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