry lines immediately creased his brow. He stiffened in his seat, then forced himself to relax again. "I really thought I'd be OK with this when I asked you to come along. I thought, with all the time that has passed, it would be easier." "Why don't you go over your testimony again, Mulder?" Scully suggested as she tightened her grip on the wheel yet again. "I know my testimony, Scully," Mulder responded with a sulk. "I hate talking about it." "I know you do, but you still get -- upset -- when you relate it, and Legal wants you to go over it until you can get through the whole thing calmly." "Nobody should ever be able to get through that calmly," Mulder retorted. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest and stared unseeingly out the side window. "I know," she soothed, "but you have to be credible on the stand. You know that." "I know, I know." Mulder turned to look straight ahead, then lowered his gaze to his lap for a few seconds. His right hand rose and scrubbed at his forehead. He placed his elbow on the door's armrest, and leaned his head heavily into his palm. "I really hate this, Scully," he sighed. "They want me to relive one of the most horrendous experiences of my life, and explain how I knew what was happening." He sighed again. "All right, Scully, here goes." He took a deep breath and began. "In 1991, I was assigned to the Violent Crimes Section, working serials. I was sent to assist the task force working on what was then called the 'Munchie Murders.' People were turning up dead, having been bitten multiple times and left to bleed to death. The bites were human. At the time I was called in, there were eight deaths in Virginia, all in the Shenandoah Mountains. Though we weren't aware of it, there had been three deaths in the West Virginia mountains as well. It didn't attract attention at first, because the deaths were occurring in rather backward communities." "Mulder," Scully interjected, "you can't say that! You'll piss off the local authorities even faster than you usually do. Try saying 'rural communities without access to up-to-date technology,' OK?" Mulder slowly turned and looked at her. "All right, Scully, but don't interrupt again. Just make mental notes and tell me later. This is too hard, and I can't keep stopping and starting." "Fair enough, I'm sorry." She reached out and squeezed his hand, then quickly gripped the wheel again as a gust of wind caught the vehicle broadside, causing it to shudder and pull. They were both silent as she brought the van back under control. When they were once again securely in the right lane, she gently encouraged him with, "Go on, Mulder." "Anyway, the deaths didn't attract attention at first, because they were occurring in rural communities without access to up-to-date technology," he paused giving her a 'happy now?' look, then went on. "Due to the state of decay the bodies were in, it took the local law enforcement officials some time to determine that the bite marks were human, and it took even longer to figure out that the deaths were related. "At the time I was assigned to the task force, the Virginia deaths had been linked. The last body had been discovered just over the state line in West Virginia, opening up the possibility that more related deaths had occurred in that state as well. A bulletin was issued to all law enforcement offices in West Virginia seeking matching deaths. While awaiting responses on that request, I began to review the information that had been collected on the deaths we knew of thus far." Mulder paused and gave a deep sigh. He rubbed his hand over his face again, beginning with his forehead, then covering his eyes, and finally pinching the bridge of his nose. He turned slightly, and gazed out the window into the storm. He leaned his head against the glass of the window, and sat still, taking slow deep breaths. "This is really difficult for you, isn't it?" Scully asked gently. He was silent, watching the lines on the road pass beneath his window, counting the reflectors that flashed by, briefly lit by the van's headlights. What was making this so difficult? It wasn't his first case. It wasn't even his worst case, but this one had left deep scars, the sheer brutality of the crimes so against society's norms, that he still gagged when he thought of the bodies he had seen. And he'd been alone. All through the case he'd been alone. Alone with the victims -- their trauma branded into his mind. Alone with the perpetrator -- crawling into the darkest recesses of his mind to find what it was that drove a man to murder by biting his victims to death. Alone amongst his colleagues -- no one believing him, no one listening to him, no one to trust his instincts. Every step in solving that old case had been a battle. He sighed again, his breathing settling into a steady 'in, out, in, out' rhythm that kept time with the tires on the road and the rain on the windshield. It was deceptively soothing to him, lulling him into a false sense of security. Scully's hand had crept across the space between them and she twined her fingers with his own. That contact, that connection, helped push the nightmares of Nathan the Nibbler back away from his conscious mind. For this moment, this frozen slice of time, he was safe and he was secure. He squeezed his partner's hand and felt her answering pressure on his own fingers. For this moment, he was cared for. He allowed himself a few more moments of peace, then reluctantly pulled away. He freed himself from the seat belt and pulled himself into a half-erect stance, moving to stand unsteadily between the seats. He peered through the small window, and could just make out the form of the prisoner, shackled to one side of the van, and the guard seated across from Nathan. "I'm going to see if he wants anything," Mulder said, waiting for Scully to nod. He rapped on the window and the guard looked up. Scully pressed a button and the door to the rear slid open. Mulder held up a thermos. "Coffee?" "Sounds good," the guard responded. Mulder moved into the back compartment, half kneeling before the guard. He opened the thermos, and began to pour the still steaming liquid into the guard's cup. Across from them, their prisoner stared unemotionally as the guard brought the cup to his lips and said, "Good. Thanks." "No problem," Mulder answered. "You all right back here?" He knew he was avoiding contact with the prisoner, even his eyes skittering away when the man rattled the manacles that held him locked to the wall. "Sure," the guard said. "How much longer do you think?" Mulder looked at his watch, then jumped slightly as the interior of the van was brightly lit by a sudden burst of lightning. Following the lightning almost immediately, was a deafening roar of thunder, and the van shuddered as the wind suddenly gusted. Mulder clambered to his feet, one hand braced against the side wall and moved shakily toward the front again. Through the window he could see Scully outlined by a second flash of lightning, her jaw tight and knuckles clenched on the wheel as she struggled to hold the vehicle on the road. This bolt of lightning was also followed by thunder -- no need to count to see how far away it was. It was here. It was now. There was another sound, a loud crack as if a tree had been hit and then the van pulled sharply to the left, causing Mulder to stagger across to the other wall, his hand coming out to catch himself, bracing himself above Nathan's head. The mere proximity to the man who had visited his nightmares so often caused his stomach to lurch, and he pulled back quickly. The van was still pulling to the left and Mulder was fighting the combination of gravity and centrifugal force as the van struck something hard, then skidded, still left, turning in increasingly fast circles as it slid off the road and onto the shoulder. Mulder staggered again, then lost his balance and fell to the floor. The guard was also on the floor, grappling for a handhold and trying to pull himself back up to the narrow bench. Only the prisoner remained in his seat, manacles around his ankles and wrists holding him secure against the forces that buffeted the van. There was another crack of lightning, and Mulder pulled himself up, clutching the bar beneath the window. He gaped in horror as he realized that Scully was unconscious. She lay draped across the steering wheel, and before the light was swallowed by the dark of rain and setting sun, he could just make out a splash of crimson across her cheek. The van continued to spin out of control, sliding further from the road until it reached a drop-off and began to roll. As the vehicle rolled down the hill, Mulder and the guard tumbled madly about the rear compartment, crashing first into floor, then ceiling, limbs tangling as they rolled together and then apart. The van finally shuddered to a stop, resting on its side and Mulder dropped, barely conscious from the wall to land against the bench on the other wall. He lifted his head, straining to see, then pushed with spaghetti-like arms as he tried to raise himself. One thought consumed him as he forced reluctant muscles to work, stubborn limbs to move. 'Must reach Scully.' It was his chant, his mantra, forcing him to action. 'Must reach Scully. Must reach Scully.' There was a sound and his head swiveled, his eyes meeting the soulless grey orbs of the Nibbler. For a moment he stared, feeling himself being drawn into the sewers of the madman's mind. Nathan made another sound, his mouth contorting, but Mulder couldn't make out what the man was saying. He could, however, make out the boot heel that kicked out swiftly and connected with his temple. As the darkness rushed in completely, he twitched convulsively and his mantra changed. 'I'm sorry, Scully,' he thought. 'I'm so sorry.' ******************************************** October 14, 1998 7:20 p.m. There was a pounding in his head and it wouldn't stop. It was a steady drumming sound, incessantly beating at his consciousness, waves of pain crashing through his skull with each percussive movement. It took time to sort out the pounding in his head from the pounding of the rain, and the heavier beat of the thunder as it rolled through the heavens. The wind battered the outside and he could feel the van shake with each new gust. He remained perfectly still for a moment, trying to get oriented, trying to remember. There'd been a wreck. He opened his eyes and let them scan the interior of the van. Too dark. He thought back. There had been a guard -- and a prisoner! Mulder groaned, then forced his head up, trying in vain to see in the inky blackness of the truck. There was a sound, a tiny mewl of helplessness, from the front of the vehicle, and Mulder froze. It was so soft, so small, it was almost lost as lightning split the sky, briefly illuminating his prison, and thunder roared in its wake. Scully! Scully had been driving. Fuck! He was so damned foggy -- he just couldn't think straight. He pushed himself up, and inched toward the front. The van was on its side now, and as he moved, he touched something. Someone. Hands groped and he felt the guard's uniform, and lots of blood. He felt for a pulse, found nothing, then moved his hands to the man's waist, searching for his weapon. Again, nothing. He paused a moment, felt for his own gun, and came up empty. Patience, Mulder, he cautioned himself. It doesn't mean anything. It could be anywhere; we were tossed around like shells in the sea back here. The guns are probably laying on the floor somewhere. Another little sound from the front refocused him, and he used that as his excuse to avoid checking on the prisoner. After all, the man was chained to the wall and shackled to the floor. He certainly wasn't going anywhere. Damn this ache in his head. He just couldn't think straight. No thought lasted more than a second, and he'd already forgotten Scully twice. He moved forward determinedly, ignoring the pain in his side and leg. The sliding door to the front compartment was open, wrenched out of its frame in the force of the crash. He slipped through quickly, having to brace himself between the panel and the dashboard, to keep from falling onto Scully. The visibility was a little better here, but still not adequate. He could make out her form, the seat belt holding her in place, her head lolled back against the window, which was now the floor considering their contorted position. He touched her gently, and she moaned, so he spoke. "Scully? Hey, Scully? Can you hear me?" She moved slightly, her neck twitching as if she wanted to turn to him but could not. She made another sound, "Mmmm?" and he was at a loss as to whether is was a question or his name. "I'm here, Scully," he said, his hand slipping out to brush the hair back from her face. The lightning flashed again, and in its brief flare, before the thunder swallowed it up, he could see a darkly-colored splotch covering one side of her face. Blood? Bruises? Both? He cursed the shadowy grayness, shuddering as the darkness rumbled around him and the wind buffeted the van. "Light?" Scully whispered, and he was once more aware of the cloud that hung over his thinking. The throbbing in his temple was only growing worse, a pressure behind his eyes that lunged and pushed against his orbs and made it impossible to follow a train of thought. What was it Scully had said? The sky brightened again and he remembered 'light.' He rummaged briefly in the glove box, then emerged triumphant. Exercising little used prayer muscles, he offered up a petition, then slid the button back, giving thanks when the light shone forth. He turned back to Scully and stared. She half hung from the sideways seat, half-laying on the driver door. Her head rested between the seat back and the window and her face was streaked with blood. One side was rapidly darkening as bruises made their appearance known, and it seemed her eye was swelling shut even as he watched. Her hands were free and arms unbroken, but both were covered in blood as well, and from where he sat he couldn't be sure where the blood had come from. Her legs looked OK, but one foot had become jammed under the brake pedal, twisted at an unnatural angle, and he winced as he watched her try to shift. "Mulder," she murmured, and he played the light upward, illuminating her face, but not blinding her. "You're bleeding." She reached up and touched his face, feeling carefully for the wound. " 's OK, Scully," he mumbled. "No," she said sharply, expanding her search till she found the injury buried in his hair on the top of his head. She pressed gently, pulling back when he winced beneath her fingers. "Does your head hurt?" "Yeah, yeah, Scully," Mulder was anxious to shift her focus off of himself. She was injured too, and didn't need to be worrying over him. "I've probably got a slight concussion. I was rolled around a bit back there." He smiled to make sure she didn't think he was blaming her. "Nothing I haven't lived through before." She stared at him a moment longer, then nodded. "The prisoner? Mulder, where is the prisoner?" "In the back, Scully. He was chained to the wall." Mulder paused a moment, then added, "The guard is dead." Scully was stirring some now, moving on her own, pulling her head upward and trying to straighten in the awkward confines of the seat. "Are you sure? Mulder, I should go check." He gently pushed her down, holding her still as he wiped her face with a jacket sleeve. "You need to be still. You're hurt." "Hmmph," she snorted. "And you're not?" Rather than relaxing beneath his touch, if anything she grew more restless, renewing her efforts to release herself, and reaching out to touch his head again. Her fingers grazed the wound and he moaned slightly. "Mulder," she ordered, "give me the light." "I'm OK, Scully," he murmured. "You can look at me once we're out of here." "Mulder, this is serious. I need to look at you." She looked around the cramped interior of the driver's compartment. "We have to get out of here and get help." She looked up at him again, "Are the phones working?" Mulder shrugged. "I have no idea. I can't find mine. Do you have yours?" Scully felt in her pocket, then pulled out half a phone and passed it to her partner. She reached in again, removed several other pieces, and handed them over as well. "I have most of mine," she said, smiling humorlessly. Mulder snorted. "We have to get out of here." The dark was briefly chased away again, and then the silence was split as the light's echo rolled around them. Like gravel avalanching down a mountain, the rain beat the van, usurping the pounding in Mulder's head, and conspiring with the pain to make clear thought impossible. He stared at the passenger door -- above his head now, and their best way out. "You," Scully started, but was stopped as she began to cough. When her airway cleared, she tried again. "You have to go check on Nathan," she insisted. "Take the light," she gestured at the torch he still held loosely in his hand, "and go back there." "You sure you're OK?" Mulder pushed her hair back again, tucking it carefully out of her face and behind her ear. "Go," she whispered. "The sooner you check, the sooner we can decide how to get out of here. Try and find the phone. You know what Skinner is going to say if you lose another one." "Bossy, bossy," Mulder murmured, bending over to touch his lips to her uninjured cheek. "Wait for me. I'll be right back." She smiled up at him. "Not going anywhere, G-Man." Mulder slipped back through the panel, shining the light first on the guard. The man was definitely dead. Even from this distance, Mulder could see that his head was at a distinctly *wrong* angle, and there was no sign of breathing. He panned the light to the other side, now the ceiling, fully expecting to see a man suspended there, the waist chain and manacles at wrist and ankle holding him in place against gravity's pull. But the seat was empty. The shackles had been unlocked, the key still dangling from the left ankle, and the chain swayed loosely before his astonished eyes. He panned the light around again, as if he expected to find the man somewhere in the van's interior. But, of course, it was barren. The blood hammered in his skull, keeping time with the tattoo of rain on the roof, and he lifted a weary hand to wipe at tired eyes. The guard was dead, the prisoner loose. The van was wrecked, he and Scully both injured. He used the light and searched for the cell phone, coming up empty. He rifled through the guard's clothing, looking for phone or radio, but he, too, carried nothing. Mulder sat back on his haunches, hands on his knees, thinking. His head hurt. His side hurt. He hadn't even looked at that. The leg hurt too, but not so badly. He could move. He could use it. He could walk. But Scully was hurt. He couldn't even be sure how badly until he could get her out. But that foot. It had to be broken to be cocked at such an angle. That would make movement hard or almost impossible for her. He was still in that position, reviewing options, when there was a roar, and Mulder was at first startled, thinking it was thunder. But it had not been preceded by the now familiar flash of light and the sound vanished way too quickly. A shot! That had been a shot! Mulder grabbed for his gun, finding only an empty holster, then scrabbled at his ankle, but that holster was bare as well. He looked back at the guard -- no weapon there either. With a roar of rage and frustration, he jumped forward, slamming through the opening, and found Scully staring up at the passenger door, a look of horror on her face. It was cocked slightly open as a trickle of rainwater ran down the floor and over the seats, pooling at her feet and in her lap. "He was here, Mulder," she hissed through clenched teeth. "Jesus Christ, he was here!" "What? What did he do? Did he hurt you?" Scully held out a scrap of paper in her left hand, her right hand wrapped around the left wrist, holding it steady. Mulder took the note, shining the light on it and read: "I didn't have dinner, Agent Mulder. Did you?" He looked up, features contorted with fear and disgust, then slowly reached out and took Scully's hand. With infinite care, he pried the fingers from around her wrist, slowly revealing the deep and jagged human bite mark hidden there. End part 01/08 Profiles in Caring: The Nibbler Case 02/08 October 14, 1998 7:50 p.m. "There," Mulder said triumphantly, easing Scully's foot gently from under the pedal where it had been wedged. He touched it carefully, watching her wince, but he was able to manipulate it. "I don't think it's broken," he finally announced with a small smile. "But I'd say it's one of the worst sprains I've ever seen." "Thank you, Doctor Mulder," Scully said, drawing the foot up to look at it herself. "I think I can take it from here." She twisted further in the seat, awkwardly pulling her knee to her chest, and took hold of the injured foot. It *did* move, but it was painful, and she swallowed a gasp as the tendons protested her treatment of them. She moved the foot a bit more, then looked over at Mulder. "I think you're right. Not broken, but I don't think I can walk on it." She looked out into the storm. "Maybe we should wait till morning, then we can try to make the road and flag down some help." Mulder looked uneasy. "I don't like the idea of waiting here. He's already come back once, and Scully, I can tell you, that means he'll be back again. My guns are gone, both of them, the guard's weapon is gone, and yours is missing as well. Those are not the actions of a man who plans to head for the hills as fast as he can." He stared out the window, into the dark, and the wind, and the rain. "He's playing a game. His game." Scully touched him carefully, and he jumped, then turned and looked at her. "It's what he does." He took a deep breath. "I know." "Tell me," she said quietly. "Well, I wasn't met with open arms and welcoming cheers when I was assigned this case. As a matter of fact, some of the guys were downright hostile." He flashed a quick grin, just visible in the streak of lightning that accompanied his words. "No! Really? How could that be?" Mulder chuckled. "Perhaps my reputation preceded me," he said dryly. "You have a reputation?" "Don't get cocky," Mulder warned, as he leaned over to lightly brush her lips with his own. "You do too now." Scully reached up and caught his head, holding him close for a moment as she kissed him, harder, longer, this time. "So I do," she murmured. "Am I living up to it?" She kissed him again. Mulder gave a strangled groan. "You have no idea. This is one of my all-time great fantasies. Making out in a car." He laughed ruefully. "Of course, in the ideal version, the car isn't wrecked, you aren't injured, and there isn't a serial killer loose in the vicinity." He shrugged. "But, hey, this is us. *Of course* we do things differently." Scully laughed, then began to cough, a cough that went on for a long time and wouldn't seem to end. Mulder was growing concerned as she struggled to breathe between spasms, and he tucked her upright, supporting her away from the seat, trying to ease the discomfort. When she finally stopped, gasping for air, he asked, "You OK?" She nodded once, then nodded again when he continued to look at her skeptically. "Finish," she whispered, "the story." "Not pretty," he warned. "Consider it my 'heads up' to what we're facing." He nodded, the lightness of the moment vanishing in the face of his renewed recital. "So anyway, there I was, Wunderkind of the VCS, and no one wanted me to be there, no one wanted to listen to me. I was battling the Bureau, the victims, and the perp." He sighed heavily. "It was such a mess. I was convinced from the beginning, that he was preselecting his targets, that it wasn't random, but no one wanted to believe me. Tenejkian was sure it was random, and it was his case. I was just the pet profiler called in to help out. No authority, no control -- hell, they didn't even *have* to listen to me." "Vasken Tenejkian? The SAC out here? He was the Agent in Charge on the original murders?" "Yeah. And you know how thrilled he was when he heard I was coming out to testify." Scully could hear the mounting frustration in Mulder's voice, and she reached out and took his hand. "And how did you handle this situation? With your usual delicacy and subtle diplomacy?" She arched her eyebrow as she spoke. Mulder laughed. "Yeah, you could say that. I sort of went on a rampage at the command center and ripped down the existing set-up, declared it to be totally wrong and -- I believe the word I used was *asinine* -- and then tried to establish my own domain." Mulder lifted a hand to his face. "God, even I can't believe what an arrogant little shit I was back then. "My little stunt didn't go over well, and it didn't encourage anyone to want to 'play nice' with me. All it did was serve to alienate me even further. So I insisted on copies of everything -- had to go to Patterson to ram it through -- and I set up my own war room, in the hotel." He paused again, watching the rain beat down around them, counting the pulses on both the van and in his head. "Not a good move on my part. It meant that I didn't have anywhere I could go that the case wasn't staring me in the face." He shuddered slightly and Scully tightened her grip on him, her thumb rubbing gently on the back of his hand. "I could see those people all the time. 'Before' pictures of normal, everyday folks. People who had families, and jobs, mortgages, and debts, and hopes, and dreams, and desires. And then there were the 'after' pictures. When everything had been destroyed. The damage Nathan did was so extensive, so invasive, they had to be identified by dental records. Even the fingerprints were gone." Mulder shuddered again. "I saw it first thing in the morning. I stared at it all day and into the night. And on the rare occasions when sleep caught me with my guard down, I lived it in my dreams." He lifted his eyes and met hers. "I knew him so well. I was learning the victims, too, working on a victim profile for prevention, but it was the Nibbler I was living with. He was in me -- trying to take over and make that kind of carnage make sense. Trying to explain the unexplainable. Trying to convince me that the unreasonable could be reasoned out." He sighed. "God, Scully, I never talked about it. I never could. I came so close to losing myself on that one. It was always there with me. He wouldn't leave me alone." Scully pulled then, tugging Mulder over, forcing him to bend and shift and come into her arms. She fought straps, and steering wheel, seats, and gravity, but she pulled him down and wrapped her arms around him. No words were necessary. There were no more words. What he needed now was the silence. The peace and tranquility of a safe silence, and the physical reassurance that he was not alone. She held him tight, and could feel him relax into her touch, letting himself be held, and letting himself accept her comfort. Around them, the storm seemed to gentle, the wind shifting from a battering force that rocked and shook the van, to a softer movement of air that forced the clouds to continue on. The rain no longer beat them, but it fell in friendly patter, its softer touch a comforting reminder of its cleansing power. And the lightning still flashed and the thunder still followed, but it was a light in the distance and an echo of its former violence. The storm was drawing to a close. Within the circle of her arms, Scully could feel Mulder's shakes, and then the increasing heaviness as he relaxed until the shakes would overtake him again and he would tense. She held him as he moved through his own revisit to the horrors of those years ago, his shudders moving farther and farther apart, the moments he lay heavy in her arms increasing. She ran one hand up to tangle in his hair and she stroked the dark locks there, rubbing at his scalp and temple. He shook once more, then settled, and gave a contented sigh. "Guess we will wait till morning," he said, and she could tell that he was growing tired. She kissed his head, nodding into his hair, and he snuggled in closer. "He's out there, Mulder," she said warningly. "We need to stay awake." "I know. I am," he responded. "Just enjoying the moment." He paused, then added, "Isn't it odd that our *moments* are so often like this? I wouldn't wish this for you for anything, but here we are, over and over again." " 's OK," she murmured. "I'm where I want to be." "I know," he whispered, and Scully could hear the awe and amazement in his voice, knew that he was still astonished that she would choose to stay with him. And yet, she could not imagine her life without him now. In the six years she'd known him, in the one year they'd been together, she was so intricately mingled into his soul, and he in hers, that she couldn't imagine life without him. She leaned over again, pressing a kiss into his hair, breathing deeply. She stiffened, then pulled up from her embrace of Mulder, pushing him away slightly, and breathed again. "Mulder, do you smell that?" "Smell what?" he mumbled sleepily. "Mulder!" She shook him gently. "Stay awake! Do you smell smoke?" He sat up, slightly more alert. "Smoke? It's raining, Scully. You can't smell smoke." She filled her lungs again. "I do," she said insistently. "I smell smoke." She pushed him again. "I think you better check. Mulder, the van may be on fire." He was shifting now, moving to access the passenger door, their predetermined method of egress. "Gonna get wet again," he warned, pushing the door open and pulling himself up. He was back in a minute. "Shit, Scully, you're right. There's a fucking trail of fire heading straight for the van." He was unstrapping her, pulling her up. "Motherfuckingsonofabitch! He did this, I fucking know it!" Scully was half through the door, and Mulder placed his hands on her behind and shoved. She emerged, rolling onto the wet ground and then he was out next. "You OK?" he asked as he helped pull her to her feet. She nodded, accepted his hand, and then rose shakily to stand balanced on one foot next to him. "We gotta get out of here. Fast." "Let's head for the road," he said and he wrapped an arm around her and began to move in that direction. The rain still fell, but it was a steady pelting of fat, round drops, enough to wet them quickly, but with no force or violence behind them. It was warm rain, a counterpart to the chill autumn wind that blew through the foothills. Scully shivered as a gust caught her, and Mulder wrapped his arm more tightly about her. They made for the road, Scully doing an odd hop-jump step, leaning heavily on Mulder for each forward movement. He was supporting her steadily, making good forward progress, and they were halfway up the incline in short order. It was hard work, and Mulder was reminded of his own injuries, the ones he had forestalled telling Scully about. His head still pounded unrelentingly, and something was wrong with his leg. If he had to guess, he would go with a gash or some sort of open wound, because he could feel bleeding with each movement, and his pants chafed the injury almost unbearably. His side still twinged every now and then, but it seemed to be the least of his worries at this point. Scully did her little hop, step, and lean, and Mulder stumbled this time, the muddy incline refusing to give purchase to shaky legs. He dropped to one knee, the injured leg giving way, and Scully slipped down beside him. "What? What is it?" she demanded. "It's dark, Scully, and raining. I just slipped." "You did not slip," she said flatly. "You're hurt." Mulder looked around, avoiding her eyes, avoiding her question. He was pulling himself to his feet when there was the distinct sound of a shot, and then, the van exploded. Mulder flattened himself on the ground again, pulling Scully down beside him. "We've gotta move," he hissed. "He's here." He got to his feet again, then tugged Scully up. They had started up the incline when there was another shot. This one hit a bush to their left, and Mulder could feel a spray of leaves fly past his face. "Shit! He's shooting at us, now!" They dropped and began to crawl up the embankment, but another shot rang out and this time it was right in front of them. "Down! Down!" Mulder screamed, yanking Scully backward, and scuttling down the hill they had been working their way up. He moved quickly, half crawling, half sliding in the mud, and kept a firm grip on Scully, afraid to become separated in the dark and rainy night. "What does he want?" she asked as they rolled and slipped down the embankment. "He sure as hell doesn't want us up the hill." Mulder looked at the still burning van. "And he doesn't want us in the van." They reached the bottom now, and Mulder pulled her up and began a desperate hop-run-drag for the tree line and relative obscurity. They made the woods, and Mulder continued on, doggedly pulling, dragging, carrying Scully, her ankle protesting with every movement. Mulder's leg was bleeding again. He could feel the sticky warmth beneath his pants, and the ache in his side was persistent now. They ran on, not long enough by Mulder's count, and hours too long by Scully's as she struggled to keep moving, ignoring the pain in her foot. Finally, she grabbed her partner. "No more," she panted, "I need to rest." Mulder slowed, then stopped, helping her to a fallen tree, sitting her on it. He was pacing, scanning the forest, looking through the rain and the dark as if he would be able to see Nathan if he approached. "Mulder," Scully called insistently. "I don't understand. Most people in his position would be running as far and as fast as they can." The rain still fell, but the clouds were drifting. Here and there stars peeked through the gloom and the moon itself was intermittently revealed as the storm continued on. Mulder nodded grimly, then walked over to stand by her. "He's not most people." He reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. "He's never been like most people. He's sick and he's twisted, and he likes to play games." "This is all a game to him? Blowing up the van? Chasing us down the hill and into the woods with gunfire? Biting me?" A look of deep disgust crossed her features and she trembled where she sat. Mulder took her hand and tenderly traced the outline of the bite. "This is the biggest part of the game. He's marked you now." Mulder looked up at the heavens, the rain and clouds occluding the stars, and said in a childish, sing-song voice, "Nathan has come out to play." *********************************************** October 14, 1998 11:15 p.m. "When was the last time they checked in?" Skinner asked as he fumbled for his glasses on the bedside table. Normally he wouldn't be in bed this early, but he'd been fighting a cold and had been hoping a good night's rest would forestall it getting any worse. "And you haven't been able to raise either of my agents, or the guard?" Fuck! Why did things like this always seem to happen to Mulder? Skinner listened as the voice on the other end of the phone detailed the check-ins that had occurred and then the one that hadn't. "A storm?" he interrupted. "How bad?" Double fuck! Horrid thunderstorm, almost zero visibility, winds, rain. No telling what had happened. A wreck in this weather could be either the best case or worst case scenario -- depending on how bad it was and if anyone was hurt. He wasn't immediately concerned about a planned escape -- George Nathan was not known for his friends. He'd be hard-pressed to find someone to call acquaintance, let alone friend. Skinner smiled grimly. Eating one's acquaintances was hard on developing friendships. "All right," he said in the phone. "Get the search going, and I'll fly out as soon as I can. I'll be in touch when I get there." He hung up the phone, then dialed again, and made his flight reservations. Another call to notify his assistant of where he'd be, then he rose and headed for the shower. If this went the way things usually did, who knew when he'd see a shower again. As he stood under the spray, letting the heat erase his weariness, he was making plans of his own. And the first one was to try and contact his agents! He smacked himself on the forehead, then turned the water off and wrapped a towel around his waist. Still dripping, he tracked back into the bedroom, and grabbed his own cell phone, punching in the speed dial number for Scully. Recording. He disconnected, then hit the number for Mulder. It rang once, then twice, then again, and he sighed when it was answered. A sigh that turned from relief to horror as an unfamiliar voice spoke. "Agent Mulder can't come to the phone. He's playing a game right now." End part 02/08 Profiles in Caring: The Nibbler Case 03/08 October 15, 1998 1:30 a.m. "Here," Mulder said, pulling Scully into a very small, cavelike opening in the side of a small incline. Hardly room enough for both of them, but it offered a bit of shelter from the relentless rain, and an opportunity for respite from their desperate flight from the madman. He helped her sit, then propped her injured foot in his lap, fearing it was too late for elevation to help the swelling. "I need to look at your head, and your leg, Mulder," she said, and Mulder could recognize the 'I'm not taking no for an answer' tone of her voice. He handed the light over wordlessly, then winced when she shined it into his face. He suffered quietly through her exam, opening his eyes on command, and allowing her to run her fingers over his head and around the edges of the swollen lump that marred his skull. He obligingly dropped his pants on request, too tired to offer the expected witticism, and that alone scared Scully more than the gash that had ripped his thigh muscle. The rain had cleansed both wounds as well as she would be able to in this environment, so she reluctantly turned off the light and let Mulder dress again. She was shivering now, her jacket being heavy cloth and therefore soaked, while Mulder's was nylon and water-resistant. Somewhat. Enough that his shirt and T-shirt were basically dry compared to Scully's shirt and bra which were also soaked. He pulled his pants up, then took the jacket off, unbuttoned and removed his shirt, and then the T-shirt. Pulling his hands up over his head seemed to pull his side, and he was reminded again that something had happened there. Something he still hadn't looked at or told Scully about. Probably just a bruise. The shirts were off and his hands were down now, and the suddenly sharp pain that accompanied the movement receded to the slight ache that had plagued him all night. "Take your shirt off, Scully," he said, this time offering the leer she had come to expect. "What?" she said, teeth chattering now. "Your shirt. Your coat, shirt, and bra. Get 'em off. You have to get dry." He was fumbling with her zipper and had the coat off before she could protest again. "You can't give me your clothes, Mulder. You'll be too cold yourself." "Not giving you all of them, just a couple layers -- and I'm going to make you share." Her shirt was off now, and he exhibited his prowess by deftly unhooking her bra and sliding it off. He pulled the dry T-shirt over her head, then handed her the jacket as he put his long-sleeved shirt back on. He sat next to her now, and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "C'mon, Scully, time to share some of that body heat," he murmured into her hair. She came willingly into his embrace. He was leaning against the back wall of the hollow, and she turned on her side to lay half over him, her head pillowed on his chest. "What are we going to do?" she asked quietly. "Try and stay out of his way. Stay ahead of him. He's marked you, Scully. That's his signature. Once he marks someone, he always comes back for them." He sighed heavily, shifted to ease her body more comfortably against his own, then let his head drop to rest against hers. "That was what I knew that no one else would listen to. On two of the victims, just two, the old bite marks were still visible. Tenejkian thought it didn't matter. Nathan had escalated so much there at the end, that the time between the time he marked them and when he took them wasn't enough to remark on. He was definitely in that fugue state that serial killers slide into just before they get caught. But in the beginning, especially now that he's been linked to these murders out here, he would mark them way in advance. Before he got impatient. Before he forgot how to wait." He closed his eyes and dropped his head, nuzzling her hair and neck, seeking comfort in her touch. "Before the thrill of the game consumed him. "The early ones, the first ones, some of them were marked months, even years in advance. A small wound, a nip, just enough to leave a mark. Happening in the night, the victim would wake up and not even realize what had happened. Just an unexplained injury, a little blood in the bed. It wasn't until later that he started taking deep bites." He pulled her arm over to him, and brushed his fingers over the jagged wound on her wrist. "We really need to clean this, Scully. You know how dirty human bites can be." She shrugged. She did know, but they had nothing to clean it with, so what was the point in belaboring it. "Nothing to be done for it now, Mulder," she said. They sat together quietly, but Scully could feel the tension in her partner's body. He stared out the small opening, watching the rain fall steadily onto the carpet of leaves that covered the forest floor. "Mulder, I don't understand why they wouldn't believe you," Scully said into his chest. "I know you pissed everyone off, but once you had hard evidence, the old bite marks, why didn't they believe you then?" "Tenejkian hated me. And I didn't help things. I tended to present new evidence in the worst possible light, making him look foolish and incompetent. And my *evidence,* as you call it, was questionable." He shrugged, frustration over that long-ago case still evident. "There were only discernible marks on two of the bodies, and their origin was really unknown. *I* was sure it was our killer, but I couldn't sell it to anyone else. And I still didn't have a clue as to *who* the killer was. "But all the victims were found in abandoned buildings. And I got to where I couldn't stare at the walls in my room anymore. So I started haunting empty buildings in the local towns. Little towns that sort of ran together in what I had determined was his *feeding* area. I was running blind, wandering through the night, not sure where I was going or what I was really looking for. But doing something, even that, was better than sitting in that room alone, staring at those faces." He shuddered and Scully tightened her arms around him, planting a light kiss over his heart. "I could see their eyes. Everywhere I went, I could see their eyes. They were watching me, following me, pleading with me to catch him. But I still didn't know who *he* was. And then one night, I got lucky." He gave a mirthless laugh. "If you could call it that. "There was activity in one of the buildings I was cruising, and I got out to take a look." "By yourself." "Yeah. I know. Not my brightest move, but I didn't have anyone I felt I could call." He sighed. "So there I am, sneaking into the building when there's this god awful shriek, and I start running for the sound, and then there's a 'whoosh' and something flies by me, shoving me to the side. I stumble, fall, then get back up, and turn to follow, but there's crying from in front of me, a sort of whimpering sound that's getting quieter as I stand there trying to decide what to do. "I pull the damn cell phone -- those things were really clunky back then and I almost hadn't brought it with me -- and call it in, spending some more time trying to convince the locals that I'm legit and they better respond. Seems Tenejkian had gotten wind of my midnight meanderings and sorta warned them off about me. I'm arguing with Dick Local on the phone, got my gun in the other hand, and I'm moving into the building. It was an old office building -- long hallway with doors on both sides." Mulder took a deep breath, waiting as Scully's hands ran comfortingly up and down his chest. He winced slightly when she brushed the sore spot on his side, but she didn't seem to notice, and he breathed a sigh of relief. "I finally had the locals on the way, and I crammed the phone back into the pocket of my trench coat. I was still half expecting whoever it was to come flying out of a door or up behind me, so I was moving slow, careful, you know? But the sound was still coming from in front of me. The shriek had faded to a memory and even the little whimpering I'd been following was drifting. It had turned into a really tiny little mewl, almost too quiet to hear, and I finally reached the last door, swung around it, and looked in." He paused, and Scully pulled away from his chest, looking up into his face. The night was still dark, but their eyes had adjusted, and she could just make out his features. Mouth held tight, a jagged wound in his anguished face. His brow was furrowed, and his lids held tightly together, giving him a pained expression. As she watched, he opened his eyes and stared down at her. "It was a kid, Scully. I found out later she was eight." He swallowed hard. "She was covered in bite marks, but what killed her was the wound at her throat." Mulder paused again, a sudden uncontrollable shaking overtaking him. "He'd ripped her throat out with his teeth." *********************************************** October 15, 1998 6:22 a.m. Mulder stretched in his sleep. He was slightly cold. It made him smile. Scully must have stolen all the blankets again. And he was uncomfortably wet. His smile grew even broader. She must have made him sleep on the wet spot. He wriggled in place, crampy muscles demanding movement, hands searching blindly for his other half. He came up with an armful of sleepy Scully, and he pulled her closer, tucking her into his side. "Mulder, c'mon, wake up," Scully said softly as she gently shook the man beneath her. "We need to get up." "Nnnnn," he mumbled groggily. " 's too early." He pulled her tighter, then wondered what the hell they had been doing last night that left him with such a pain in his side. It was like a stitch you got from running, but this intensified with movement, and showed no signs of receding. He smiled again. Scully must have really put him through his paces. "Mulder," she ordered, "get that ridiculous smirk off your face and wake up." Yep. That was Scully. It must have been one hell of a night. She was always a little uncomfortable the next day when she'd been the wild one. Seemed to feel it went against her self-image of reserved and self-contained. He smiled again, this time in self-satisfaction. He was the only one who could make her let go like that. Make her drop the reserve, lose the inhibitions, the only one she let see the total woman, the only one she shared her innermost self with. Only he. "Mulder," she said again, the shaking growing more persistent, and the concomitant ache in his side increasing accordingly. " 'Nuff, Scully," he finally muttered. Why couldn't she just be still and let him bask in the afterglow for once. He'd always thought women were the ones who did that, but not Scully. She was just as likely to jump up and start in on a case file, while he was generally useless for several hours after. Hell, he was frequently *unconscious* for several hours after. Scully was just plain *awesome* in bed. "I fell asleep." Her tone was both embarrassed and sheepish, and as Mulder opened his eyes he could see the flush of color in her cheeks. " 's OK, Scully," he whispered back. "We were both pretty wiped out." Scully smiled at him quickly, leaned over and brushed a kiss against the corner of his mouth, and said, "Mulder, I don't know where your dreams took you, but you need to come back to reality. We've got a problem here." He opened his eyes and looked around. The dawn sun shone through the autumn leaves, and colors swirled in the air. The just-rinsed scent of clean earth that so often followed rain filled his nostrils with each breath he took. From where they huddled, muddy, wet, cold, he could look out into a forest wonderland. Golds, and reds, and oranges covered the trees and the ground and danced in the gentle wind that moved slowly past them. The sun was a mottled pink, moving steadily into shining yellow, and already he could feel the air begin to warm. "Oh shit! I fell asleep. That bastard's out there, and I fell asleep." He looked at Scully, then reached out to touch the cut on her head. A trickle of dried blood ran a quarter inch down from it, and he wet his thumb and scrubbed at it. "I was dreaming." "From the looks of it," she nodded at his waist, "they were pretty good dreams." He nodded. "You figured heavily in them." He yawned, then stared out into the woodland clearing and his eyes began the back and forth pattern Scully had come to recognize as Mulder on the hunt. He sighed in relief when his scan revealed no sign of Nathan, then lifted his arm and checked the time. "Almost twelve hours since the last check-in." He nodded approvingly then stroked Scully's back. Disentangling himself from Scully's embrace, he crawled out of the hollow, rose, then pulled her out and up as well. "I need to visit the boy agent's tree." Scully giggled. "Well, I could stand to visit a tree as well." He looked at her. "How's the foot?" "Swollen. Sore. I still can't put any weight on it." He nodded and looped an arm around her waist, helping her to a tree a few yards away. He watched as she reached out, balancing herself against the rough bark of the old pine, but made no move. "Uh, Mulder? A little privacy, please? I think I can manage this." His eyes swept the area carefully, then returned to her. "I don't want to leave you." "I'll be fine," she promised, "but, really, I need you to give me some space here." She could see the inner struggle in his face, watched as he tried to decide if he could get away with insisting, then knew he had given in when his shoulders slumped minutely. "Just don't forget me," she called as he turned to go. He kissed her again. "No way. I'll be right back." He took a few steps away then turned to look back at her. "Better be quick so you don't end up embarrassed. They've probably found the van and have agents crawling the woods by now." *********************************************** October 15, 1998 7:10 a.m. "What do you mean you haven't found the van yet?" Skinner thundered. "You haven't even started a search? Did you *not* understand me last night? Did I *not* make myself clear? Who the hell gave you the authority to disregard my orders?" He was livid, beside himself, and if this man didn't start coming up with some answers -- *immediately* -- there was a very good possibility he was going to take a swing at him. "Mr. Skinner, sir," the man stammered, "I was all set to get the search in gear. It was *your* man who called it off. I assumed on your orders." Skinner could feel the blood in his face, the pounding in his temples. He idly wondered exactly how high his pressure was at this moment and if he was in danger of stroking out. "Who?" he demanded through clenched teeth. "The other agent that's here to testify. Agent Tenejkian." Fuck! Mulder, you just can't make friends to save your life, and even the people you pissed off seven years ago are still out to get you. Skinner looked at the local sheriff standing before him. "What precisely did Agent Tenejkian say when he instructed you not to start a search? In direct countermand to my orders, I might remind you." The man swallowed hard, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "He had been here since about 5:00 yesterday afternoon. Waiting for the prisoner, but I got the feeling he was really waiting to see your other man. Said they went way back. He'd gone for coffee when I called you, sir, and when he came back and saw me starting to get things rolling, he laughed and told me it was not necessary. Said Mulder did stuff like this all the time. Probably pulled over at a small motel somewhere to ride out the storm." "And you didn't think it odd that he didn't call and check in, inform you of his whereabouts and the change in plans?" "Your man Tenejkian said it was typical of Mulder. And he *is* the SAC in the Bureau office in the capital. Said Mulder screwed up like this all the time. Said he wasn't too sharp; kinda implied he'd been carried at the Bureau because he had some powerful contacts. Said the guy was an arrogant little prick, but not one you wanted to cross because of those contacts. Tenejkian implied I'd be hurting myself and my department if we started searching and found the guy, especially in a motel with that female partner of his." "Jesus H. Christ!" Skinner blew up again. His pressure must be through the roof by now. "Get that asshole Tenejkian in here *now!* And get your god damned people out there. Get *everybody* out there. Neighboring jurisdictions. State. Fish and Wildlife. Shit! Get the Boy Scouts if you think it will help. Just find my agents." He glared at the man. "Do you understand?" "Yes, sir," the man said sharply as he turned and almost ran from the room. Skinner leaned over, resting his hands on his knees and took a deep breath. No help. He breathed again, willing himself to calm. Nothing. If anything, he was getting angrier. He had to get a hold of his temper or he was going to *kill* that shit Tenejkian when he came in. He drew breath again, rage suffusing him, no attempt to calm himself having any success. With a mighty roar of anger and frustration, he pulled himself to his full height, turned and took two steps and put his fist through the door. He stood there trembling for a moment, then felt the fury begin to subside. Ah, that was much better. Pain exploded in his hand as he pulled back, looking ruefully out into the corridor at the deputies who had begun to gather there. He cradled his hand in the other, rubbing gently, and made a note to himself. Definitely time to look into those damn stress management classes Mulder had been advocating. ***************************************** October 15, 1998 7:32 a.m. "Sit, Mulder," Scully said quietly. "You already look done in." She cast an appraising eye over him. "Head still hurting?" "Yeah, some," he mumbled as he lowered her then himself to the ground. "Leg?" she went on, even as her hand reached up to ruffle through his hair, searching out the source of his headache. "I'm OK, Scully," he said, gently catching her hand and pulling it down. "How about you?" "I'm passable." She quickly felt her face, then said, "Not going to win any beauty contests this week, but nothing major seems damaged." She paused a moment, then added, "My head doesn't even hurt anymore." He reached out and touched her cheek, bruised and abraded, the eye still swollen almost shut. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I should never have asked you to come." She looked up at him. God, the man was a funny mix. He could be so endearing one moment, infuriating the next, and totally dense at others. And sometimes, he managed all three at once. "Mulder," she began, "we've been over this. You know I don't do things I don't want to." She stroked his cheek, her hand lingering on the morning stubble of his beard. "I'm where I want to be." He was staring at her, gazing into her eyes, losing himself in their fathomless depths. It was a source of continual wonder to him, that out of all the world, she chose him. And not just once. She chose him over and over again. Every evening, she chose him when they went home together. Every morning she chose him, when she woke with him. Her choice. And a hundred different times a day, times when she could walk away, or move on, or take a different road, she chose him. He was leaning over, moving toward her, wanting to scoop her into his arms, and then crawl into her soul. To be with her forever, to never be apart. He was bending, head lowering even as hers lifted to meet him, when a shot rang out, bullet flying over their heads so close, Mulder could feel the wind it created, hear the tiny 'zing' its passage sounded. He reached for Scully as she reached for him, each yanking the other lower, laying on the wet leaves of the forest floor. "Move!" she hissed, as they began to wriggle through the brush, hardly daring to rise to hands and knees and crawl. They slipped forward as fast as they could, rolling at times for speed. They were scrambling madly, propelled by fear and anger and frustration that this madman was calling the shots, forcing them to play his sick game. Mulder moved ahead, one hand reaching back to grab Scully. He gave a mighty surge, then cried out as his side burst into agony and he lost his grip on Scully. He was rolling down now, slithering and sliding in a flurry of decomposing leaves, landing in a broad ditch that scored the forest bed. Scully threw herself after him, tumbling uncontrollably down, landing at his side, her arms and legs thrown out in complete abandon. They lay there a moment, panting, then jumped in shock when something heavy, something metal, landed between them. Mulder's ankle gun. Both turned instinctively to see where it had come from, looking up the slope of the ditch to see Nathan standing at the top, looking down at them. "You only get one," he said in a flat monotone. "Use it wisely." He held up a bullet, balanced between his thumb and forefinger. He continued to stare down at them for a long moment, then tossed the projectile into the ditch. "There," he murmured softly, "isn't this fun?" End part 03/08 Profiles in Caring: The Nibbler Case 04/08 October 15, 1998 8:15 a.m. "You wanted to see me, Sir?" Tenejkian stood in the hall, shifting nervously from foot to foot as he alternately eyed the hole in the door and the big man who was now seated behind the room's only desk. "Agent," Skinner said icily, indicating that the man should enter the room. The SAC stepped into the room, still hovering hesitantly by the entry. He was not a large man, but he wasn't small either. Average height, about 5' 9", average build, about 160, average age, about 40. His dark hair was graying at the temple, and his dark coloring revealed his parents' births in their native New Delhi. He watched the AD closely, seeing the rage that simmered in the man's eyes, observing the tightly controlled movements, and not for the first time he thought to himself, 'I am seriously fucked here.' "Am I to understand that you took it upon yourself to countermand my directives last night, Agent?" Skinner demanded as he rose and came slowly around the desk. Tenejkian swallowed hard, following Skinner's every move. It was all that shit Mulder's fault! The man had some kind of lucky charm that seemed to make everything he did, no matter how stupid, irresponsible, unreasonable, or unbelievable, work out in the end. And it was obvious he had the AD in his corner on this. The smaller man's eyes darted back and forth around the room, almost as if he were sizing up options, or looking for alternate exits. He stayed near the door, unconsciously taking a half step back as Skinner continued to advance. "I didn't see the need for a full search last night, Sir," he equivocated. "I've worked with Agent Mulder before, and I am well aware of his propensity for taking action outside the accepted Bureau norm." He drew himself up to his full height, but was only reminded that if it came to a physical confrontation, he was woefully outmatched by the muscular man that stood before him. "Agent Tenejkian," Skinner began, then paused, hands clenched as a wave of fury crashed over him. He forced himself to step back, deliberately putting some distance between the man who stood before him and his temper. "Two of my agents, *your colleagues,* are missing, and your actions have delayed the search for them by over twelve hours." He drew a deep breath, struggling to remain calm. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?" "I acted as I saw fit, Sir," the man responded. "I have experience with Agent Mulder's -- eccentricities -- and I refuse to allow his unorthodox behavior to impede the ensuing trial." The man puffed himself up and went on pompously, "May I remind you, I am the SAC here, and it is my case, my investigation into these murders that linked them to Nathan?" Skinner trembled with rage. The man was a complete idiot. How the hell had he gotten promoted to SAC to begin with? He made a mental note to himself to find out who had been on his promotion board. He was willing to bet at least one name would be Kersh. This was just the kind of plodding, by-the-book, uninspired jerk that Kersh would love. "And may I remind you, that Agents Mulder and Scully, the guard, and the prisoner are all still unaccounted for? And that we are just now beginning the process of putting together a team to look for them? A team that could have been assembled and functioning by now if you had performed your duties as SAC appropriately?" "I took action as I saw fit," the man retorted. "*You* took action to fulfill some sick need for retribution against Mulder. I saw the files. I read the case." Skinner returned to the desk and picked up a folder, throwing it across the room at Tenejkian. "I know that Mulder tracked this man Nathan down and was responsible for putting him away. And I know that you created every obstacle you possibly could for him -- forcing him to work outside the system and totally on his own." Tenejkian was staring wordlessly at Skinner as the AD continued to pace back and forth like a caged tiger readying himself to pounce. He clutched the folder to his chest, papers slipping from it slowly to glide gracefully down to pool at his feet. Could this man really know what had happened? He hadn't put it in his report, and Mulder hadn't either. He eyed the AD again, thinking furiously. Skinner was angry enough to know the truth. It just didn't seem possible that someone like Assistant Director Skinner, he of the iron sense of duty and holder of a reputation of being unbendable, unbreakable, would possibly actually be *concerned* about a fuck-up like Mulder. "I know that Mulder almost died on this case, and that you -- you -- were there and could have helped him, but refused to take action at the critical moment." Skinner was pacing furiously now, his hands clenched so tightly, he wondered if he was drawing blood. And still the SAC stood silent, unmoving. The AD forced himself to stand still, then glared at Tenejkian. Well, maybe it was best that the man was silent. If he didn't say anything, he wasn't going to piss him off anymore. He watched the man more closely, could almost see the wheels turning as he tried to figure out exactly how much trouble he was in. Skinner snorted, pleased when the other man jumped at the sound, then picked up another piece of paper from his commandeered desk. "Special Agent Vasken Tenejkian, you are hereby demoted from your position of Special Agent in Charge, and suspended without pay, pending a hearing to review your actions of the last twelve hours." Tenejkian's eyes grew wide, and his mouth opened but no sound emerged. He stared dumbfounded for a long moment, then said, "You can't demote me. I'm the SAC." "And I'm the Assistant Director. And I certainly can." Skinner smiled, a smile that was totally without warmth. "And I just did." He passed over a piece of paper, faxed in from DC with all the appropriate signatures in all the appropriate boxes. "The original will be sent to you at your address of record." Tenejkian stared wordlessly at the paper, disbelief etched in his face. In less than twelve hours, he had gone from a man on the rise, a man with a future, to an unemployed middle-aged man, with little hope of re-employment. He'd controlled himself as long as he could. It was obvious that whatever Skinner's reputation had been before, being around Mulder had completely corrupted him. Where before he had been nervous and concerned for himself, he now began to burn with a righteous indignation at the shabby way he was being treated. He hurled the half-empty folder back at Skinner. "You don't know anything about what happened seven years ago. You weren't there." He took two steps forward, his voice rising as his temper increased. "You can't know what happened. You didn't see how out of control that prick Mulder was. Wouldn't consult with the team. Wouldn't follow directions. Wouldn't even come to the office. Worked out of his hotel. Wandered the streets at night. A fucking ghoul, he was, searching out victims with no contact with the rest of us. Spouting off bizarre theories with no possible basis in fact." He paused, ran his hand through his hair, then stepped forward once more. "And you don't *know* Mulder," he went on, his fury propelling him to speak faster and faster until the words were tumbling over one another from his lips. "This little stunt of last night is *just* the sort of shit that arrogant son of a bitch would pull. Always thinking he was better than everyone else. Always thinking rules didn't apply to him. Always looking for ways to make himself look good at the expense of others." Skinner had stood through the man's diatribe, standing motionless, arms folded over his chest, dark brown eyes flashing as he listened to this self-centered asshole attempt to explain away his own incompetence. First the incompetence of seven years ago, and now his incompetence of last night. "I probably know Agent Mulder better than anyone in the Bureau with the exception of his partner. And while his methods may at times be unorthodox, Agent Mulder gets results. And results are what matters. If it wasn't for his habit of reviewing closed cases, these early murders of Nathan's would never have been linked to the man. *Mulder* was the one that made this case. You just got to claim the glory." "That's not true! I was investigating this case even before Mulder decided to stick his head in where it wasn't wanted." He moved forward again, the fax crumpled in his hand, and shoved the paper in Skinner's face. "You have no right to take this action against me!" Tenejkian was almost screaming now, and Skinner watched in disgust as a dollop of spittle flew from the man's mouth. "You *can't* do this to me!" "We've been through this, Agent," Skinner said. It was curious, but as Tenejkian lost his control, Skinner seemed to be regaining his own. "You are ordered to leave the premises, and not to involve yourself in this investigation unless you are notified to do so." "This is all about Mulder, isn't it?" Tenejkian demanded hoarsely. "How'd he get you in his pocket, Skinner? What does he know about you? I heard you used to be pretty good, but I can see there's no truth to that rumor. Mulder's probably holed up somewhere, humping that pretty little partner of his, and your actions are nothing but tacit approval of his behavior." Skinner could feel his temper begin to rise again. The man just didn't know when to stop. "That will be enough, Agent," he said firmly. "Your actions are not only an embarrassment to yourself, but to the Bureau as well." He gestured at the closed door, and the hole he had put there that allowed the sheriff and his deputies to see and hear what occurred in the tiny office. Seeing the hole reminded him of his own out of control behavior of earlier, and he felt a sudden sense of pity for the man standing before him. "Go home, Vasken," he said quietly, "before you do something you'll really regret." Or push me into doing something I'll regret, he added silently. "Like this?" the man sneered, his fist coming up to make contact with Skinner's jaw. The AD rocked back on his heels, a curtain of red falling over him. He lifted a hand to gently rub his jaw, all the time chanting to himself. 'Control, Walter, control. Control, Walter, control.' He stared at the men who were gathered in the hall, crowding the hole in the door. What a fucking show the FBI was putting on for the locals. He shifted his eyes back to Tenejkian. The man was staring at him in horror, seemingly shocked at his own behavior, and Skinner could almost smell the fear that radiated from him. His pressure was rising again, and he felt the same overwhelming rage that had so overtaken him earlier begin to work its insidious way over him. 'Control, Walter, control.' He watched in bemusement as his own hand came up, doubled into a fist and lashed out at the man who stood before him. "Fuck control," he muttered as he watched the former SAC crumple to the ground. He looked up and addressed the door. "Somebody get this asshole out of here, and find the sheriff. I want an update on the search for my agents." ********************************** October 15, 1998 9:30 a.m. "How do you know he's not following us just out of sight, Mulder?" Scully asked quietly. "It's not his style. Would take away from the game," her partner responded shortly. He was focused on keeping them upright, keeping them moving. The pain in his head was better, but he seemed to have traded it for a steady ache in his side, and this morning, when he'd relieved himself, the stream of urine had been red. He snuck a glance at Scully, but she was concentrating on her feet, trying not to be any more of a burden to him than her injured foot made her. He knew he should tell her, but she'd only want him to rest, and resting was one thing they couldn't afford. He looked around, scanning for signs of Nathan but there was nothing to indicate he was near. Or that he wasn't for that matter. It just didn't *feel* like he was near. That was one of the things he'd developed in his last encounters with "The Nibbler," an uncanny ability to sense the evilness that seemed to travel with the man. Mulder shuddered, then paused, and Scully looked at him with concern. "You look pale, Mulder," she said, one hand coming up to touch his face. "Are you sure you're OK?" "Head's better, Scully, honest." He glanced down at his leg. "And my leg's not bleeding either." He sighed. "I'm just wishing the cavalry would come." He smiled down at her and he could tell she was thinking of the tall, strong AD, the man they both called friend now. "Think he's been notified?" Scully asked. "I'm sure of it. Like I said, he's probably got agents crawling all over these woods by now. They'll find Nathan before we will." He tried to inject some force, some believability into his tone, but he could tell it didn't come off. "What happened with this guy, Mulder? What was it that made this so awful for you?" "It was a lot of little things. Just the crime itself was enough to turn my stomach. People thought he was a cannibal, but he wasn't really. He just liked the taste of blood, and he got off on watching people bleed to death from his bite marks." He shuddered again. "We found semen at several of the sites." "But you caught him, right? Weren't you the agent who apprehended him?" "Not really, no. I was there, but Tenejkian was the one who actually put the cuffs on him and placed him in custody." "But I thought you were injured in his capture?" "Well, I was. But I was already injured when the final showdown arrived." They were still moving now, but slowly, and as Mulder's thoughts turned inward, she took up the job of scanning the trees for Nathan. She listened as Mulder spoke, but she kept her eyes on the woods that surrounded them. "I was the only one that believed he was marking them. I started running a check on hospitals for anyone who came in with a bite mark, explained or unexplained. I didn't think anything would come of it, but I was desperate. I didn't know what else to try." His hand came up and he scrubbed at his face, new growth beard and dirt and grime covering his cheeks. "I got a hit, though. One night, out of the blue. This ER nurse calls and reports a woman was in earlier. Said she got bit in some club she was in. Nothing major, just enough to draw blood. They cleaned it and sent her home." He sighed, and Scully tugged him to a log, dropping gracelessly onto it, then pulling him down as well. He resisted at first then gave in and settled down beside her. He held the gun, with its single bullet in one hand, staring at it as if it were the one who beckoned forth his memories. "It was an apartment, second floor, near the river. Beautiful view. I remember when I went in, the first thing I saw was this floor to ceiling window, took up one whole wall, looking out over the river. It was breathtaking." He shook himself, gave her a small smile, and continued. "I had gotten the address and headed on over. I *did* try to get Tenejkian, anyone, to listen, to help me, but no one was going to follow my lead, no matter what I did. So I went alone." She had been cradling his hand, but he sounded so alone, so forlorn at this admission, that she shifted her hand, and wrapped an arm around his waist. He was taller, heavier, broader, than she, but he still managed to fit against her side, seeming to snuggle in as if he desperately needed the reassurance that he was not alone here. She could feel his isolation, his anger and fear, the overwhelming frustration. It was all brand-new, fresh, just happening in Mulder's memory. "Her name was Anna Torrence. Anna Renee Torrence. I remembered thinking her initials spelled ART. And her apartment was full of it. From the view of the river -- that was a work of art in itself -- to paintings on the wall, to small sculpture and antiques, it was a beautifully eclectic mix of what was obviously this woman's very good taste. "I started across the living room, gun in hand, my head whipping around as I tried to figure out what it was that seemed so familiar about this setting. I was almost to the window wall, the private deck just outside through an unpaned French door off to the side. I could see terraces and decks off the other apartments, and the river just flowed by, huge and slow-moving, ignorant of humanity's evil. I was still looking around, trying to place the sense of knowing, of recognition that had overtaken me from the minute I first walked in, when it suddenly came to me. It was not something I saw that was familiar -- it was something I smelled." He paused a moment, nose wrinkling in distaste as his mouth twisted in disgust. "Blood." A single word, spoken in a low monotone, but it spoke volumes beyond its abrupt syllable. Blood and bone were the parts of their job he left to her when he could. Seeing them, smelling them, or worse, touching them imprinted memories too hard to erase for him. "Mulder," she whispered, stroking his arm once, then reaching up to turn his head to look at her, and caressing his face, "you don't have to finish." He shrugged, an almost helpless gesture, then went on quietly. "I could feel my heart pick up, then slow again, as I tried to dismiss it. Just a weird olfactory memory from all the crime scenes I had visited, brought on by the tension of the situation. But that was less likely than the reality. I'd smelled blood before; I knew what the odor was. "I moved toward the window -- it almost seemed to call to me. From there I could see all of the living room, the dining area, the doorway into the kitchen, and the hall down to the bedrooms and bath. It was a great vantage point to see everything, the center of the apartment. It made sense that the view was the focal point around which the rest of the apartment was built. "I stood for a minute, frozen, I guess. I should have been moving, going to help Anna Renee, but I was just standing there, holding my gun, smelling the air like some bloodhound on the scent. I just kept thinking I should have someone there -- that I wasn't enough." His voice dropped, and Scully could hear the tell-tale crack that only emerged when Mulder battled his strongest emotions and darkest demons. She clutched him harder, realizing anew how very real a thing memory was for a man like Mulder. It wasn't just his almost perfect memory, a mind that stored experiences as clearly as if they had just happened. It was his empathy as well, his emotional makeup that made him *feel* things so keenly, that let him *know* things that others couldn't know. It made a trip down memory lane like this one almost as bad as the experience itself had been. It certainly felt as real to Mulder, and Scully felt helpless to comfort him. Her touch and her presence were all she had to offer him. "I've never been enough ..." It was whispered to his lap, almost too soft for Scully to hear, and a part of her wanted to shake him and remind him how many times, again and again, he had been all that stood between her and death, and how she was still here, still living and loving because he was enough, he was more than enough, he was all she needed. The other part of her wanted to wrap him up and hold him, and protect him from all of this. To fix the world so he would never have to hurt, or question, or doubt himself again. He lifted haunted eyes to hers, and went on. "I stood there, staring, listening, breathing, and then footsteps whispered on the carpet from the bedroom. A soft, almost soundless noise. I turned to look down the hall and there was this muted *thump* from one of the bedrooms. I moved toward the hallway, stopping at the entrance from the living room. The odor was stronger there, pungent and more persistent. The door at the end of the hall was open and I could just make out movement on the bed." He flashed a wry smile at Scully. "My first thought was that I'd interrupted Anna Renee with her boyfriend. All I could think was what a jerk I was going to look like when this got out. But my heart was still pounding, and there was this scent, and something else, something I couldn't place. The hall was dark, but there was light from the living room, and from the windows, and it made the walls seem to glow. I could hear my feet on the carpet, that same whispery sound I'd heard earlier. "I was moving down the hall, creeping really, and then I was suddenly there. I pushed the door open a little more -- I don't know what the hell I was doing, procedure was out the window at this point -- and I looked in. I could see her on the bed. She looked like she was sleeping, crumpled, on the bed, lying on her side, her arm flung over her head." He paused a moment, clinging to her, and she could feel hot tears against his cheeks. "The -- the bathroom light was on. It lit the bottom of the bed, and cast enough of a glow to see the room. It was done in white. A brass bed with white linens, white dresser, a white floor length cloth draped over a bedside table. White and gold. The brass bed. The hardware on the dresser. And the picture over the bed. It was one of those huge abstract things -- almost covered the wall. It was in a gilt frame with a light of its own over top, and a small brass plate beneath it. It was -- crimson and scarlet and cherry and wine, vermillion and ruby and fuschia and carmine. Big, bold strokes, the paint was slashed onto the canvas almost violently. All the reds of the painting just seemed to merge onto the red of the bed. The sheets and the pillows and the comforter were all red. And Anna Renee -- she was red too. Blood red. But all I could see was the little brass plate. The title of the painting." He lifted his eyes to meet hers for a moment, and a silence stretched between them, broken only by the hitch in his throat as he drew breath. "It was called 'The Misuse of Red.'" He stopped abruptly and shuddered, then pulled away from her and leaned to the left, one hand clutching his side, the other balancing himself on the log. He heaved viciously, unable to contain the sickness the memory brought back. He gagged several more times, gulping desperately for air between, and held his belly. Scully rubbed his back gently, then helped him sit erect again when he was done. He was exhausted. This race through the woods was wearing on them both, but Mulder seemed to be more worn than she was, and her first inclination was to assume it was because of the extra burden she represented with her injured foot. But she looked more closely and saw that there was a sheen of sweat covering his brow and upper lip, and his face was stiff, as if he was fighting to keep himself under control -- or to keep the pain under control. She lifted her eyes, looking around the surrounding woods, seeking any hint that they were being followed or observed, but the trees were still. She turned back to her partner. He was still staring at his lap, face and neck tensed, body held stiffly and he clutched his side with one hand. She narrowed her eyes, staring at him. There was the head wound -- painful but not life-threatening. There was the leg wound, but that wasn't even really impeding his mobility. And still he was stiff, tight, holding himself, and struggling to keep his face calm. She caught him wince, then bite his lip before he snuck a quick look in her direction. She took a deep breath, then looked around again. The hairs on the back of her neck had risen inexplicably. The forest was quiet, no sign of movement. She looked at Mulder again. He was fading where he sat, head still down, hand still holding his side. The stillness of the woods seemed to amplify the harsh sounds of his breathing, a ragged in and out that appeared to pain him. Her hairs were still bristling, and she couldn't place the feeling of disquiet that had stolen over her. That Mulder was more injured than he had admitted, she was sure. And while she understood his reticence to admit his injury, it had to end here and now. He needed to tell her what had happened, what was bothering him. Not just the memories of what had happened seven years ago, but the reality of what had happened fifteen hours ago. She opened her mouth to speak, to talk to Mulder, to tell him it was OK, she wasn't mad, she understood. To coax from him what happened and to pray it wasn't life-threatening. She opened her mouth to break the silence, to speak into the quiet of the autumn woods at mid-morning, to tell this man beside her that they would get through this, and it would be all right, and that she loved him. She opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it. "He's here, Scully. He's here." End part 04/08 on to part 2/2