Caring: The Nibbler Case II 
Author: Daydreamer
Author E-mail: Daydream59@aol.com
Rating: NC-17 for language, graphic violence, and disturbing imagery 
Category: SAR - character exploration 
Spoilers: none
Keywords: MSR; M/Sc/Sk friendship 
Archive: Yes, please.
Feedback: Yes! Please! 
Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner are owned by 
Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, Fox Television Network, etc. 
They are wonderfully brought to life by David Duchovny, 
Gillian Anderson, and Mitch Pileggi. I will make no profit 
from this, and neither will Fox if they sue me, for I am poor 
and have nothing material they can profit from. 
Comments: Check out my web page, Daydreamer's Den, brought 
to you by the talented Shirley Smiley, WebMistress Extraordinaire!
http://www.geocities.com/daydreamersden 
Summary: Seriously injured and with Scully in danger,
Mulder is forced to walk alone through the dark corridors 
of a killer's mind to find his hidden secrets.


Profiles in Caring: The Nibbler Case II 01/11 
October 17, 1998
10:00 a.m. 
They were sitting together comfortably, Mulder propped in 
the bed, Scully ensconced in the recliner/bed thing that the
nurses had brought in for him to sleep on, and he was
settled into a wooden rocker, unearthed from the nursery or
peds ward no doubt. Mulder had slept well, which meant
Scully was happy. And if Scully was happy, after the
emotional ups and downs of the past few days, then Mulder
was ecstatic. And he was content to see them that way
for a short while. 
"Sir?" Mulder was speaking, and Skinner looked up,
distracted from his ruminations. 
"I'm sorry," he apologized. "What did you say?" 
"I asked if Nathan's trial went on as scheduled. Am I
still going to have to testify?" 
Skinner shook his head. "I've been out of the loop.
Took myself off things once you two were settled here.
Someone called yesterday but I was talking to your
doctor and I hung up on them." He smiled sheepishly,
then straightened as he pulled his AD persona together.
"I can check if you'd like." 
Mulder nodded. "I'd like to know what I'm facing here.
Do we get to go home, or do I still have to see him 
again?" 
Skinner had his phone out and was dialing. "This is
Assistant Director Skinner," he said when a woman 
answered. "I need to speak to Jacobson." There was
a pause while the line was transferred, then he went on,
"Mulder is awake, Jake. Oh, yes, he's doing much better,
thank you. Look, he wants to know if he still has to 
testify, and if so, when." 
Skinner was silent, and as Mulder and Scully watched,
the blood drained from his face. "Are you sure?" he
whispered hoarsely into the phone. "No, no, I'm sorry.
Of course you are." The AD pulled himself together,
then spoke one last time. "Well, I'm sorry about that.
I won't hang up on you again. Keep me informed at
all times and I'll get in touch with DC and allocate
additional funding and manpower for you. Just keep 
looking." 
He closed the phone, his head dropping for a long
moment, then he lifted his eyes to meet his agents'. 
"When they got down the side to reclaim the body,
Nathan was gone." 
There was a long silence as Mulder and Scully just
stared at Skinner, and then Mulder gave a huge sigh
and said, "All right," as he struggled to push the covers
off and shift himself on the bed. "Help me up." 
Scully and Skinner exchanged a quick look and then
responded simultaneously, 
"NO!" 
Mulder shook his head, then said, "No, I don't mean
up as in out of bed. Even I think that's beyond 
me -- today. I just meant, help me sit up." 
As they started to protest, he cut them off with a wave. 
"You know as well as I do that there's work that has to 
be done here, and I can't do it if I'm flat on my back." 
His face took on a slightly detached look, as if he was
withdrawing to some place no one could follow him. His
voice shifted, becoming low, and he was speaking to 
himself, as if he had forgotten there were others in the
room. 
"I need someone to get the files, too. I need to have them
here where I can read them, see them, hold them in my 
hands." 
Scully interrupted. "Mulder, you're too weak for this.
Not this time. You have to let someone else be the 
primary on this one." 
"She's right, Mulder. The man nearly killed you. Again.
You're too close to the whole situation. And you're just
not up to this." Skinner was doing an abbreviated pace
by the door to the room, his eyes carefully averted as he
spoke. 
"Listen to me," Mulder ordered, and he waited until both
of them were looking at him. "You don't understand. This
is not optional. None of this is optional. It doesn't matter
how weak I am, or how strong, or how well I am, or how
ill, or how much I want to do this, or how much it turns 
my stomach. *None* *of* *that* *matters!*" He paused,
drawing a deep, ragged breath. "What *does* matter is
that that monster is loose again, and I'm telling you, there
won't be any period of escalation this time. He's *already*
escalated. He had his," here Mulder made a face, frowning
and wrinkling his nose in disgust, "his *taste* of it all,
the thrill of the hunt, the excitement of the chase, the
arousal of first blood. He's in a frenzy -- consider it a
*feeding* frenzy, if you will." Mulder bared his teeth
in a death mask grin, and Scully actually took a step back,
so real and terrifying was his look. 
"This fucker *is* going to kill. We'll see the first body
within twenty-four hours. And there isn't anything that
you," a nod at Skinner, "or you," another nod, this time
at Scully, "or I," finger pointing to his own chest, "can 
do to prevent it." 
Scully moved forward, making "shushing" noises and
touched him, halting the cataract of words that spilled
angrily from his lips. "Enough, Mulder. You're already
upsetting yourself." Her limp was still noticeable, but 
the stiff bandages that encased her ankle had given her
her mobility again. 
He reached out, clutching at her hand, pulling her close. 
"The really bad part, Scully, the really awful part is,
I can't even *start* to track this man, I can't begin to 
crawl behind him, until the first body shows up." He
paused, licking his lips and grasping her hands even
more tightly, until she began to wince. "And here I
am, *eager* for the body. My heart is racing and my
adrenaline is up, and *I'm* on the hunt now, too. And
somewhere inside of me, I'm forgetting that 'the body'
is, at this moment, a real, live, living, breathing human
being. Maybe a mother with children, or a man who
just got engaged, or some small town cop who's never
had to deal with anything worse than the political 
scandal of ticketing the mayor for speeding. And this
person has to *die* before we can look for this
bastard. Before we have a place to start." 
There was a long silence, and Skinner approached the 
bed cautiously, reaching out to gently extricate Scully's
hands from Mulder's grip. He didn't seem to notice.
He was gone to that place deep inside himself where
the world's reality faded before the surrealism of his 
thoughts. 
"And I'm here, waiting, and instead of thinking how 
horrible it is that someone has to die, I'm wishing it
would hurry up and happen. Because the sooner we
have the body, the sooner we have a starting point, 
the sooner we have a chance at catching this fucker." 
He stopped, panting for breath, then slowly refocused
on the two people who stood by his bed. "Now, Scully,"
he said, this time in a quiet, even voice, "help me up.
Get me some more pillows, whatever it takes. I've got
to be able to sit up. I need to read. Find my glasses,
will you?" 
They could see him ticking items off on an invisible list
inside his head. 
"Skinner," he paused, then looked up sheepishly at voicing
the man's name in that way. Though their relationships had
progressed far beyond that of supervisor and subordinate, the
older man was still usually "Sir" at work, and both he and
Scully were working on becoming comfortable with calling 
him "Walter" at other times. But in Mulder's mind, he still
was "Skinner," as he had been for so many years. 
"Er, Sir? If you would, the files?" 
Scully looked at Skinner, watching as the indecision in his
face slowly turned to acquiescence. He nodded once, then
left abruptly, and Scully reluctantly began to assist Mulder 
into a semi-sit. 
When Skinner returned an hour or so later, he carried 
cardboard cartons, stacked three high, and was followed by 
the agent who had been on guard duty carrying his own 
boxes, and a hospital security officer who had been drafted 
as well. He walked in, nodding at the corner behind the 
door, then waited while the men deposited their burdens 
there. His own boxes he took to the chair beside Mulder's 
bed. Turning back, he thanked the men, adding, "Agent 
Reynolds, if you would please resume your post? Given 
the circumstances, let's all be especially vigilant, shall we?" 
Skinner placed one box on the bed near Mulder, saying,
"These are the most recent files. The others contain the
older material." 
Mulder nodded. He had already opened the box, and was
engrossed in the first file. He worked his way through 
the box, oblivious to Scully and Skinner. They sat 
together quietly, not sure what they could do to help, 
and planning what would probably be a useless strategy 
to "manage" Mulder and make sure he ate and slept 
and allowed himself to heal -- even in the midst of the 
case that had fallen in their laps. 
At length, Mulder looked up and asked, "I don't suppose
there is any possibility you're going to let me establish 
a command center at the local PD, is there?" 
Skinner rose to his full height, folded his arms across his
chest, and said in a dead quiet voice, "Absolutely not." 
Mulder nodded as if this was the expected response, and 
then said, "I need a cork board. One of those portable
things if possible. If not," he shrugged, "it can go up 
on that wall. He pointed to the wall before the bed. 
"It'll fit under the TV." The TV was bolted to a rack 
near the ceiling and the wall beneath it was the only 
open expanse in the room. To the right was the door 
to the hallway, to the left was the bathroom and a 
small window overlooking the roof of another section 
of the hospital. The fourth was, of course, the one 
the bed was against. There was also a small armoire 
there, designed to hold clothing and suitcases and 
other items a patient might bring in, but not need 
while hospitalized. Mulder's was, not surprisingly, 
empty. Scully had learned at some point in their 
relationship that leaving clothing in Mulder's 
hospital room was a recipe for escape, and she was 
very careful to remove anything he might wear to 
get out, including shoes and gun. These items, 
along with his ID, other clothing and suitcase, were 
safely stashed in her hotel room. 
"It needs to be the width of the wall. I'd make it longer 
if I had more room." He was eyeing the window, as if
assessing the possibility of bringing the cork around the
corner and covering it. "At least six feet, top to bottom, 
and lots of tacks. If you go with the portable things, it
may take more than one. I don't care, just get them. I've
got to have a place I can put the pictures up. I have to
be able to *see* what he's done." 
Skinner had pulled a small notebook and was jotting
in it, nodding as he wrote. Scully had taken the files
Mulder had already been through, and was making her
own perusal of the material. 
"And then I'm gonna need some of the photos blown up.
I marked 'em as I went through the folders." He watched
as Scully lifted a photo from the folder on her lap, turned
it over, then held it up for Skinner to see the penciled 
"X" on the back. "Sometimes, I need to be able to hold
it in my hand, but sometimes, it has to be big enough to
look at from a distance, to see the whole picture, as it were.
I can't always do that with regular eight by tens. 
"I'm gonna need a phone too," he went on. "Preferably
a land line, but if that's impossible, get me an exemption
to use my cell. I am gonna need a couple more phone 
lines anyway." 
"Phone lines? I don't think so, Mulder. I can get you 
what you need, and Scully and I will do all we can to
make sure you can both work and still be cared for until
your injuries heal, but I don't think even I can get the
hospital to put in phone lines for your impromptu command
center." 
Mulder went on as if Skinner hadn't spoken. "And a fax 
machine. That's not negotiable, Walter, and neither is the 
laptop. With a modem. I'm going to have to have phone
access." Mulder was once again ticking off items on his
mental list. 
"Here," he started flipping through folders, silently 
urging Scully to do the same. "These are the ones I need
blown up. At least twelve by eighteen." He thrust the
photos out, and Skinner stepped forward, taking them.
"I need them back ASAP. I have to be able to *see* what
Nathan has done. I've got to have it in front of me. And
get that wall in here immediately. I can't work without
a wall." His voice descended into petulant grumbling as
he went on under his breath, "Shouldn't have to work
like this at all." He stopped, somewhat abashed as he
realized he was both giving orders to his boss, and then
criticizing him for the speed in which they were carried 
out. "Oh, and, uh, I'm sorry, Sir. You can get me a 
newbie to fetch and carry. I don't mind working with
green in this situation. You certainly don't have to
run my errands for me." 
Skinner shook his head, smiling slightly and said,
"No, I think I'll 'fetch and carry' for you this go round,
Agent Mulder. It gives me an opportunity to monitor
the case, and keep an eye on you." 
Mulder nodded again, dismissing Skinner from his
thoughts as a wave of pain crashed over him, signaling
that the pain meds were wearing off. "Scully, you're 
gonna have to get that doctor in here, get me something
for the pain. It interferes with my concentration." He
fixed her with a look, adding, "And you know I have to
work, so don't even start objecting." At her reluctant
agreement, he added, "But you're gonna have to make
sure that whatever he gives me kills the pain, but doesn't
put me to sleep. There's gotta be something that will
keep me alert and functional, and still keep the pain
at a manageable level. There's got to be a happy medium
in there somewhere. So dig out your little PDR and
find something, and then get it in here, please," he paused,
gasping as a particularly strong ripple of discomfort
slashed across his belly, "because, I'm not feeling 
too good now," he ended somewhat plaintively. "Find
me something that's gonna let me work." 
Scully rose, nodding now and went to stand by Skinner
at the door to the room. 
"Oh, and one more thing," Mulder called out from the bed,
"I don't want either one of you alone, not for a minute. 
Travel in twos. In other words, get a bodyguard for each
of you. He's gonna come after someone. More than likely,
Scully or me, but I don't want to miscalculate and have him
come after you, Sir. I don't know when, and I don't know
where, but he's gonna come back for one of us." 
************************************************ 
October 17, 1998
9:45 p.m. 
Mulder had been through every box, reading at his incredible
speed, and using his amazing memory to categorize and sort
through the sheer mass of information. He sighed wearily,
then ripped a piece of yellow lined paper from the legal pad
in his lap, and waved it at Skinner. "All right," he said. 
"This is it." 
Skinner turned from where he had been setting up Mulder's
"wall" and took several steps to stand beside the bed. He
reached out and took the paper, saying, "This is what?" 
"These are the people you need to put a guard on. You need
to find them and you need to warn them and you need to watch
them." Mulder's eyes were closed now, and he had laid
back heavily into the pillows supporting him. "These are
the ones I think he's marked. He's gonna go after one of 
them at some point." 
"Are you sure?" 
Mulder shrugged, eyes still closed, face etched with pain.
"There's no way to be sure, but if I had to lay odds ..."
His voice trailed away, and then he muttered, sotto voce, 
"Pain meds, Scully?" At her gentle touch, he opened his
eyes and gave a half-smile. She squeezed his arm, then
ducked out the door. "He's gonna go after one or more
of them at some time, Sir," Mulder went on, redirecting 
himself toward Skinner. "Probably more than one of
them. Like I said, there isn't going to be any period of
escalation. He's already peaked, and it's going to be
one killing after another until he's caught. He's gotta
know we're right here, we're close. He knows he isn't
going to get away. He isn't going to calmly run -- if
he was he would have run when the van overturned. 
But he didn't. And something in this area has triggered
his hunger again." 
Mulder stopped, the faraway, detached look sliding over 
his face as if he had left the room without a backward 
glance at the mere mortal who could not follow. "He's
connected to this place, this area. I don't know how. It's
part of what I need to figure out. What kept him here 
when he could have run? What keeps him here now?
He wasn't born here, but he lived here as a child, into
his teens. He enlisted in the Army; dishonorable discharge.
I had requested the information on the circumstances 
of the discharge seven years ago, but then, the verdict on
the first trial came back and it was life, so they didn't 
pursue it anymore. *I* didn't pursue." His eyes regained
their focus and he turned to look at Skinner. "I need
to know what happened. Can you get someone on that
right away? It has to have something," Mulder paused,
face contorting briefly, then rubbed his brow and went
on, "to do with all of this. Until I can figure it out, I 
don't even know what direction to point people in." 
He sighed heavily, then closed his eyes and mumbled
in exhaustion, "I'm fucking useless." 
Skinner folded the piece of paper and stuck it in his
breast pocket. "I'll get someone on this right away,"
he said as he began to gather the materials that were
strewn about Mulder's bed. "As far as the other research,
I'll have someone on that first thing in the morning."
He cast a deliberate glance at his watch, then looked 
up as Scully reentered, a nurse with a syringe behind
her. 
"I hope that's got something to make him sleep, as
well," the AD commented, smiling when she nodded. 
"I don't need anything to make me sleep," Mulder 
protested. "Scully, c'mon, you know how foggy that
stuff makes me." 
"Sorry, Mulder," she said cheerily. "Doctor's orders.
You're out for the night." 
It was a vivid testimony to his exhaustion that he offered
no further resistance, watching in resigned silence as the
RN slipped the needle into the valve on the IV, and 
depressed the plunger. Within minutes, he was snoring
gently, and Scully and Skinner were settling into their
chairs for the night. 
********************************************** 
October 18, 1998
3:20 a.m. 
Five hours and thirty five minutes later, Skinner's cell phone 
rang, waking all three of them. He answered it, there was a
brief pause, and then he said, "All right. We expected this.
I want the scene photographed from every possible angle."
He looked up. Scully was already standing, pulling her blazer
on and slipping gingerly into her shoes, the bandage on her
ankle making it a bit of a production. "Agent Scully is on 
her way and she will supervise the crime scene." 
He covered the phone and spoke softly to Scully. "Tonight,
or in the morning?" 
"Autopsy?" She looked at her watch, grimaced, then 
said, "It'll be morning before we're done on site. I'll 
just do it then." 
Skinner nodded and spoke into the receiver again. "She'll
accompany the body to the morgue and begin the autopsy
immediately. She's gonna be the acting on this one, but
I want copies of everything forwarded to me here at the 
hospital." He closed the phone without another word, 
then stepped into the hall to arrange for one of the 
agents on duty to go with and stay with Scully. 
When Skinner left, Scully walked over to the bed, leaned
down and gave Mulder a quick kiss, then stood, her hand
lingering on his brow to gently brush back the persistent
flop of hair that rested there. "I'd tell you to rest," she
said softly, "but I think it would be useless. But I am gonna
tell you to listen to Skinner. If you overdo on this one, 
you're not gonna help anyone, least of all yourself. He's
right, you know. The surgery was intense. You shouldn't
be involved in something like this at all." She sighed
then, her hand dropping down to cup his cheek. "But
one thing I know, Mulder, one thing I understand: you
could no more leave this alone than you could fly to the
moon. But please -- don't hurt yourself further." She 
paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I 
couldn't stand it." 
She stared down, blue meeting gray, and said in a forced,
light tone, "So, take it easy and do what the big guy says." 
Mulder pursed his lips and blew, a soft raspberry of both
exasperation and acceptance, then nodded. He pulled
her back down for another kiss, then said, "Go. Make sure
they get everything. We can't afford to be sloppy on this
one. Every angle. Every possibility. Put someone on a
ladder and shoot straight down -- or a roof if that's 
feasible. Get it in context. I need to see what's around.
Make them pick up *everything,* I don't care what it is,
I need to see it all. Everything. And get pictures in situ
first, before anything is bagged." 
Scully made a moue of distaste, then said, "I know what 
I'm looking for, Mulder. It'll be all right. I just hope
this isn't the local make out area or you know what 
we'll be bagging all night." 
Mulder chuckled softly. "Maybe it'll be a big field, 
and there won't be anything worse than cow cookies." 
She smacked him lightly on the arm, saying, "You better 
listen to the doctors and Skinner while I'm gone. I want
you well enough to lead the next three in the morning
foray into the local wilds." She stopped then, embarrassed
as she realized the import of her words. "You know what
I mean," she whispered. 
He nodded gravely as she left, calling, "Stay off your 
ankle as much as you can." 
Skinner reappeared and walked over to the bed, nimbly
relieving Mulder of the folder he had picked up, and 
removing the younger man's glasses from his face. He
placed the folder on the table by the bed, then deliberately
folded the glasses and set them on top. "There's no
point in doing that, Mulder. You need to go back to sleep.
Until the photos come in, until we have Scully's report,
there's nothing new for you to look at. Reading the old
data again, isn't going to tell you anything new. The 
information you're looking for from the Army hasn't come
in yet. None of the other requests for information on 
Nathan's childhood, the people he knew in this area, jobs
he's held, nothing has turned up yet. Believe me, when it
does, I'll be the one waking you up. But in the meantime,
you've done enough for today. It's the middle of the night.
You go back to sleep." His hand reached out to hover over
the light switch. 
"What are you doing?" Mulder asked. 
"Did you not hear me? I'm turning the lights back off, so 
you can go back to sleep." 
"I can't go back to sleep." 
"You don't have an option, Mulder," Skinner replied. "You're
good. As an agent, you're one of the best. As a profiler, you 
probably are *the* best. But you're not the only one that the
Bureau has at its disposal. And I will yank you from this case
and deny you access in a heartbeat if you don't abide by my 
orders and the doctor's orders. You rest when you're tired,
you take meds when you hurt, and you are brutally honest about
how you are feeling at all times. You have any problems 
with that, we'll haul everything out of here now, and I'll send 
for Fermelli and he'll take over." 
"I hate Fermelli," Mulder said petulantly. "He's an arrogant 
asshole." 
Skinner smiled sweetly. "I know. And if you don't want
that arrogant asshole taking over your case, roll over like a 
good boy and go to sleep." And he clicked off the light. 
End part 01/11 
Profiles in Caring: The Nibbler Case II 02/11 
October 18, 1998 
4:10 a.m. 
The night was quiet when Scully reached the crime scene.
The hushed voices of the men and women who stood 
waiting patiently mingled with the sounds of crickets in 
the woods and the rustling of small animals, disturbed by
the humans' encroachment into their domain. There was a
crisp tang in the air, an odor of pine and lingering wild
flowers that was stolen in the autumn's chill breeze. The
cold bite of the steady wind reminded her that winter would 
not be long in coming. 
She sighed and surveyed the scene. The site was, if not 
a field, at least a clearing in a sparsely wooded area
rather than an urban, trash-filled area, and she was quick
to count herself lucky on that count. No dumpster diving
tonight. As she took a moment to assay the situation, she 
noted first the silence that had met her arrival, then the
number of astonished looks and several outright gasps that
escaped the other officers and agents. It caught her by 
surprise and she found herself looking around and asking, 
"What?" 
Agent Jacobson came forward and said, "I tried to explain
to them, but I guess it was still a shock." 
"What was a shock?" she asked. 
"Come with me. See for yourself." He turned and headed
toward the body, laying off to one edge of the clearing. It 
was loosely covered with a tarp, but Scully could still make
out the form beneath, humped and broken where it lay. 
Jacobson was moving along the edge of the clearing, making
a wide circle toward the body, and she called out to him,
"Stop." 
He paused, looking back at her. 
"Mulder always widens the scene. Why don't you retrace your
steps to me, and we'll increase this circle by about ten feet. 
She was nodding, confirming her own decision. "That should
be enough." Jacobson was staring at her now, and she spoke
again. "Let's get the tape moved back, and get the techs in 
here to bag and tag. And is the van here yet?" 
"Any time now," the agent answered. "They had to wake
everyone and wait for them to get to the office." 
"Well, other than resetting the tape, there's nothing to
do until the lights and cameras get here." 
She was interrupted by the rumble of a mobile forensic
van pulling up to park behind the car they had arrived in. 
"Oh, good. Now we're ready to start." 
The next ninety minutes were spent in photographing the
scene from every conceivable angle. One of the younger 
and more athletic agents was even sent up several trees 
to get shots from overhead. Techies swarmed over the
ground, gloved hands collecting the minutiae of a dozen
late night rendezvous, a hundred teenage keg parties,
and untold numbers of hunting expeditions. Shotgun
shells and casings from .22s and .38s were found, along
with bits of paper, snags of cloth, crumpled cigarette
packs and butts of every brand; discarded bottles and
cans, used condoms and dirty needles. A broken handled
Jim Bowie knife, dirt encrusted and stained with old, dry
blood was recovered as were a pair of pantyhose and a man's
belt. Scully began to rethink her position that country 
was easier than city for evidence collection. Brown paper 
bags rustled as the techs continued their search, and when 
she finally pronounced the area "clean," the sun was almost
upon them, and the morning birds had been singing cheerfully 
for a full thirty minutes. 
So involved in following Scully's instructions, so engrossed
in the intense attention to detail she demanded, the initial 
shock at her arrival had been forgotten until she began 
to move toward the body. The woods fell silent again,
even the birds were still as she stepped to the tarp and 
lifted it. Her mouth rounded into an "O" of astonishment,
and one hand came up quickly to cover it. She stared
down at the body for a moment more, and then swayed
and Jacobson hurried forward to take her arm, and pull
the tarp from her hand, dropping it back over the body. 
"I'm sorry," he murmured apologetically. "In the fervor
of the moment, I'm afraid we all forgot. That was what 
I wanted to warn you about." 
Scully took several deep breaths, waited a moment 
longer, then gently shook off the man's hand. "I'm
OK," she said, "but you're right, it was a shock."
She reached back over and threw the tarp off completely,
exposing the body to full view. 
It was a woman, petite, with hair the exact shade as
her own. She was about the same size, height and 
weight, and her face had been bitten away. There were
numerous other bites across her nude body, and
she lay in what was once a pool of blood. The ground
beneath her was dark now, the blood having been
soaked into the ever thirsty soil. 
"It's a rather obvious ploy, don't you think?" she asked
when she had regained her voice. 
"I'd think it would reinforce Mulder's belief that Nathan
is gonna go after you." 
She shrugged. "Possibly. And it does explain why he
didn't get one of the people on Mulder's list. He was
trying to make a statement here." She looked around,
spotted the coroner and waved him over. "I've done
all I can here," she said. "Let's bag her and get her to
the morgue so I can get started." 
"You gonna do it now, then?" the older man asked. 
"Yeah." Scully looked up at him and smiled. "If I
can get a cup of coffee first." 
******************************************** 
October 18, 1998
8:30 a.m. 
Skinner had switched his phone from ring to vibrate, and 
the subtle but steady quiver against his leg woke him. He 
took a quick look at Mulder -- asleep again -- and rose to 
step out into the hall. 
"Skinner." 
"How is he?" Scully's voice was clear, but he could hear
an undertone of tired in her words. 
"He went back to sleep. Didn't want to, but I insisted.
And I actually won. He's sleeping now." He paused,
then asked, "How about you? What did you find?" 
She sighed. "It was messy. There's so much stuff to 
sort through, and quite frankly, I doubt any of it is gonna
lead us to Nathan." 
"Where are you now?" 
"In the ME's office. He's plying me with coffee." Skinner
could hear a deep-voiced laugh from the background. "I'm
gonna get started on the autopsy next. They're doing the
trace exam now." 
"How long?" 
"For the trace? An hour or so." 
"Autopsy?" 
"Two to three hours. It looks pretty straightforward. Cause
of death was almost certainly loss of blood." 
"So you should be back by two?" 
"Around then, yes. Unless something unforeseen comes
up." 
"Anything else?" 
"Well," there was a pause and he could almost see her 
debating on whether or not to mention it -- whatever it
was. 
"Out with it, Scully. If you have to think about it this 
long, I need to know." 
"I just don't want you to read too much into it, that's 
all," she said defensively. 
"But?" 
"She looked like me." 
"The victim?" 
"Yeah. Well, she didn't exactly *look* like me -- I don't
know what she looked like. Her face was gnawed away.
But her hair is like mine, and she's my size." She drew
a deep, shuddery breath that he could hear through the phone.
"It was a pretty deliberate choice I'd say." 
"And it helps explain why the people on Mulder's list are
all still tucked up nice and snug in their little beds," Skinner
added. He blew out, then pulled his bottom lip into his
teeth for a minute. "All right. We won't read too much 
into it for now. It could be nothing more than a warning.
Or he may have realized you were unattainable and tried 
to take a pale imitation. You're already under guard; there's
not much else we can do. Just be careful, and make sure
you stay with -- who is with you, anyway? Reynolds? 
Saud? Gresham?" 
"Gresham." 
"OK. Stay with Gresham. Make sure he stays with you." 
"He's already told me he has a weak stomach for autopsies,"
she warned, laughing a little. 
"Tell him to get over it," Skinner growled. "Better yet, 
I'll tell him myself. But he stays in the room with you,
understood?" 
"I hardly think Nathan is going to snatch me from the 
county coroner's morgue. Too many LEOs floating
around." 
"Still. Gresham stays. Got it?" 
"Yes, Sir." There was a pause and then she asked, "Oh,
and Sir? Could we not mention this to Mulder yet? The
resemblance? You're already reacting a bit more strongly
than I would like. I told you I didn't want this blown
out of proportion. And Mulder, well, he's liable to go
completely nuts." She dropped her voice, adding, "You
know how he gets." 
Skinner thought for a moment, then said, "All right. For
now. But you know he's going to find out when the
pictures come back." 
"Yeah. I know he has to know. I just figured maybe 
we could buy him a few more hours rest. Stall on the
other reports till after lunch, maybe. Every hour he
rests goes a long way toward healing." 
Skinner pushed the door open and peeked in at his 
agent, still sleeping. He drew back, then said, "I'll 
try and let him sleep as long as possible. Call me when 
you're done -- before you head back over here. Call
me sooner if you find something new." 
*********************************************** 
October 18, 1998
Morning 
Mulder had awakened when they brought the breakfast 
trays, gamely nibbled at his meal of clear liquids; hot 
tea, apple juice, and jello, then spent a couple of 
hours rereading files and having Skinner hang and 
then rearrange pictures, papers, and other assorted bits 
of data on the cork board that now covered one side 
of the room. When he had begun to wince with each 
breath, the AD had insisted he lay back down and 
rest. 
"When will Scully be back?" Mulder shifted uncomfortably
in the too narrow, too short bed, one hand attempting
vainly to plump up the too flat pillow. 
Skinner looked up from his own study of crime scene
photos. "Two, or thereabouts." At Mulder's frown,
he glanced at his watch and added, "It takes time."
He walked over to the bed and awkwardly fussed with
the pillow that refused to plump. "You should rest
while you can. Once the reports start coming in, you
won't want to rest, and quite frankly, I won't be able
to let you rest. We both know we need to find this guy,
and find him quick." He touched Mulder's shoulder
gently. "And I'm already hating myself for knowing
I'm gonna be letting you work as hurt as you are. So
please, rest now." He smiled slightly. "It'll help ease
my guilt." 
Mulder snorted, but closed his eyes obediently and was
soon softly snoring. Skinner studied him a moment and
resolved to find some decent pillows for the man, even
if he had to send an agent to the local K-Mart. Mulder's
sleep was short-lived, however, as the pain meds soon
began to wear off and they were back to waiting for time
to pass so that another dose could be administered. 
A liquid lunch and a quick injection in the IV later, 
and his agent was finally sleeping, looking peaceful
and possibly even getting some beneficial rest for a
change. He had moved back to his chair and was deep
in review of the files once more, searching for something,
*anything,* they could have missed, when a vibration
in his pocket told him he was wanted on the phone.
He rose, checked Mulder once again, then stepped into
the hall. 
************************************************ 
October 18, 1998
12:15 p.m. 
"Skinner." 
The voice was loud in the young agent's ear and he
grimaced as he looked over at the autopsy table. 
"Uh, Sir?" Damn! His voice was cracking. He had
to get it together. "This is Gresham, Sir." He glanced
at the table again, saw that he was still the focus of 
attention and struggled on, despite the vision that
danced before his eyes. "Agent Scully is, uh, waiting
for ..." He glanced up again, meeting blue eyes, as his
hand covered the phone. 
"Test results from the exams." 
"Oh, yeah." Damn, he was shaking. He couldn't lose
it here, not now, not in front of her. She was so calm 
and collected. How could she be that way in the midst
of this horror? From the receiver, he heard Skinner 
again. 
"Gresham? Are you there?" 
He hastily removed his hand and spoke again. "Uh, yes,
Sir. Sorry, Sir. Agent Scully is waiting for test results
from the exams." He couldn't keep his eyes away from 
her. Her green hospital scrubs were blood-streaked, her
hair was disheveled and several strands clung to a small
spot of crimson that dotted her cheek. But she was utterly
calm, waiting patiently for him to finish the call. He
didn't want to, but he looked across the room to where the
Medical Examiner sat by another body, and felt his hands
begin to shake. He looked back to Scully and she nodded
slightly, so he went on. "Agent Scully would like to go
to the hotel and get some sleep until the test results come
back." He gulped hard, his eyes scanning the room with
the mesmerized pull of a passerby to an accident. "If that's
all right with you, Sir?" 
"I think that's imminently sensible, Gresham. Scully's
unavailable?" 
"Uh, yes, Sir. She's still, uh, occupied with the, uh ..."
Here his voice faded away. He couldn't bring himself
to say it, couldn't force the words out. 
"Finishing up, is she?" Skinner's voice was so calm,
almost amused, and Gresham fought back a sudden wave 
of nausea. There were tears in his eyes, and he blinked 
rapidly, pushing them back, trying desperately to ignore
his surroundings. "I'm glad she's being reasonable for
a change. Tell her Mulder is sleeping, and she's to
take as much time as she can to rest. Is that clear?" 
"Yes, Sir." He glanced up again, blinking to clear his
eyes once more, and covered the phone as he answered 
the inquiring nod. "He said take all the time you can."
His stomach was heaving again, bile filled his mouth,
and he wanted nothing more than to wheel and run, but
his feet were locked in place, holding him immobile. 
"And Gresham?" Skinner was speaking again, and he
forced himself to listen. "You are to stay with her, no
matter what. In the room. Not in the hall. You got
that?" 
His eyes were wide as he looked over at the table again,
and he shivered at what he saw. "Yes, Sir. Stay with
her." He swallowed hard again, and choked out, "No
matter what," his voice cracking on the last word. 
A nod from across the room, and he closed the phone,
then tossed it lightly to its owner. He looked over 
at the ME again, his body slack and lifeless where it
leaned against the lockers. The face was unrecognizable,
all features had been chewed and gnawed until very
little flesh remained. The belly had been ripped open 
with sharp teeth and the entrails pulled out, and he had
watched it all. 
He looked up at Scully again, seeing her held tightly
in Nathan's grasp, her features composed despite the
pain he knew she must be experiencing from the way
the Nibbler held one arm up behind her back. Her
ear still bled from the bite he had inflicted, but she
stood patiently, not resisting, not provoking, just waiting.
Exactly the kind of demeanor he wished he could 
exhibit. 
He looked down at the floor, seeing the cuffs that held 
his ankles locked in place to a stanchion, seeing the
dark spread of urine on the floor as his bladder finally
betrayed him. Nathan was tying Scully now, laying her
on top of the body that still lay on the table, covering
her with the bloody cloth. And he was advancing toward
him. He shook, wanting to be brave, wanting to die
with dignity, but knowing he was crying, and his nose
was running, and he'd wet his pants. 
The last thing he heard as teeth bit into his throat 
was Scully calling his name. 
"Howard! Howard! I'm so sorry, Howard!" 
And the last thought he had was that he hadn't even
realized she knew his first name. 
End part 02/11

Profiles in Caring: The Nibbler Case II 03/11 
October 18, 1998
2:30 p.m. 
Skinner saw him stir, then blink, then yawn, and then,
right on cue, he spoke. 
"Where is she?" 
The AD laughed. The man was incredibly predictable in 
some situations. He studied his agent for a moment. He
looked better. There was some color in his face, and he
didn't wear that perpetually pinched expression that
people in pain were wont to have. Was he feeling better,
or were the drugs just very effective? Hard to tell.
"Intelligent woman that our Agent Scully is, *she*
decided to go back to the hotel and take a nap, since she
was up most of the night. We don't expect the first 
reports to start coming in until around six. I expect we'll 
see Scully about then." Skinner had to smile at the
crestfallen expression on Mulder's face. 
"Six?" he whined. "She won't be back until six?"
He frowned then twisted in the bed and pounded the
terminally flat pillow. "God, I hate hospitals. She's
the only one that can make being here bearable."
This last was muttered under his breath, and Skinner
had to strain to hear. When Mulder realized the older
man had heard, he looked up and sighed. "Sorry, Sir,
no offense intended. It's just, I ..." 
"I know, Mulder, it's OK. Look, I sent Saud out to
pick up some pillows. Real pillows, not these pieces
of cardboard wrapped in plastic the hospital likes
to pretend are pillows." He hefted two large blue
plastic bags and dragged out six pillows and new
pillowslips. "Not as good as Scully, I know," he 
said through teeth clenched together to hold the pillow
as he slid the case on, "but maybe it'll help you get
more comfortable." 
Mulder grinned. "Pillows? Damn, looks like I was
lucky you stayed with me. Scully never brought me
real pillows." He sighed contentedly as Skinner slipped
the first one under his head, and went back to covering
the rest. 
***************************************** 
October 18, 1998
3:45 p.m. 
His phone was vibrating again. Mulder was tucked 
up in the bed, the new pillows behind him and one
at his side supporting his arm as he reread and reread
the files from all of Nathan's previous crimes. He
lifted the small black phone, almost hidden in his
large hand and said, "Phone," as he flipped it open
and spoke. 
"Skinner." 
"This is Amelia Capehart, Mr. Skinner. At the county
office? I've been running these tests for your Doctor
Scully, and I have some results, but I can't reach her. 
I even went over to the morgue, but it's all dark and 
locked up and I can't reach the ME either." 
"Agent Scully went back to the hotel to rest. Why don't
you messenger what you have over to me, and I'll make 
sure she gets the results." 
He could hear the woman's sigh of relief. "Yes, sir. 
That would be fine. I'll send everything on over. It's
my daughter's birthday, and I need to get on home, but
if you have any questions, you can call me there. She's
just having a few friends over, nothing elaborate. And
I'll be there all night. I'll put my number on a note and
attach it to the results." 
"Thank you. We appreciate you coming in to work on 
this. Have fun at your daughter's party." Skinner
closed the phone. "It's always such a shock to be
reminded that while we are consumed with finding
a madman, people go on with their ordinary lives." 
Mulder quirked an eyebrow in inquiry. 
"That was the tech they called in to do Scully's tests.
Couldn't get rid of the results fast enough. It's her
daughter's birthday, and she needs to get home." 
Skinner shook his head. "Amazing, isn't it? She's
doing tests on saliva, blood, and other secretions, 
trying to separate the donors out, she knows what's
going on, knows this madman is out there, and all
she can think of is getting home for the kid's party." 
"Distance, Sir. She probably does these kinds of tests
a lot. Has to keep her distance to keep her sanity."
Mulder shrugged. "You should know how that works.
I mean, you know Nathan is out there too, but you 
found time to send someone for pillows for me." He
snuggled back into them self-indulgently and smiled
up at his friend. 
"Yes, but, you're working the case ..." 
"And?" 
"And you've been injured trying to stop this crazy
man ..." 
"And?" 
Skinner shifted awkwardly. "And I wanted you to be
comfortable," he admitted. 
"That's not all. Why did it matter if I was comfortable?" 
"Because I care about you." The man stared at the floor
then raised his hands in surrender. "OK, OK, I get the
point. Geez, make a simple observation ..." 
Mulder laughed and after a second or two, Skinner 
joined him. 
"So, uh, Walter, since you care about me, what can you
do about getting Scully back over here?" 
********************************************* 
October 18, 1998
6:00 p.m. 
Skinner watched surreptitiously as Mulder stared at
the watch he held in his hand. Sure enough, as soon 
as the minute hand hit the twelve, he spoke. 
"It's 6:00, Walter. Can we call Scully now?" 
The AD laughed. "God, Mulder, you're worse than a 
kid on Christmas Eve. But yes, we can call her now." 
Mulder flushed but repeated his request. "It's six,
Walter. This is not just Mr. Lonely Hearts wanting
his lady love. I'm a little concerned we haven't
heard from her by now." 
Skinner sobered instantly. "Mulder, if you were worried,
you should have said something." 
"I didn't want to create a fuss. And I'm sure she's 
just catching up on her rest, but I'd feel better if we
at least check in with her." He twisted on the bed,
then scratched at the IV site with irritation. "It's
just a little unusual for Scully to want to go to the
hotel and nap when I'm still in the hospital." He
flushed again. "I mean, I don't want to seem self-
centered here, and I'm really glad she decided to
catch some rest while she could, but really ...
When was the last time Scully slept on a case
without you or me having to force her to?" 
Skinner had his phone out, dialing, even as Mulder
finished speaking. He had gone from amused at
Mulder's clock-watching to dreadfully concerned, all
in the space of a few words. 
"Ring ..." 
Mulder was right, of course. It *was* out of character 
for Scully to want to go rest, when Mulder was still 
laid up, and the case was still ongoing. 
"Ring ..." 
And he should have realized that from the get go. 
"Ring ..." 
God, if something had happened to her, he would 
never forgive himself. He forced himself to look over
at Mulder and smile. 
"Ring ..." 
What he really wanted to do was throttle Mulder for
not speaking up about his concerns earlier. 
"Ring ..." 
Of course, that wouldn't do any good, and if Scully
didn't answer the phone soon, the younger man would
heap enough guilt on himself that anything Skinner 
could possibly say would be superfluous. 
"Ring ..." 
Where the hell was she? Why wasn't she answering the
phone? 
"Ring ..." 
Mulder's expression had shifted from excited
to anxious to embarrassed as he admitted his concern, 
to excited again when Skinner dialed, to impatient as
he waited, and now his features were settling into 
extreme worry. 
"Ring ..." 
Skinner closed the phone. "She's probably in the shower,
getting ready to head back this way." He started dialing
again. "I'll just call Gresham and get this cleared up
once and for all." 
Mulder nodded grimly. He was sitting upright, one arm
clutched protectively around his abdomen, and his eyes
never left Skinner's form. 
"Ring ..." 
Skinner stared at his agent, his friend. He would never 
be able to keep the man in bed if Scully wasn't at the
hotel. 
"Ring ..." 
He couldn't bring himself to think of the ramifications
of her going missing at this point. Every time his mind
tried to connect Scully with the Nibbler, his faculties
just shut down and refused to go there. 
"Hello?" 
Skinner jumped. The voice was sudden and loud in his
ear, startling him from his thoughts. 
"Gresham? Scully's not answering her phone. Where
is she?" 
"I'm afraid Agent Gresham went to pieces, and I had 
to take over as the lovely Agent Scully's escort. I'd 
chat longer, but I have to run. Something I ate earlier 
just didn't agree with me." 
***************************************** 
October 18, 1998
6:45 p.m. 
As Skinner entered the room, he reeled at the foul 
odor that assaulted his senses. It was the reek of 
death; new death and old death, and over it all the
pain of dying. The morgue was a charnel house. 
Blood was everywhere as were bits of tissue and 
organs, viscera and even small body parts -- fingers, 
eyeballs, ears. Skinner's stomach heaved as he 
looked around. The ME was propped in a lopsided 
position against the steel lockers that held bodies. 
He'd been eviscerated and his face was gone. He was 
covered in blood and his head hung at an odd angle,
leading Skinner to believe his neck was broken. 
The wall of lockers behind and above the now deceased
ME was a scattered mess. Streaks of blood ran down 
the stainless steel fronts, doors were ajar, and here and
there, the sliding trays were pulled out, and left there,
empty, like a beggar's outstretched palm, overlooked
by passersby too consumed with their own lives to take
notice of anyone else. The bodies that had once lain
on those shelves now decorated the autopsy bays. From
fresh murder victims to weeks old corpses far into decay,
all had been violated, life taken in death now desecrated
by Nathan's twisted touch. 
The work on the older corpses appeared to have been done
with hand and knife. Appendages had been removed and
scattered about the room with what the Nibbler must have
thought was a decorator's flair. Walking in the room 
would be impossible for the time being; the floor was 
covered in blood and body parts, and another fluid that
Skinner suspected was semen. His hand rose to cover his
mouth and nose and he bowed to the inevitable. 
Despite his threats to Mulder before he left, regardless
of his own vow to himself to keep the man in his hospital 
bed, his friend, his agent, his crack profiler was going
to have to see this for himself. He sighed heavily and spoke
to the agents and officers waiting behind him. 
"Close it up again. No one goes in or out until my man
get here." Another sigh escaped his lips. "He's going
to have to see this himself." 
********************************************* 
October 18, 1998
8:00 p.m. 
"Stop looking so guilty. This is far from the first
time that I've checked myself out AMA." 
Skinner glanced over at his agent. The man was 
propped against the car door, using the seat belt 
shoulder strap as a cushion for his head against
the window. One hand held the door handle in a
white-knuckled grip and the other lay tight across
his belly. He looked uncomfortable, but not in a 
tremendous amount of pain at the moment. He'd
had another shot of the painkillers just before they'd
left the hospital. Skinner could only hope it would
last for as long as it took Mulder to make his on-site
examination. The plan was that Mulder would give 
them a direction to go in, and then he would go back
to the hospital and get back into the bed. Skinner 
snorted at the thought. Yeah, right. 
"What?" Mulder turned slightly to look at the AD. 
"Nothing. I was just thinking. You *are* going to go
back to the hospital without a fuss when we're done 
here, aren't you?" 
Mulder just stared at him and Skinner sighed. 
"Yeah. That's what I thought." 
"You said he mutilated the other bodies as well?" 
"Well, mutilated doesn't seem like a strong enough
word, but, yeah, he did." 
"Anything that looked like a message, a pattern,
symbols of any sort stand out to you?" 
Skinner shook his head. "Nothing leapt out at me,
no. But the scene was -- disturbing. I was having
a hard time getting beyond the individual atrocities 
so I could view it as a whole. I'm sure there are plenty
of things I missed." He took a deep breath and added
quietly, "Thank God." 
"Who do we have identified as dead?" 
"The ME, Gresham, another deputy from the county 
office, and the six deceased that were in the morgue 
at the time." 
"Nine bodies," Mulder mused. "Wonder if that's 
significant?" 
Skinner shrugged and stopped the car. "We're here.
You wait while I get the wheelchair." 
"I can walk." 
Skinner halted halfway out of the car and whirled on
the younger man. "Mulder -- do not push me on this.
I don't want you here. I don't want you involved. I'm
worried to death about Scully and now I have to worry
about you, too. You will use the chair when I say, and
you will go back to the hospital when we're done here,
or so help me, I will pick you up and haul your ass back
bodily. You got that, Mister?" 
Mulder stared at the AD stonily, but made no further
move to get out of the car. 
Skinner grunted in acknowledgment and went to the
trunk to get the wheelchair. He helped the younger man
in and wheeled him into the county offices. It was a 
short elevator ride down to the basement that held the
morgue. Two armed guards, looking slightly green,
stood outside the doors. 
"You can call the sheriff, let him know we're back. And
get the techs down here and ready to work." Skinner 
pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and passed it to 
Mulder wordlessly, then produced another which he held 
to his nose. "All right." He took a deep breath. "Unlock
it and let us in." 
****************************************** 
October 18, 1998
11:45 p.m. 
"I can't get a feel for him. This is all too deliberate,
too staged. The real Nathan, he's not here. This is
for show, meant to shock and frighten." Mulder winced
and stumbled and Skinner's arm was around him at
once. 
"Well, if his goal was to shock and frighten, he was
successful." Skinner was practically carrying Mulder
as they made their way back to the wheelchair. The
pain meds had obviously worn off, but Mulder had 
refused to leave yet, saying he wasn't done. 
"There has to be a message," he panted. "He took
Scully, but didn't kill her. He wants to play cat and
mouse. So he had to leave me a way to find them."
He stopped by a wall, and Skinner stopped with him,
still supporting the fading man. "God, it's got to be
here! Why can't I see it?" 
He began moving again, heading for the wheelchair,
and Skinner began to think that getting Mulder back
to the hospital wouldn't be as big a problem as he'd
assumed. They reached the chair, and Mulder suddenly
pulled away, pulling himself erect and turning back
to face the room. His eyes scanned rapidly and his
lips moved as he took in the scene, then collapsed into
the chair. 
"Nine bodies, nineteen ears. Where did the extra ear come
from?" 
"What?" Skinner stopped and started to count ears himself.
God, this was too much like Viet Nam. But sure enough, 
there were nine bodies and nineteen ears. Where, indeed,
did the extra ear come from? 
Just then a young deputy stuck her head into the room and
called excitedly, "Hey, Sheriff, we finally got through to
Holsteen's house. Wife's not home. Babysitter says she
came over here to eat dinner with her husband since he
had watch tonight." 
"Oh, shit! That's it, then." Mulder slumped back wearily
into the wheelchair. "That's not Gresham." 
"What do you mean, it's not Gresham? How do you know?" 
"I should have seen it sooner. Look at the wounds to the
chest. It's not him." 
"If it's not Gresham, who is it? And why do you assume
it's Gresham that's missing with Scully?" 
"It's the kind of thing he would do. Gresham was the 
only other Bureau person here." He pulled himself 
up wearily and made his way over to the body they'd 
identified as the young agent's. "It's the deputy's
wife. The breasts are gone, the hair was cut. It's a
woman, I'm sure of it." He dragged the pants down,
proving his point. 
"And I know where Nathan has gone." 
End part 03/11


Profiles in Caring: The Nibbler Case II 04/11 
October 19, 1998
12:40 a.m. 
"He isn't in there. He's done something to them, or
rigged something to happen, so that if I don't do 
everything *just* right, they'll die. Scully and 
Gresham and the babysitter and the kids." Mulder 
looked at Skinner, naked pleading on his face. 
He was seated in the passenger seat of the car, 
the door held open as Skinner squatted before
him. "I can't explain it. You have to keep the locals
away, keep them back. It has to be me. I can think
like him. I can *feel* what he's doing. Please don't 
make me explain it. Just believe me when I tell you, 
they're going to die if we don't do this just right." 
Skinner studied the young man in the dim light of the
car's overhead. A fast trip by the hospital, Mulder 
protesting every step of the way, had yielded another 
injection of the pain medication, and the man was, 
at least, semi-alert and semi-functional. But he was 
far frailer, far more unsteady, far more depleted than
he had been when they originally left the medical center
a little over four hours ago. Exhaustion and pain had
carved lines deep into his face, and his shoulders slumped
as if holding the weight of the world upon them. 
He didn't want to let him go. Mulder was more than 
just his agent, more than just the best profiler the Bureau
had seen since John Douglas. He was his friend, a hard-
earned appellation that still took the AD by surprise when
he thought of the trials and tests that friendship had been
forged from. And right now, his friend was half-dead 
on his feet, wounded and in pain, but even more than
the physical trauma, he was half-out of his mind with 
worry. Worry that would only be ended by letting
Mulder lead the way into the house before them. 
He studied Mulder a bit longer, then shook his head.
"I believe you, Mulder, really I do. But you can't do it."
He lifted one hand to forestall the objection he saw 
coming. "It's not that I doubt a word you've said. 
I'm sure the threat is very real. But look at you.
You're dead on your feet. You can barely sit erect,
let alone walk unaided." He shook his head again.
"No. You just can't do it." 
Mulder slumped back into the seat. "You're sentencing
them all to death." 
"Are you sure he's not in there?" 
Mulder looked up, a faraway expression in his eyes.
He was silent for a long moment and Skinner could
almost see him examining his reasoning one last time.
Finally he spoke. "No. I'm not absolutely sure. But
I'd say it's a very, very good possibility that he's not 
in there at all. It seems too early in the game and 
this was too easy -- finding where he went." 
"Then you can go in, but I'll come with you. If he's
not in there, it shouldn't matter if there are two of
us attempting to identify his traps." 
Mulder narrowed his eyes as he looked at the big man.
"You?" Now it was his turn to shake his head. "There's
no sense in both of us getting killed if something goes
wrong." 
"Mulder, you can't go alone. I'm willing to admit you
need to be first on the scene in there. But you can't go
alone. And frankly, I'm not letting anyone else go with
you. I've been with you enough, seen you in action
enough, I'm starting to know when to back off and 
when to push." The AD straightened, pulling himself 
up to stand. "And when to declare ultimatums. And
this is a time for an ultimatum." He stared down at the 
man in the car. "I'm declaring an ultimatum now."
He reached down with one hand and grasped Mulder's
arm just above his wrist. "If you want to go into the
house, I'm your escort. No further discussion will be
tolerated." 
Mulder turned his head to study the house, noting
the sidewalk of round stones that led up to the 
wide front porch. The streetlight behind them illuminated
the dwelling enough to discern that it was a frame 
Cape Cod, covered in a pale yellow vinyl siding with
green shutters and trim. A nice place to raise a family.
A house filled with love and laughter. Probably very
cheerful and homey during the day -- and when it 
hadn't been desecrated by a man like Nathan. 
Letting his eyes drift shut, he cast a last prayer up to 
the heavens that Scully would be unhurt, but for 
some reason, he felt she would be. He was thinking 
like the Nibbler. I wouldn't kill her now. I'd wait.
But, what would I do? How would I set things up? 
Where would I go? 
It was too soon to expect Nathan to make a last stand or
seek out a confrontation. He was playing games now,
setting the stage for some bigger production yet to come.
So far, the price for his entertainment had been the 
deputy, his wife, and the ME. And the woman found
in the field. Four lives for one sick bastard's thrills. 
And who knew what they would find inside ... 
"Mulder?" 
He jumped, then shook his head rapidly to clear the
thoughts, blinking twice before looking up at Skinner. 
"Hmmm?" 
"You still with me?" The older man's face was etched
with concern. 
"Oh. Yeah." He raised a hand and dry-washed his
own face, feeling the stubble of beard that covered his
cheeks and chin. He'd have to be careful when he
kissed Scully; her sensitive skin would get beard 
burn in a heartbeat. He needed to get in there and 
see her. Somehow, he knew she was still alive. Tired
eyes slid shut again as his mind raced through the 
possibilities. Killing those people. The violation of
the corpses. Stealing Scully and Gresham. And
now, profaning this young family's house with his
acts. It was all part of Nathan's game; the killer was 
toying with him now. Setting him up. He couldn't 
say what shape the others would be in, but Scully 
would be alive. He was sure of it. 
"Mulder! Are you OK?" 
"I -- I'm working things out." The profiler tapped 
a finger against his temple. "In my head." 
Skinner nodded slowly, unconvinced. "Stay here, 
understand?" He waited for the slight nod before
continuing. "I'm going to talk to the locals. It
was their man that was killed. They're not going
to want to let us go in alone." 
"Work it out, Sir." Mulder's head was leaned back
against the headrest of the seat. "There'll be more 
dead bodies if you don't." 
"I will, but in the meantime ..." He reached out and
grasped Mulder's arm, waiting until the exhausted
man pried open dry, red eyes and gazed up at him. 
"You. Stay. Here." 
Mulder nodded again. "Not going anywhere." One
arm was wrapped around his waist, cradling his bandaged
abdomen. "Can't. Much as I want to, much as I'd like 
to, I just can't." His eyes slid shut again. "I'll wait." 
Skinner patted his shoulder. "I'll be back in a minute." 
Mulder could hear the crunch of the gravel drive 
beneath the big man's feet. What would he do if
he was Nathan? There'd be another body -- but not
Scully. Gresham? Maybe. It depended on if the
young agent was injured, and how badly. But probably
not Gresham either. Something that would make a 
big statement. Something that would shock and repulse.
Not Scully -- Nathan needed her to get to him. Not
Gresham -- the young agent was not important in the
killer's eyes. Not the babysitter either. But a child.
The gruesome murder of a child would attract attention.
The media would pick up on it immediately. The vision
would haunt the public. Law enforcement would turn 
out in droves for two things -- death of one of their own,
and murder of a child. And Nathan had done both. He
wanted them to sit up and pay attention. 
Mulder sighed softly. What was driving this madman?
What was the motivator? He needed the background
material he'd requested. More information on Nathan's
upbringing and what it was that drew him to this area.
More information on the previous victims, the people
he was sure had been 'marked.' He just needed more
information. One hand came up to push his hair
back and he was surprised to see it was trembling.
He dropped the hand quickly, feeling it brush against
his belly and he moaned quietly. It hurt. 
Through the haze of pain, he heard the gravel
crunch again and then the AD was there, a looming
presence that was both familiar and comforting.
Skinner gave a gentle tug, watching as his friend
rose slowly to his feet, swaying slightly. Reaching out
quickly with his other hand, he steadied the injured 
man, holding him tightly until he stood still. "How's
the pain?" 
Mulder shrugged. "It's there. It's tolerable." He 
stared up at the house with a mixture of eagerness
and dread. "When can we go in?" 
"We're cleared." He pressed a button on his keyring
and the trunk popped open. "Let's get you into your
vest." 
Mulder snorted, but he let the older man lead him 
to the back, and raised his arms unresistingly as 
Skinner slipped the heavy Kevlar vest on him, waiting
patiently while the AD zipped it, then did up the 
fasteners. "I can do that myself," he grumbled
softly. 
"I know." Skinner's long fingers were working the
catch through the hook on the last fastener. "But I'll
feel better knowing it was done right." He straightened
and shrugged into his own vest, quickly doing up the
catches. "Weapon." He lifted a shotgun, cracking the
barrel to peer down it before loading the shells. He
grabbed a handful more and shoved them in a pocket.
"Ready?" 
"You're not going to need that, you know." Mulder
began moving toward the house, feeling Skinner right
behind him. "He's not there. Rather than guns, we'll
need explosives experts." 
"They're here, waiting." Skinner gestured at the street
where the local Explosive Ordnance Unit van was parked
prominently amongst the more prosaic county and state
cars. "What are we looking for?" 
"A way in." Mulder headed up toward the porch, walking
a few feet to the side of the walk. "Stay off the stones.
We can have those checked later." He hid an amused 
smile as Skinner skittered onto the grass behind him. 
When they reached the porch, Mulder crept into the
azaleas, then knelt slowly by the foundation. He
lifted one hand behind him. "Light?" When Skinner
placed a mag light in his hand, he trained the powerful
beam under the steps and porch. "There's one right
beneath the welcome mat." He passed the light back,
the tried to rise, but failed. The vest was heavy and
tight and he just couldn't move. "Aw, shit!" he whispered 
softly, but then strong hands were lifting him to his
feet, holding him in place, and there was a dry cloth
wiping the beads of sweat off his forehead. 
"That was too easy, Mulder," Skinner said as he pocketed
the cloth and helped the younger man out of the bushes
and back onto the grass. 
"It's supposed to be, Sir. He wants us to get in. 
This -- " he gestured at the porch, "is just him going
through the motions, reminding us who's in charge." 
Skinner eyed Mulder speculatively. "And who is in 
charge, Agent Mulder?" 
"He is, Sir." The younger man turned and met his gaze
and his eyes were clear and purposeful despite the pain
Skinner knew he was in. "But I'm gaining on him." 
They went up the steps and onto the porch, Skinner 
whispering instructions to the EOU over the radio 
clipped to his vest's shoulder. Mulder walked to the
front window, giving the space before the door wide
berth. "Light?" When Skinner passed it over again,
he trained it on the window, peering into the room
beyond. It was a standard living room or den, devoid
of anyone. "We'll go through the glass in case he 
wired the frame for movement." Before Skinner could
speak, Mulder had smashed the window with the handle 
of the flashlight and had his head through the opening,
peering around at the sill. "It's clear." He knocked the
rest of the glass free, then began to attack the mullions.
A hand on his arm stopped him. 
"Let me." Muscles rippled beneath the shirt as Skinner
grasped the wood and pulled and soon the window was
nothing more than a gaping hole. "Can you get through?" 
Mulder nodded, wincing as he lifted a leg and bent his
head, then stepped over the sill and into the house. The
AD followed on his heels. 
"Should we walk in here?" he whispered. 
"Nothing's ever certain with these lunatics, but we 
ought to be able to." Mulder began to prowl the room.
"He had limited time. He didn't know when we'd 
start looking for Scully. Or someone could have
discovered what he did at the morgue, for that matter.
The thing under the porch was for show. We may 
find one more problem, but no more than that. He 
just didn't have time." 
Mulder had made a circuit of the room, not touching 
anything, but examining every object in detail. He 
looked up at Skinner. "Nothing here. No threat, but
nothing to lead me to him either." He shook his head
wearily. "You ready to move on?" 
The older man nodded. His heart was racing, the blood
pounding in his veins. The fringe of hair on the back of
his neck was erect, goosebumps adorned his back and
arms. He could feel the unsettling surge of adrenaline
as it coursed through his body. This was like being back
on patrol in Nam. And he didn't like it at all. "Gotchere
back. Move out." His voice was low and husky, more of
a growl than speech. The shotgun was cradled in his arms,
a talisman to evil, ready to be brought to bear on anything
that moved. 
Mulder gave him a strange look, then stepped into the hall
leading back to the kitchen. "They'll either be in the 
family room or upstairs in the bedrooms." 
"How do you know?" Skinner's toe caught on a throw
rug and he stumbled slightly, righting himself immediately
and muttering a soft curse. 
Mulder shrugged. "It's where I'd put them." When he
turned to look at the AD, his eyes were dark and sad, and
his face was twisted in a grimace of disgust. 
Skinner hurried forward, reaching out to grasp the
slighter man's shoulder. "*You* didn't put them here,
Mulder. You didn't do any of this. Getting them out
alive, the ones here that survive, that's what you're
doing. You're saving lives, Mulder. And no one else
can do it like you." He squeezed the shoulder tightly.
"I'm just sorry it's such a shitty experience for you.
I'd save you from it if I could ..." The man's voice
trailed off. 
Mulder offered a wan smile. "I know you would, and
I appreciate it. But ...." He shrugged again, turned 
and moved forward. "Let's find Scully and the others." 
The hall led to the kitchen, spotlessly clean with 
nothing out of place. Mulder glanced at the wooden
block that held the knives, but all were accounted for.
Moving across the kitchen, they moved through the
small breakfast room and into the family room. Again,
it was neat as a pin with nothing out of place. Mulder 
stopped in the middle of the room, turning slowly as
he took in each wall. Sofa and table on one, TV and
cabinet on the second, easy chair and piano on the third,
and the fourth wall was taken up by a stone fireplace 
that extended from one side of the room to the other. 
He studied that for a moment, then turned back to the
piano. An electronic metronome sat in the center of
the top and just visible beneath it was a scrap of paper.
Mulder studied the setup carefully, then eased the
paper out from under it. The slight movement started
the timer and the room was soon filled with the steady
tock -- -- -- tock -- -- -- tock -- -- -- as the machine 
began to count out its rhythm. 
Mulder looked up at Skinner, then pointed down at
the note. 
"I cleaned for you." 
The AD read it, then met Mulder's gaze. "What's
it mean?" 
"He killed someone. The body's here. He just cleaned
up this time. Mulder glanced back at the kitchen. 
"Probably in there." 
The metronome provided a steady counterbeat to their
exchange. Tock -- -- -- tock -- -- -- tock. 
"The body? Where?" 
Mulder shook his head. "Not the body. The murder. 
I'm not sure where the body is yet." 
"Where is Scully?" Skinner was getting antsy; the 
gun was little consolation against an enemy you couldn't
see, couldn't hear, and couldn't find. Every nerve in 
his body was on edge, his senses alive. He was just
waiting for something that would give him some direction,
some guidance on what to do with the nervous energy
that was building up in him, coiling within him like
a spring wound tight. Waiting ... 
Tock -- -- -- tock -- -- -- tock -- -- -- 
"Upstairs. Bedroom. Gotta be." Mulder moved as quickly
as he could back through the kitchen. As he passed the
far wall, he stopped, halting in place and staring at the 
oven. 
Tock -- -- -- tock -- -- -- tock -- -- -- 
It was on. 
Tock -- -- -- tock -- -- -- tock -- -- -- 
Low heat. 
Tock -- -- -- tock -- -- -- tock -- -- -- 
Slow cook. 
Tock -- -- -- tock -- -- -- tock -- -- -- 
He closed his eyes tightly, then yanked the door open,
gagging at what he saw. 
Tock -- -- tock -- -- tock -- -- 
It was a partially cooked haunch of meat. 
Tock -- -- tock -- -- tock -- -- 
A child's thigh. 
Tock -- -- tock -- -- tock -- -- 
The gag turned into a retch, and he was soon heaving
into the sink, the AD supporting him, and every exertion
sending waves of pain through his injured abdomen.
His stomach was empty and he only brought up bile.
He heaved until the bile turned red and he was vomiting
blood and then he sagged into Skinner's strong embrace. 
Tock -- tock -- tock -- 
"Mulder?" The AD had laid the shotgun on the counter.
One hand held Mulder tight against his chest, the other
reached for paper towels and extended them to the panting
agent. 
Tock -- tock -- tock -- 
"Hmmm?" Mulder wiped his mouth, his cheeks, his forehead.
He wet a towel and wiped again, then again. It seemed 
there was no way to be rid of the slime of being part of
Nathan's little adventure. 
Tock -- tock -- tock -- 
"Is the metronome getting faster?" 
Mulder pulled himself erect, listening intently. 
Tock -- tock -- tock -- 
"Oh, fuck!" Mulder's exclamation was as much moan as
cry. He began hobbling toward the stairs, bent protectively
over his belly. "Get them in here. Get them in here. 
We're out of time! Get them all in here!" 
End part 04/11 
Profiles in Caring: The Nibbler Case II 05/11 
Tock -- tock -- tock -- 
"What the hell is going on, Mulder?" Skinner breathed
as he fumbled with the speaker clipped to his shoulder.
"Team One, Team One! Inside! Now!" 
Mulder was moving up the stairs, slowly, too slow,
and Skinner halted him halfway up. "Stay. I'll go. 
You can't carry anyone, and we don't need to have 
to carry you too." 
Tock -- tock -- tock -- 
"I have to see the site. I need to see it!" 
Behind them, the sounds of the team coming through the
window and filtering through the house were apparent. 
"Here!" Skinner called. "Mulder, what's happening?" 
"The house is rigged." He took another painful step
upward. 
Tock -- tock -- tock -- 
"How long do we have?" Skinner looked at Mulder as he
spoke, appraising the long, lean body. With the belly 
injury, a fireman carry was out. Instead, he scooped the
tall, but more slightly built man into his arms and 
bounded up the last few steps. The stairs opened into 
a loft area, with rooms on each side. The door to the 
left was open, and the room was empty. Mulder 
fidgeted in his arms, and he put him down gingerly. 
"We have until the metronome stops." The younger 
man was studying the door. "We need someone from 
EOU in here." 
Tock -- tock -- tock -- 
"Here!" A short, squat, gray-haired man advanced, 
looked at the door, then whistled. "I thought this guy
hadn't had time to set much up." 
"*We* don't have time to fuck around admiring his
skills," Mulder snarled. "Can you get us in?" 
"Oh, yeah." The man smiled, a carnivorous expression
that changed his face from that of a dear old grandpa to
something fierce and ferocious. "I live for this shit." 
Tock - tock - tock - 
"Just live *through* it, OK? And fast." Skinner was 
holding Mulder erect now, bearing the bulk of the man's
weight and he wondered how much longer his agent 
would be able to even balance on his feet. "How many 
are we expecting in there?" 
"Scully, Gresham, the babysitter, and the other child." 
"Injuries?" 
Tock - tock - tock - 
"Probably." Mulder swayed and Skinner gripped him more
tightly. 
"Almost in." The explosives guy used a screwdriver 
to carefully back out a screw, turning it to the right,
Skinner noticed. Clever. 
"Someone have a camera?" Mulder was craning his neck, 
looking at the people waiting on the stairs. "And get 
everyone out that doesn't need to be here." 
"Medical?" Skinner was nodding at the agents on the
stairs, dismissing some, holding some in place with a
look. 
Tock - tock - tock - 
"No time. We get them out. Snap some pictures of the 
room if we can. And run like hell!" 
"This is it." The gray-haired man had a small pair of 
clippers, holding them over a blue wire. He took a
deep breath, as did everyone, and then snipped. 
There was a moment of silence from the men and 
women assembled, the only sound the steady beat 
of the ever-present metronome, counting down to 
disaster. 
Tock - tock - tock - 
The EOU man pushed the door open, then gagged
and turned away. "I'm done." He pushed through 
the people on the stairs, one hand over his mouth
and disappeared. 
Mulder was moving forward, through the door, into
the room, Skinner's hands still clinging to him, holding
him up. He stared in horror, searching for Scully. 
The room was a mass of red. Blood and tissue and 
other things covered the floor and walls and -- he
drew a thankful breath -- the people. 
Tock - tock - tock - 
The babysitter was tied to a chair, facing the door. 
A mutilated piece of the dead child was by her feet.
Scully was in another chair, holding a matching 
piece of the body. Both women were unconscious.
Gresham lay on the bed, a blood-soaked towel wrapped
around his throat, and as Mulder stared, his chest rose
slightly. 
Alive. 
Tock - tock - tock - 
He pulled away from Skinner and stumbled to the 
chair that held Scully, fumbling with the ties that
bound her. He managed to loosen one arm and she
flopped forward, almost knocking him over. But 
Skinner was there supporting them both now. 
Tock - tock - tock - 
An unknown agent had appeared and was cutting through
the remaining ties that held Scully in the chair. He 
reached out to lift her, but Mulder pushed him away. 
Tock - tock - tock - 
"Let him take her, Mulder. She's alive. She's not 
too badly hurt. Just drugged I'd say." He shook the
younger man slightly. "Let him take her. We've only
got a few minutes here ..." His voice trailed away as
he prayed his words had reached the tortured profiler. 
Tock - tock - tock - 
Mulder looked up, pleading with his eyes. "Make them
wait for me, please ..." 
"Of course," Skinner replied, then he nodded at the 
agent who lifted Scully and disappeared out the door.
"What now?" 
"Pictures," Mulder snapped. "Now." Flashbulbs popped
and he was temporarily blinded, but the scene was being
captured as quickly as the tech could work. She moved 
carefully through the carnage, the shutter clicking 
steadily as she recorded the latest atrocities of the man
known as the Nibbler. 
Tock - tock - tock - 
"Slice 'em and dice 'em," Mulder muttered, and Skinner's
stomach roiled to hear the tone in his agent's voice. He 
was heading somewhere deep and dark and dirty, somewhere
no sane person should have to go, and Skinner wasn't ready
to let his friend tread this path alone. 
"Not now, Mulder," he murmured, shaking the arm he held
gently, and forcing the younger man to focus on his face.
"Not now. There's no time." 
Scully was safely down the stairs, and two deputies
were releasing the sitter, then carrying her down the
stairs. 
"Is she injured?" Skinner called. 
"No." It was Mulder who answered. "Drugged. Like Scully.
He didn't want them, or they'd be dead. This," he gestured 
around the room, "was all for me. But why? What am I 
supposed to see?" 
Tock-tock-tock 
A folding stretcher had been brought upstairs, and the
injured man, Gresham, was being loaded onto it carefully,
strapped in, and carried down the stairs. 
"Let's go, Mulder." Skinner was pulling the man back
toward the stairs. "It's getting faster again." 
Tock-tock-tock 
The AD bent slightly, preparing to lift the lanky 
agent, but Mulder gasped suddenly, halting him. "Wait!"
He whirled back to the room, moving quickly despite 
his injuries, and Skinner had to scurry to catch up with
him. 
"What?" The AD could hear the metronome beat 
increasing again, and he was feeling time run out. 
"The other child!" Mulder was yanking open a closet,
disregarding any safety steps, ruffling clothes, shoving
things aside. "Where's the other child?" 
Skinner paled. In the heat of the moment, he, too, had
forgotten the other child. And they were almost out 
of time! 
Tock-tock-tock 
"We need help up here!" The AD called out loudly,
strongly, as Mulder fell to his knees by the bed, peering
under. 
"Here she is!" He spoke softly, calling the child. 
"C'mon, sweetie, it's OK. We're the good guys. Police." 
Tocktocktock 
The child didn't move. She stared at Mulder with wide 
eyes, but stayed just out of his reach. 
"Police, honey. Like your daddy. It's OK. Please
come out." 
Tocktocktock 
The child remained motionless. Mulder lifted helpless
eyes to the AD. "She's traumatized, terrorized. She 
won't budge." 
Tcktcktcktcktck 
Skinner gave a roar of rage. He placed both hands under
the bed and heaved the whole thing, mattress, box springs,
and frames going up, and over, and sliding across the room.
He took one look at the terrified child, scooped her up, 
grabbed Mulder by the arm, half-dragging him to the 
stairs, then down them and through the living room. 
Tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk 
"Go, go, go!" He was shoving the child through the 
window, watching as waiting arms took her and ran. 
Tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk 
He shoved Mulder through next, then clambered out
behind him, lifted him, and leapt from the porch. 
Tktktktktktktktktktktktk 
He hit the ground running and was a third of the way 
up the drive when there was a sound behind him, a 
loud "whoosh" that rapidly turned into an explosion.
Superheated air blew past him, singeing his head and
back, and knocking him to the ground. He lay over 
his friend, covering him with his body, and waited 
for the roar to end. Pieces of debris rained down
upon and around him, and he found himself tucking
Mulder into a ball beneath him, trying to protect
the younger man from injury. 
The roar faded and then there were people there, 
lifting him up now, pulling him away, and Mulder
was being loaded onto a stretcher. He tried to rise
and follow, but his legs wouldn't seem to work, and
the world was suddenly going dark, and then he decided
he would just lay down and rest for a bit. 
And he did. 
**************************************** 
October 19, 1998
7:20 a.m. 
It was the smell that tipped him off. That all too
familiar hospital smell. Nothing like it, and nothing
that would mask it. He took a deep breath, then 
paused, making an assessment. 
Bandages covered the back and top of his head, and
he could feel the tight skin and stinging sensation that
told him he'd been burned. He moved both arms. No 
IV. That was a good sign. Wiggled fingers and toes.
Everything seemed to work. 
He opened his eyes and the room swam into blurry
view before them. He looked to each side of the bed,
wall to his left, curtain to his right. No one seemed
to be waiting to see what had happened to him. 
He frowned. That was odd. If he was injured, it was
a sure bet he'd been with Scully and Mulder -- or at 
least Mulder. His friend positively *attracted* injuries,
accidents, and explosions. 
Explosions! 
There'd been an explosion! Mulder had been with him! 
He threw back the covers, then halted as the damn safety
rail got in his way. He scaled it quickly -- it was awkward,
but easier than trying to get someone in here to let him
out, or trying to find the secret hidden mechanism that 
released the damn thing. He was on his feet, looking
down at the too-short, too-small, too-thin gown that 
barely covered him, then shrugging and pulling back 
the curtain. 
Mulder lay in the other bed and he gave a sigh of
relief. The man was sleeping -- or, he swallowed hard --
unconscious. He stared at the still form a moment longer,
noted the slight but normal movements in his extremities,
and decided he was just sleeping. 
So -- that just left the question of where they'd put Scully.
He looked around for a robe, or slippers, or anything he 
could dress in, found nothing, and grabbed a blanket 
from his bed. Wrapping it around himself, he padded 
out into the hall in bare feet, breathing a sigh of relief
when he saw an agent posted outside the door to his
and Mulder's room, and another across the hall. He
nodded approvingly as he scanned the corridor. There 
was a third agent standing guard outside the next
door down and he frowned in question. 
"Agent Gresham, Sir," the young woman said as she
noted where his eyes had traveled. "Agent Scully is
across the hall, and as I'm sure you've realized, Agent
Mulder is with you." 
"Who decided this arrangement?" Skinner glared at the
woman as he waited for her answer. 
She gulped visibly, then admitted, "I did, Sir. It seemed 
the sensible thing to do at the time." 
Skinner allowed himself a small smile and nodded. "Good
work, Cafferty. I'm glad *someone* can be sensible." He
started across the hall, then paused. "Get someone up here
to talk to me about their conditions. And I want the sheriff 
and the SAIC up here as well. I'm going to check on Scully,
but I want to be notified if Mulder so much as rolls over, is
that clear?" The woman was nodding, her brown hair bobbing 
about her face as she made mental notes of the AD's demands. 
"Oh, and Cafferty, since you seem to be the only sensible 
person here, could you see about getting me some clothes?" 
He nodded, then said, "Thanks," as he moved through the 
door into Scully's room. 
He studied the woman in the bed. She, too, was sleeping.
Small bandages covered two places on her right forearm, 
another was visible just below the neckline of the hospital
gown she wore, on her collarbone, and yet another bandaged
her left ear lobe. As he watched, she stirred, one hand
coming up in an unconsciously graceful move to sweep
the hair back from her eyes. Long lashes blinked twice,
then deep blue eyes stared up at him, first drowsily, then
in surprise, and finally, fully alert. It was uncanny how
quickly this woman could wake. 
He made a silent wager with himself, then counted to
three in his head. 
"Where's Mulder?" she asked, and he grinned openly.
He'd won again. First question and in less than three 
seconds this time. It was nice to know there was some
predictability in their crazy lives. 
"He's asleep in the room across the hall." He paused,
then answered her unasked question, "He's OK. I've
requested a doctor come up to talk to me about his 
condition, and yours." 
She looked at him, studying the gauze that swathed 
his head, the blanket he wore as a robe, the bare feet.
One eyebrow arched critically. "And about yourself,
I assume?" 
He snorted quietly, then at her insistent look, nodded
shortly. He had opened his mouth to speak again when
there was a noise behind him and a tall Asian man in 
a white coat entered the room. He was followed by
Cafferty, who was holding a blue plastic bag with the
K-Mart logo on the side. She handed it over with 
a diffident smile. "I'd already taken the liberty to 
send someone, Sir. We were just waiting for you 
to wake up." Her smile widened as Skinner nodded
his thanks. 
The Asian man studied him with a frown, then spoke.
"Mr. Skinner, you should not be out of bed." 
"I'm fine." He opened the bag and saw a black sweatsuit,
gray T-shirt, a package of boxer shorts, socks, and a
man's travel kit. He whistled appreciatively. "Very
good, Cafferty. Thanks." A quick look back at Scully,
then down at his blanket-robe and he was frowning as
well. "Look," he said to both Scully and the doctor, "I
need to talk to you both. Give me ten minutes to get
myself together and I'll be right back." 
"Mr. Skinner," the doctor said again, "you really should
be resting." 
"Scully, while I'm changing, will you please explain to
Doctor ..." 
"Lee," the man interjected. 
"Doctor Lee, that there isn't time for anyone to rest. We 
*all* need to be up and functioning as soon as possible." 
It was closer to twenty minutes than ten, but when Skinner
emerged from the bathroom, Scully was seated next to 
Mulder's bed, and he was awake. She was also dressed in
sweats, and she answered his silent inquiry with a brief
nod at the door. "Cafferty. She has a set for Mulder, 
too, but I vetoed that." 
Skinner nodded. "All right. Status?" he demanded. 
"He's weak, but he hasn't suffered that much more damage,"
she said impartially. "He should be able to work -- *from 
a bed.*" 
"Ahem?" Mulder cleared his throat. "Do I get a say in this?" 
"NO!" It was simultaneous. 
"You shouldn't have been up yesterday, Mulder --" Skinner
lifted a hand to forestall the protest that was on the younger
man's lips. "I know there was no choice, but we have to
make sure we have choices now. You have to rest as much
as you can." He looked at the doctor, waiting to speak,
then added, "Once I find out how everyone is, we'll regroup,
get you moved back to the other room, get the pictures of 
the last scene brought up. We'll get the investigation back
on track." 
"The hunt," Mulder said in a small, strained voice. 
"What?" 
"It's not really an investigation anymore, is it, Sir?" 
Mulder lifted haunted eyes up to meet Skinner's gaze. 
"The investigation was over long ago." Mulder's tone
hardened, and an unfocused look bled into his eyes.
"Now we just have to hunt him down, like he did all
those other people." 
"Mulder ..." Skinner could see Scully tighten her 
grip on his hand, and the man's eyes cleared. He 
looked at her, then smiled, and it was like watching 
the sun burst through on a gray-cloud day. Skinner
found himself smiling as well. 
"So," he turned his attention to the doctor, "can you
give me an update?" 
The man spread his hands in defeat, then shrugged.
"Where do you want to start?" 
"Mulder." 
"His wounds are healing. Walking around and being 
exposed to that explosion didn't help, but I understand
you caught the brunt of the force, and Agent Mulder was
not further injured." The doctor opened the chart in his
hand, read for a moment, then went on. "I've got him
back on the same pain meds he was on before. He 
*should* be sleeping twenty hours a day for the next 
week, but I understand he has to work. Just keep him
off his feet, make him rest and eat -- I'm letting him
try some soft solids tonight -- and we'll *all* watch him
carefully." 
"Can he be moved back to the other room?" 
The man nodded, then made a note on the chart. "I'll
set it up." He looked up. "Now, as for Doctor Scully --
she has eleven human bite marks on her body, none
of which are serious. They've all been cleaned, and two
were sutured." He opened the second of three charts
that he held. "The previous head injury has continued
to heal nicely, as has the ankle." The man looked up
to speak directly to Scully. "You were drugged, Doctor,
and we're still not sure what it was. I've had samples 
of your blood sent to the lab and as soon as the 
results are back, I'll let you know." 
"Get samples for Agent Cafferty as well," Skinner said.
"Our labs may be better equipped than yours for this
type of, uh, testing." 
"As for you ..." The doctor turned to stare at Skinner,
who promptly lifted a hand to silence him. 
"I'm fine." 
"You are not *fine,*" the man insisted, opening the third
chart to read from it. "You shouldn't even be up. You've 
got some fairly serious burns on your neck and head." 
Mulder grinned. "Your skin *is* pretty exposed there,
Sir." 
Skinner growled, a low, throaty sound that hovered beneath
his words as he spoke. "If you value what's left of your
life, Agent Mulder, you'll end that train of thought right
now." 
"Better listen, Mulder," Scully said with a laugh. "He 
hasn't shot you -- yet." 
Doctor Lee was staring at them as if they'd all lost their
minds. "As I was saying," he went on, clearing his throat
as he spoke, "you also have some lacerations and abrasions
from flying debris on your back and arms, and you've
suffered a slight concussion." 
"I'm fine," Skinner repeated, ending the conversation.
"When can Mulder be moved?" 
"I don't think any of you understand how serious your
injuries can be. You act as if this was some big joke."
The doctor lifted a hand, slicing through the air to
punctuate his words. "Well, it's not! This is serious.
Head injuries, burns, that stomach wound -- any of those
could become life-threatening." 
"Did you see Agent Gresham, Dr. Lee?" Scully was on
her feet, her cheeks burning with emotion. "What was
done to him -- *that* is life-threatening. And it's going
to happen -- again, and again, and again, if we're not
allowed to do what has to be done." She softened her
words at the doctor's distressed look. "We're not
ungrateful for your concern, Doctor, and we're not as
callous as we might appear. What we do -- it's well, 
difficult -- and humor is defensive." She sat again,
exhausted. 
"And it's important." Skinner picked up where Scully
left off. "Agent Mulder has a talent -- a gift, if you 
will ..." 
"Curse." 
Skinner cut his eyes to the man in the bed. "... an 
ability to find men like Nathan, to understand them,
to know what makes them tick well enough to track
and apprehend them. And now, with Nathan on the
loose, we have no time for niceties such as bedrest
and delicacy. We have no time at all." 
Dr. Lee closed the third chart. "I'll arrange to have
Agent Mulder moved immediately." He turned and
moved to the door. 
"Doctor?" Skinner called. "Agent Gresham? What 
can you tell me about his condition?" 
"His condition is the reason I'm permitting you to
overrule me concerning health issues for all of you."
The man paled and made a grimace of disgust.
"This man, Nathan, must be stopped. Agent Gresham,
well, it just isn't human what was done to him." 

October 19, 1998
10:15 a.m. 
Mulder took his glasses off and set them on the table by
the bed. "I need a break," he admitted, stifling a yawn. 
Scully and Skinner both looked up in surprise at this 
unexpected declaration. 
"Don't look at me like that," he admonished. "Haven't
you two considered I may be getting sensible in my dotage?" 
Skinner snorted and Scully said, "Not hardly. Neither
dotage nor sensibility becomes you, Mulder." 
The man in the bed sighed, then scanned the room. His 
boards were still in place, still festooned with pictures of
the Nibbler's work. Technicolor photographs stared back
at him from every angle, seeming to almost bathe the room
in a soft red glow. He closed his eyes to the vision. "I'm
going to rest for an hour or so. You two were supposed to
check on Gresham and the other child. Why don't you
do that? Maybe we'll have something new to go on when
you get back." 
"Are you sure, Mulder?" Scully squeezed his hand in 
concern, then smiled as he tightened his grip in response. 
"I'm sure." His eyes were locked on hers, falling into
fathomless blue, and he found himself wondering, not
for the first time, if he had to keep getting lost in other
people's heads, why more of them couldn't be as strong
and brave and determined and beautiful and *good* as
this particular one. He shook himself, ending a pleasant
but fruitless train of thought. "I'm sure," he repeated.
"Tell Gresham 'thanks' for me, if he's awake." 
She nodded once, patted his shoulder, then allowed
Skinner to take her hand and tug her to her feet. The
ankle was still tightly wrapped and she could almost
walk without a limp now, but getting up and down
was not quite as easy. And the stress she'd put on
it already, from the crime scene of -- God, was it just
last night? -- to the aborted autopsy, to following
Nathan's commands in the hope it would keep her
alive, was more than any doctor would have permitted
had she been doing as advised. 
She glanced back at the bed, still not willing to 
believe Mulder was actually resting without medication,
but his eyes were closed, and his chest rose in the
steady up and down motion she knew signified sleep
for him. Not the deep, restorative sleep of oblivion he 
could only attain with her next to him, but the lighter,
still restful sleep he reached when he was exhausted 
and had no choice but to rest. 
"Will he really rest?" Skinner whispered as they exited
the room. 
She shrugged. She'd learned long ago, with Mulder,
nothing was ever certain. And there was no point in
worrying over it, though she still did. She took a deep
breath, then deliberately changed the subject. "How is
Gresham?" 
"Alive," Skinner said shortly as they got into the elevator.
He pushed a button, then leaned against the wall. "He's 
not in great shape; won't ever do field work again. But 
they didn't expect him to survive at first." He shook his 
head in admiration as the doors chimed, then opened. 
"The kid's a fighter." 
A guard still stood outside the door to the young agent's
room, and he looked up at Skinner and Scully's approach.
"Assistant Director, Sir." He hastily dropped the paper
he had been reading. "I didn't expect you, Sir." He
inclined his head toward Scully. "Agent Scully. Nice
to see you up and around." 
"Relax, Ligotti," Skinner said. "I'm not here to take
names, though you might want to be a bit more vigilant.
Gresham and Scully *were* abducted from the main
law enforcement building in town." He studied the
man for a moment, watching as he flushed uncomfortably,
then nodded in agreement. 
"Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir. It won't happen again." 
Skinner believed him. "How's Gresham?" 
The man looked at the door, then smiled. "Alive,
awake, and alert." He cast a triumphant look back
at the AD and Scully. "Not what the Nibbler had
planned, is it?" 
Skinner laughed. "No, I don't expect it was. Nice
to win one, isn't it?" 
"Yes, Sir!" Ligotti said enthusiastically. He pointed
at the closed door. "His parents are in there now. They
just got here about an hour ago." 
Skinner's face fell. This was the most unpleasant part
of his job -- having to explain to parents why their 
perfectly healthy child was no longer in that state. He
pulled himself erect, then looked down at his clothes.
Sweats. Not exactly the image he would choose to 
portray when he had this talk with distressed parents.
A small hand on his arm broke him from his reverie. 
"It's not going to matter, Walter," Scully said, ignoring
the look Ligotti gave them at her use of his given name.
"His parents are going to be so glad he's alive, the rest
won't matter." She pulled herself up, smoothing her
hair and straightening her own casual clothing. "I'm
glad they're here. I want them to know how brave their
son is." 
She pushed through the door and he had no choice but 
to follow. 
The man in the bed was pale. Paler than any living 
person should be. He was swathed in bandages from
the neck up, covering what Skinner knew to be a viciously
ripped throat and a missing ear. An IV pole stood on 
each side of the bed, and several bags hung from each.
Blood, and fluid, and antibiotics, and who knew what
else mystical medicine had prescribed. But the important
thing was, this one was alive. Score one for the good
guys. 
"Mr. Gresham? Mrs. Gresham?" He extended his hand
to the man seated on the left of the bed, watching as he
stood before accepting it. His hand was cool, but the
grip was firm, and the man was smiling as he shook.
"I'm Walter Skinner, Sir, Ma'am." He paused, suddenly
at a loss as to what to say. 
"Mr. Skinner is an Assistant Director for the FBI,
Mr. Gresham," Scully broke in smoothly. "Howard was
on special assignment, working for the AD when this
happened. She extended her own hand. "I'm Dana
Scully. Howard was protecting me." 
The figure on the bed stirred, and all eyes turned to
focus on the subject of their discussion. 
************************************** 
Oh, God. This couldn't be happening. Why couldn't
the Nibbler have just killed him? Wasn't it enough 
that he would never speak? Wasn't it enough that 
his hearing was compromised? Wasn't it enough
that he'd never be a field agent again? Did they have
to come and relate his cowardice, his fear, his weaknesses
to his parents? Did they have to make him relive it
all again? 
"... incredible bravery," Scully was saying, and he
shifted his gaze to stare at her. "He told me he had
a weak stomach. I'm a pathologist, and I had an
autopsy to do," she explained, and he groaned 
inwardly. So she was going to share with them
his aversion to blood and death. He closed his eyes
in shame. 
" ... refused to leave me. Even when I disobeyed
orders and told him he could wait outside." 
His eyes popped open again. What was she saying?
He looked at Skinner quickly, and he could see that
the AD was hearing this for the first time, a frown
on his face as he stared at Scully. 
"... nothing Howard could do. He was already there,
in the morgue, just waiting for me. Howard did exactly
what he should have, and I know that's the only reason
I am still alive." 
His eyes flew to Scully and he saw her smiling down at
him. She was standing next to his mom, and she was
smiling, too. Something warm and soft and comforting
touched him, and he realized Scully was holding his
hand. 
"Howard never faltered, never wavered. He was totally
focused on what was needed to keep us both alive. When
Nathan forced him to call the AD, I was stunned at how
self-possessed, how in control he sounded." 
Gresham shifted his gaze to the men on his other side. 
His father was nodding and smiling in pride, and the
AD was nodding, too, as if everything Agent Scully 
was saying was really true. He couldn't bear it. He'd
been terrified, sick to his stomach, barely able to
function. He didn't deserve the praise and admiration
of these people. 
He shook his head as vigorously as he could, then 
turned away in self-disgust. 
But the warmth on his hand was still constant, and
now there was a sound, right by his head. A voice,
speaking to him, and only to him, it seemed. 
"You know, Howard," she said in a conversational
tone, "I've really only worked with one other person
besides my partner in years. And I ended up getting
shot." 
Gresham grimaced. He'd heard that story. And the
follow-up. How Mulder had nearly killed the guy who'd
shot her, only letting the luckless agent live because 
Scully had survived. What was Mulder going to do to
him? 
"There really isn't anyone I trust except Mulder."
She looked up and smiled at his parents. "My
partner," she explained, "is incredibly smart, brilliant
really, and he usually works on special projects. He
has an ability to find killers like this Nathan, but it
exacts a tremendous toll on him." She looked back
at the man in the bed. "That's why he's not here
now, to thank you himself." 
Gresham couldn't believe it. How could she keep saying
things like this? How could she keep going on about
his bravery and loyalty, and her thanks? Even implying
*Mulder* would be grateful to him? Why didn't they
all just leave him alone? He risked another look at her,
but she was still talking to his folks. 
"Mulder is a psychologist, and a damned good one, too.
He once told me," she looked at Gresham, catching his
gaze and holding it, "that the hardest thing one can do
as an agent is to see how you function in a life or death
situation. We're so caught inside our own heads, we
can't see that while we may be quaking on the inside,
we're doing everything right on the outside." She smiled
and he felt her hand tighten around his own. Waves
of auburn softness slipped from behind her ear, falling
forward to make a curtain that seemed to shield them
from the others in the room. "I don't know what you
were thinking, or even feeling inside that day, Howard,
but I do know one thing: I would not be alive if you
hadn't been there. There aren't enough words to say
thank you." 
She leaned over and placed a soft, sweet kiss on his 
lips, and in that moment, at that exact second in time, 
he knew that it was all true. It didn't matter that he'd
been sick to his stomach over the dead bodies, or that
his voice had cracked and his throat gone dry. It didn't
matter that he'd trembled in his shoes and his hands
had shook and his knees gone weak. It didn't even 
matter that he'd wet himself, there at the end. What
was important was that when it mattered, when he had
to act, he'd done so. And he was alive because of that. 
He looked up into a pair of beautiful blue eyes, cursing
Mulder for his luck, cursing himself for being ten years 
too young. He smiled back at the woman who still hovered
over his bed. 
She was alive because of him. That was what mattered. 
****************************************** 
October 20, 1998
10:10 a.m. 
"Child molestation." Mulder looked at the fax from
the Army again and shook his head in disgust. "They
suspected Nathan had molested two little girls, but
couldn't prove it, so they used it as an excuse to 
discharge him. With no warning to anyone." 
"If there wasn't a case, there was no justification for
warnings, Mulder," Skinner said. "You know that." 
"I know." Mulder studied the paper, then tucked it
in the file. "But still ..." 
"It's not fair, I know, Mulder. Doesn't seem right 
that someone like Nathan should have rights, too,
does it?" 
"Aw, shit! This is pointless." Mulder dragged a 
hand across his face. "I'm not getting anywhere. 
I *need* something else!" He tossed the file across 
the room, watching as papers and photos created a 
small snowdrift where they landed. 
"It's not pointless. Every day there is no action from
Nathan, is one more day for you to heal." Skinner
was picking up the papers as he spoke. "You're not
functioning at your peak. You can't expect yourself
to work miracles." He slid the last picture in the 
manila folder and closed it, then rose and placed it
on the table. "You're stronger. You're able to stay
awake longer. You're tolerating semi-solids. You're
belly is healing. This is progress, Mulder." 
"It's not enough. He's out there, God only knows where,
and I can't *see* him. It's like I've lost the ability 
to -- to -- *feel.*" He looked up helplessly. "I hate
it. I hate what I can do. But I still feel like someone
amputated a limb right now. I feel like something's 
missing!" 
"What's missing?" Scully swept through the room,
a slip of paper held high. "What did I miss?" She
glanced around, noted the tension in the two men, then
sighed. "Whatever. Look, I got permission for you to
talk to the other child, Mulder. She's still here, and
the next of kin have agreed." 
Skinner nodded his head in relief. At last. New
information that wasn't going to come in the form of
a dead body. Maybe they could get somewhere from
this. 
"When?" Mulder demanded, sitting up in the bed. 
"When?" 
"Shhh," Scully soothed. "This afternoon. *If* you 
rest." 
He snorted. "That's all I've *been* doing -- resting.
I'm certainly not finding a killer." 
"Ease up on yourself, Mulder," Skinner said softly. 
"I'm not going to watch you tear yourself apart over
this." He walked to the window and stared out. "You're
not responsible for this maniac." He blew out, a soft,
hissing sound that almost covered his next words. 
"And neither am I." 
******************************************** 
October 20, 1998
1:15 p.m. 
"She's five years old, Agent Mulder. Apparently very
bright and outgoing before ..." The woman waved her
hands helplessly. "... all this. She hasn't spoken since
she got here." 
Mulder stared into the playroom through the observation
window. It had been set up as he requested: paper and
crayons, paints, a large doll house and a family of dolls,
as well as building blocks, a tape recorder and some
children's tapes, and a rocking chair. He didn't know
what would have been familiar to this child he didn't
know, but somehow, he needed to make a safe place for
her, so she would begin to talk. He needed to know
what had happened. Somehow, he was convinced there
was a clue in what had happened at the deputy's house.
Something he was missing. 
He turned to face the young woman next to him. She 
was slightly built, with dark hair and dark eyes and 
would have been striking if not for the large birth
mark that marred on side of her face. "Did you tell 
her I was coming?" 
She nodded. "Of course. But she didn't react." 
"And there isn't *anyone* here she's made a connection
with?" 
"No." The woman shook her head sadly. "It's like there's
no one home." 
Mulder nodded, then looked at Scully and Skinner, 
squeezed into the observation room with them. "You're
ready?" 
Skinner spoke. "The cameras are set up. We'll record
from three different angles and I've got an audio feed, too."
He ran a hand up and picked at the edge of the bandage
that covered his head. It itched. "Is this really necessary?" 
Mulder shrugged. "I may be so focused on the child -- she
may need me -- I may not be able to catch everything she
says or does." He reached out and took Scully's hand, 
then pulled her down until her face was even with his 
in the wheelchair. He kissed her quickly. "You'll stay?" 
"Of course," she whispered. "You watch the child. I'll
be watching you." 
"My guardian angel ..." He let her go, then indicated he
was ready. 
When he wheeled into the room, the child looked up once,
took him in, and the wheelchair, then dropped her gaze.
This had been a gamble -- letting her know he was injured.
It could go either way. It could make her feel more 
comfortable, knowing others were hurt. Or it could 
scare her, reaffirming that adults in her world, the 
people who should keep her safe, were just as vulnerable
as she was. 
"Hannah," he said softly, and she twitched slightly. A 
good sign. She was hearing him, even if she didn't
respond. "Dr. Sterben told you I was coming, didn't
she?" No response. "I'm a doctor, too," he went
on. "A different kind of doctor. I talk to people 
about how they feel." No response, or was there?
She might have turned her head slightly at his last
remark. "My name is Fox." 
That had her attention. She looked up again, staring
in open disbelief, then quickly dropped her gaze when
she realized what she'd done. He smiled. The name
always got them. "It really is, Hannah." He smiled.
"My name is Fox." He held out the stuffed toy he'd
asked for. "Like this. See? He's a fox and I'm a Fox." 
She was small for her age, with blonde hair that fell
in loose waves to her shoulders. Someone, probably
a nurse with children of her own, had provided a 
bright blue scrunchie and pulled the soft hair up in
a pony-tail, keeping it from the child's face. Tendrils
had escaped and framed the round face with wisps
of silken gold. Right now, she was staring at the 
stuffed animal from beneath her eyelids, blue eyes
just visible. 
"Go ahead. You can have it. I brought it for you."
He pushed the toy closer. "I thought you might like
him." 
She watched him closely, head still down, eyes mere
slits, and his arm began to tire from holding the animal
extended. At last, when he was ready to withdraw
it, she reached out and took it. She was responding. 
"He's soft, isn't he, Hannah?" Mulder kept his voice
quiet, barely above a whisper. He'd hated working 
with children when he was in school. They were so
vulnerable, so easily manipulated, but he'd always 
been good at it. 
"Red," the child whispered, and Mulder froze. She
was speaking. He didn't know what she was referring
to, but he took the safe path. 
"Yes, he is red, isn't he? Most foxes are red." 
She looked up at him. "You're not red." Her
words were still whispered and there was a trace
of a baby lisp, a softening of the 'r's in her speech.
He wondered if it had always been there, or if this
was a sign of regression. Not that regression would
be unusual in a situation like this. 
"No," he agreed. "I'm not red." He studied her
carefully. She was stroking the stuffed fox, her
attention seemingly on the toy, but he could see
she was returning his scrutiny. "Do you know who
I am?" It was a guess, but worth a try. 
She nodded. 
"How do you know me?" 
"P'lice," she whispered, and he knew then she remembered
it all. 
"That's right, Hannah. I'm a policeman. I came to 
get you. Do you remember?" 
She nodded once. "You. And the big man." She nodded
again. "Like Daddy." 
"Like your daddy, yes." He was quiet, waiting to see if 
she would speak again. When she didn't, he did. 
"Hannah, I'd like to talk to you about what happened." 
End part 06/11 
Profiles in Caring: The Nibbler Case II 07/11


"Can you tell me what happened when the bad man
came, Hannah?" 
The child's eyes grew wide with fear and she dropped
her head. Both arms wrapped about herself, the fox
pressed tight to her belly, and she began to rock.
"No, no, no, no, no ..." she chanted softly. 
Mulder reached out a hand, stopping himself before
he touched her. Everything else in her life had been
ripped away; he wasn't going to invade her personal
space without permission. "It's OK, Hannah, shhhhh.
We don't have to talk about it right now." He glanced
around the room quickly, then said, "How 'bout
if we color for a while? Do you like to color?" 
The rocking stopped, but the child didn't react. 
"I'd like to color, even if you aren't in the mood,"
Mulder said. "But there's one problem." He made 
his voice sad and disappointed, then waited for the
quick look the child shot him. "The table is all
the way over there," he waved across the room 
as he spoke, "and I'm over here. I could use a
big strong person to help me get over there." 
Hannah studied the wheelchair, then the table. 
"I'm strong," she whispered. 
"I know you are. You were very strong when 
the bad man came. And you're brave, too," Mulder 
responded. "Do you think you could help me
get to the table?" 
Hannah nodded and rose, looking carefully around
the room before she moved behind the wheelchair.
Grasping the handles in both hands, she pushed and
the chair began to roll forward. 
Behind the glass of the observation mirror, Dr. Sterben
was watching in stunned amazement. "I can't believe
it! She hasn't spoken or interacted in any way since 
she got here. This is incredible!" 
Scully smiled softly. "I told you he could do it. He's
got a way with kids." They watched as the chair 
rolled to the table and stopped. 
"Thanks," Mulder said. "Can you give me the crayons?"
He pointed at the box on the other side of the table as 
he placed a large piece of newsprint before them. 
Hannah moved around the table, grabbed the crayons
and handed them to him, then took her place at his side,
watching as he began to draw. He started with a figure 
and as he worked, the image of a small girl began to
appear. 
"This is my sister," Mulder said. "Her name is Sam." 
"Sam's a boy's name." Hannah was watching as he colored
long brown hair on the figure. 
"It's short for Samantha." Mulder finished the drawing 
then handed the crayon to Hannah. "Can you draw your
sister?" 
Hannah nodded seriously, then took the crayon and
drew. She topped her sister's head with blonde hair
drawn like corkscrews. 
"Is her hair curly?" 
Hannah nodded. 
"What's her name?" 
"Livvie." She paused, then looked up at Mulder. "That's
short for Olivia." 
"Ah ..." Mulder took another crayon from the box, a black
one, and he began to color over the picture he had drawn.
"When Sam was eight, she disappeared. She just went 
away." The legs on the figure were covered in black, and
he continued working his way up to the torso. "We were
home alone -- I was babysitting -- and Sam just -- went
away." He was careful to keep his eyes on the paper
as he worked, not looking at Hannah. He tried to keep 
his voice quiet, matter of fact. The drawing on the paper
was a black box now, with only a head still visible. 
"What happened?" Hannah asked in a breathless voice. 
Mulder shrugged. "I don't know." He increased the 
speed of the crayon, pressing down hard and making 
large slashing lines across the drawing's face. "But
I was really mad at Samantha. I was really, really
mad." 
Hannah nodded as if this made perfect sense, then
took a red crayon from the box. She followed Mulder's
lead and began to obliterate the drawing of Olivia.
Large, angry red marks appeared, one over the other.
The child worked faster and faster and the paper 
moved and then tore. 
"Wow," Mulder said. "You must really be angry at
Olivia." 
"She's all red!" Hannah said in the first loud voice
he'd heard from her. "Red, red, red!" 
"Why is she red?" he asked, knowing he was getting
into dangerous territory, and hoping he wouldn't do
or say anything that would further damage this child. 
"The witch man made her red!" Hannah picked up the
paper and began to rip it, tearing it into large pieces,
and then smaller and smaller ones. "And now she's
gone! Gone, gone, gone!" Tears had begun to stream
down the child's face, and she threw the papers
as hard as she could. "They're all gone!" 
"Your mom and dad? They're gone, too?" Mulder was
testing the water, trying to see what the child had
processed. 
"The witch man killeded them. He made them all red."
The child was sobbing now, her face wet and her nose
running. 
Mulder held out his arms. "Hannah, can I hold you?"
he asked softly, then winced when the small body
slammed into him as she crawled into his lap and 
buried her head in his shoulder. He held her tightly,
rubbing her back and stroking her hair and murmuring
soft nonsense into her ears as she cried herself out. 
"How does he know how to make her talk? I've tried
everything he just did, and I got nowhere!" The young
doctor was watching in admiration and frustration as
Mulder continued to soothe the child. 
"Did you lose a sister?" Skinner asked quietly. When 
the doctor shook her head, he went on. "Mulder gave 
her something she could relate to, and he let her be
angry." 
"I was expecting her to be sad," Dr. Sterben said. 
"Angry at the man that did this, yes, but not angry
at her family." She looked up at the AD. "Is the 
story about his sister real?" 
"Yeah," Skinner said sadly. "All too real." He
looked at the window again, watching as the child
sighed and snuggled into Mulder's lap. 
"I think I'm s'posed to tell you," she whispered into 
his shoulder. 
"Tell me? Tell me what, sweetie?" Mulder asked. 
" 'bout the stories." 
"Stories?" 
"The fairy stories. The witch man said." 
"Fairy tales?" 
Hannah nodded. "Little Red Ri-ing Hood. The wolf 
ate the grandma. And he tried to eat her, too." She
sighed softly. "All red." 
"Were there any other stories?" Mulder was searching
his mind for connections between Nathan and fairy
tales. 
"Hansel and Gretel. Where the witch ate the kids." 
She shifted in his lap and looked up at him with big, 
round eyes. "I think he was a witch -- a man witch." 
"I think you're right." 
"He said he was going to eat me, just like Hansel and
Gretel." Her eyes filled again. "He -- he -- he -- *did*
Olivia. He bit her. He bit her and bit her and bit her.
And then she was all red and she --" The child spread
her arms in bewilderment. "She came apart." Tears 
fell again and she snuffled. "You're not supposed to 
bite." 
"No," Mulder said softly as he hugged the child. "No,
you're not supposed to bite." 
"When I was little, I bit Livvie and I got punished."
She was silent for a while. "I was just little and didn't
know better. But I know you're not supposed to bite." 
Mulder nodded, his cheek against the child's soft
hair. He cuddled the little girl a bit longer, then 
asked, "Did the witch man tell you anything else?" 
"Just to tell the fox the stories. He said you would 
know the stories." She sniffed again, wiping her 
nose against his shirt. "I didn't know he meant a 
*person* named Fox." She gave a little giggle. "Is 
that really, really your name?" 
"Yep," Mulder said, smiling down at the little girl.
His heart was racing. He needed time to think. There
was something here, something in what the child said
that was nagging at the back of his mind. He needed 
to get back to his room, to review the files. He *had* 
to find something that would lead him to Nathan. 
He looked down at the child in his arms. 
He needed to do a lot of things. But right now, this
little girl needed *him.* 
************************************** 
October 20, 1998
2:05 p.m. 
"How long are we supposed to let him sit there?"
the psychologist asked. It was cramped in the
observation room, and hot. 
"As long as he needs," Skinner said shortly. 
"But he can't possibly be getting anything from
Hannah. She's asleep!" The doctor peered through
the window again. "Hell, I think he may be asleep,
too." 
"He's not asleep," Scully said. "He's working." 
"Working?" The doctor stared again. The man in
the wheelchair was unmoving. Had been unmoving
for some time now. After her initial outburst, after
the storm of tears and the confession of anger at her
sister and the story that Nathan had planted in her
mind, after all of this, Hannah had simply curled up
in Mulder's lap, tucked into his shoulder, and fallen
asleep. And he had closed his eyes as well, one arm
wrapped around the little girl, the other dangling by 
his side. And he had not moved. "How can you tell
he's working? And on what?" The doctor was nothing
if not persistent. 
"It's how he works. He takes all the pieces and moves
them around in his head. That's what he's doing now."
Scully glanced at her watch. "But he *has* been in
there for a while." 
All eyes turned toward the window. As if he
knew they were watching, Mulder lifted his head and
turned to stare at the window. His eyes were unfocused
and his lips moved silently. One hand still stroked 
the child's hair, but the other twitched almost
uncontrollably, dangling as if it were a separate
entity at the end of his arm. 
Scully and Skinner exchanged a look. "Time to get
him out of there," the AD said, and Scully nodded
grimly. 
"I hadn't realized he'd slipped so far away." 
"What? What?" The psychologist was looking from
the big man to the small woman, trying to follow this
strange conversation. "Slipped away where?" She 
pointed. "He's right there." 
Scully ignored the woman. She had the door open 
and was moving through it, Skinner following in her
wake. She opened the door to the playroom, and
walked across the floor to the wheelchair. 
"Mulder?" she whispered. "Can you hear me?"
There was no response and she glanced up at Skinner
quickly before repeating in a slightly louder tone,
"Mulder?" 
The child stirred, then moved on Mulder's lap, first
snuggling in, then sitting back in puzzlement when
the arm holding her slipped away. 
"C'mon, Hannah," Scully said quietly. "It's time for 
you to go." 
"He's sick," the child said, pointing at Mulder. 
"No," Scully said as reassuringly as she could. "He's
not sick, he's thinking." 
"The witch man hurt him." 
"How do you know that?" Skinner asked sharply, 
receiving an admonishing look from Scully and Dr. 
Sterben. 
The child looked up. "I 'member you. You throwed
the bed." She stared up at the AD with wide eyes,
then yawned sleepily. 
Scully chuckled. "Sorry I missed that," she said,
smiling at Skinner. 
"Don't be. It was right before the house exploded.
There wasn't a lot of time for subtlety." He studied 
Mulder. "Dr. Sterben, can you ...?" He nodded toward
Hannah. 
"What? Oh, yes, of course." She reached out and
lifted the child. "C'mon, Hannah, let's get you back
to your room." 
"Am I gonna see Fox again?" The child was staring 
back at them from over the young woman's shoulder. 
"I'll tell him you want to see him." Scully smiled 
at the retreating figures, then turned back to her 
partner. 
"Mulder!" she called more forcefully now that the 
child was out of the room. 
"Red," he mumbled. "Little Red Riding Hood and
the wolf." 
"What's he talking about?" Skinner had joined Scully,
squatting before the wheelchair. 
She shrugged. "He's working things out." She reached
out and stroked his arm, fingers tracing up and down,
playing with the fine hairs and stopping now and then 
to squeeze gently. "Mulder? Can you talk to me?"
She grasped his hand in both of hers, twining her 
fingers through his longer ones. "C'mon, Mulder, I 
need you to talk to me." 
He turned his head slowly, eyes focusing on her face,
and a small smile graced his lips. "Scully," he whimpered
and his voice was hoarse and cracked in the middle. 
"Oh, Mulder." She vaguely heard Skinner rise and move
away, but her attention was focused on the man in the
chair before her. He was leaning forward slightly, his
head drooping downward, and she lifted her own up
until their foreheads met. "You OK?" 
"Mmmm ... I think so." He lifted his head and pressed
a kiss to her forehead. "Did we get it on tape?" 
"Yeah. You got Hannah to talk. Dr. Sterben was 
impressed." 
"Not so hard. I think I caught everything, but I want
to review the session." He sat back in the chair and 
snorted, then winced. 
"Time for bed for you, partner," Scully said softly,
looking up to catch Skinner's attention. 
"The fairy tales are the key, Scully," Mulder said as
the AD pulled Scully to her feet and then grabbed the
handles of the chair and pushed. "I was going over
the names in my head. Can you get me a list of
characters in fairy tales?" 
The elevator chimed and Skinner pushed the chair in,
lifting the front wheels slightly to avoid jostling his
injured agent. 
"I'll get someone to run an internet search, Mulder,"
the AD said. "See what comes up." 
"The background stuff, Sir, uh, Walter?" Mulder cocked
his head back and looked up, an unsure smile on his
face. "Where are we on that?" 
"The files are here. I just haven't given them to you 
yet." Skinner smiled back. "You've had enough on 
your plate." 
"I need to look at them now. Please. Time is running
out." 
The elevator chimed again, and Skinner repeated the 
process of lifting the front of the chair over the ledge,
then wheeling Mulder down the hall. "I'll get the tapes,"
he said as he helped Mulder up and into the bed. 
The agent sighed with relief as he settled back into his
bed of pillows. "My glasses?" He held out his hand,
then slipped the lenses on his nose when Scully placed
them in his hand. "And the files?" The hand was out
again, waiting as Skinner went to his briefcase and 
dug out a manila folder, then carried it to the bed. 
"How do you feel, Mulder?" Scully asked. "How's the
pain?" 
"Still bearable." He was already reading, his eyes 
scanning the pages with an uncanny speed. 
She placed her hand over the next page, blocking his
view, then waited until he looked up. "How. Do.
You. Feel. Mulder?" she repeated slowly. 
He stared at the hand for a moment, then twitched
with impatience. As he started to answer, she warned
him, "Don't blow me off. Think carefully about what
you say." 
Mulder drew a deep breath, lifted a hand and removed
the glasses, then scrubbed his face. "I'm tired, Scully,
and my insides hurt. I'm angry and frustrated, and I'm
a little bit scared." He looked up at her, then took her
hand and placed it over his chest. "My heart hurts.
I think of Hannah, what she's lost. Of Olivia, how
it must have been for her. I think of the deputy and his
wife and Gresham, and I ache inside." 
She could feel the steady pulse beneath her palm, 
feeling it increase in speed and intensity as he spoke. 
"And I think of you. God, Scully, what he could have
done to you. What he *will* do if he finds you before
I find him." His voice broke and he turned his head 
away, but he held her hand pressed tight to his chest.
"I couldn't go on if he -- hurt -- you." A ragged sob
escaped his lips. "I -- I -- just couldn't." 
"Shhhh, Mulder. No one's going to do anything to me."
She leaned over and with one hand turned his cheek 
back to face her. Tears hovered at the corners of
her eyes but she forced herself to smile. "I'll stay 
here, with you, from here on out, OK?" She looked
up at Skinner for affirmation. 
"Absolutely. No more field trips for either of you."
Skinner stood by the door, arms folded over his chest 
and a determined cast to his face. 
"Hear that, Mulder? You're stuck with me." She cupped
his cheek, her fingers tracing the bristly stubble that
marred his normally smooth skin. She reached out and 
brushed his lips with her own, watching as he closed 
his eyes and savored her touch. It was one of the many
things she adored about this man. They'd been lovers 
for months now, and he still acted as if each look, each 
touch, each kiss, was a gift beyond any expectation. 
His eyes opened and she could see he was amazed at
her constancy, her patience, her steadfast belief in him
and her desire to keep him safe at any cost. Agreeing
to stay here, with him, was little enough price to pay
to ease his mind in some small way. Her fingers
stroked his cheek again, then brushed the hair back 
from his head. 
"Yep," she said softly. "You're stuck with me." 
End part 07/11 
Profiles in Caring: The Nibbler Case II 08/11 
October 22, 1998
9:15 a.m. 
"You're still not listening to me!" Mulder exploded.
"I need to get out and see some of these places. He
lived here when he was a small child. Something 
happened to him here -- *here* -- and I need to see
the town, the area, to find out what it was. I need
to talk to people, visit places, see things -- then,
maybe, I can begin to see what draws him here -- what
keeps him here." 
Skinner was a brick wall in front of the door. "And
I said 'no!' No more outings for you or Scully. You
both stay here where I can see you, where I know you're
safe. I'm not going to see you injured more, or again,
and I'm not going to risk Scully around this nutcase."
Skinner growled, a dangerous sound made low in his 
throat. "He's marked her, Mulder." He cast a quick 
glance at the bathroom door, knowing she could hear
their every word even though Mulder had waited for
her to excuse herself before starting this argument
again. "You know what that means. You're the one
who figured out he was marking them before he took 
them." 
"I know!" Mulder slammed a folder onto the table 
knocking the water pitcher over. There was a muted
crash as the plastic container hit the floor, then the
steady sound of water dripping onto cold tiles. 
Skinner growled again and crossed the room. "I'm 
getting a little tired of your temper tantrums, Mulder."
He bent and picked up the pitcher, then retrieved a
towel and threw it over the expanding puddle. A
handful of tissues was used to wipe the table and he 
spread the now-wet papers across the bottom of Mulder's
bed to dry. 
Mulder flushed uncomfortably and raised a hand to
swipe at his face. "Look, Walter," he began, raising
a hand to silence Scully as she came out of the small
bathroom, thunderclouds on her face. "I'm sorry. 
I'm frustrated and I'm being an ass. I know that. 
But I need to *do* something. I'm getting nowhere
just laying here." 
Skinner tossed the wet tissues into the wastebasket.
"We've been over this. Every day nothing happens
is one more day for you to heal." He swished the 
towel around with his foot, holding onto the rail
of Mulder's bed for balance. "Let's just be thankful
nothing ..." 
He paused and they all looked at the source of the
chirping sound that had interrupted the AD. His cell
phone was ringing. He crossed to the chair his jacket
hung from and dug it out of the pocket. "Skinner." 
The two agents were totally focused on Skinner as 
he listened in silence to the unknown speaker. So 
focused on Skinner was Scully, she didn't realize 
she had been moving toward Mulder until she bumped
the bed. The AD's phone had been silent for two days
now, and all of them knew it would not ring for good
news. 
"All right. We'll be there. I want extra protection at
the scene for my agents. This -- this -- *thing* has
already targeted them once; I won't let it happen again."
He closed the phone and closed his eyes for a moment,
letting his head drop slightly. When he looked up, 
Mulder was already sitting on the side of the bed, and
Scully was helping him dress. 
"Where?" he asked. 
"Day care center." 
Mulder drew a sharp breath and winced. 
"No kids. Owner. Happened early this morning,
when the man was opening up, waiting for staff
to arrive. That was who found him, one of the
workers." 
"Oh." Mulder was dressed now, and standing on
shaky legs. 
"You want a chair?" Skinner asked. 
"Say yes, Mulder. Save your strength." Scully had one
arm wrapped around her partner's waist, and he held
onto the bed rail. 
Mulder shrugged, as close to an affirmative as they
were likely to get, and Skinner dragged the chair
out from behind the door, unfolding it and positioning
it for his agent to sit in. 
"No checkout with the hospital?" he asked quietly
as they rode down in the elevator. 
"Admin knows what's going on. I explained you would
have to leave again if something happened." Scully 
studied her partner. "You're a lot better anyway. I 
was almost ready to spring you to a hotel room, but
I knew I had a better chance of making you rest if
you stayed in the hospital." 
"Ah, Scully, you're picking up my deceitful ways." 
"As long as I've been around you, Mulder, something
was bound to rub off." She let one hand drift out and
touched his hair fondly. 
"Hee, hee, hee," Mulder teased in a raspy voice. "She 
said 'rub.'" 
Skinner rolled his eyes, then gave up to laughter, 
joining Scully's chortles. When the elevator opened, 
all three were still chuckling, and the agent waiting
to escort them stared wide-eyed at them before speaking.
"Gilroy, Sir," he said as they pulled themselves together.
"I'm to take you to the scene." 
One last guffaw escaped Skinner, then he cleared his
throat and straightened. He was back in his normal
attire, and one hand rose self-consciously to tug at
his tie, even as he was pushing Mulder's chair out
of the elevator. Scully was trying to quiet her
giggles, and Mulder had to swallow hard to wipe the
grin from his face. It was good to let loose with 
friends, but now it was time to work. 
*************************************** 
October 22, 1998
10:15 a.m. 
"Leave it," Mulder said shortly, when Gilroy popped
the trunk to remove the wheelchair. "I'll be on my
feet from here on in." He did take the hand Skinner
offered and let the bigger man help pull him to his
feet. He stood a moment, gathering strength and
courage, and a not insignificant portion of inner 
fortitude, then walked slowly up the narrow concrete
walk to the front of the Mother Goose Day Care Center. 
"Little Red Riding Hood. Hansel and Gretel." He
stared up at the sign of the matronly woman holding
a white goose. "Mother Goose." A frown pulled the
corners of his mouth down, and he muttered, "I would
have seen this if I'd been out." 
"You weren't ready to be out," Skinner said, using his
best 'drop it if you know what's good for you, Mulder,'
voice. Despite the warning in his tone, and the force
behind his comment, the AD was still surprised when 
his most troublesome agent actually did drop it. 
"Scully?" Mulder said softly when he reached the front
door. 
"Yes?" 
He cleared his throat uncomfortably, then swayed slightly.
"Uh, would you mind ..." One hand rose and shoved his
hair back almost angrily. "Can you check it out first,
Scully?" 
"Are you all right?" She was at his side immediately,
concern etched in her face. 
"Yeah." He reached out and put one hand on a brick
column for support. "I just feel a little ..." He turned,
leaning against the bricks, and stared out at the street.
"God! I hate this!" he swore under his breath. "Look,"
he turned his head to look at his partner, "I just need
a few minutes. And," he hung his head as if embarrassed,
"I'd kinda like to know what I'm facing." One hand
hovered over his abdomen. "I don't relish the thought
of being sick with stitches in my belly." 
"Mulder." Scully ran one hand along his arm. "You 
don't have to explain, and you certainly don't have to
feel guilty." She looked up, meeting Skinner's eyes
briefly and saw him nod. "You stay here with Walter
for a few minutes, and I'll go see what we're getting
into." 
"Be --" 
She lifted a hand. "I know. Be careful. I will. And
we won't touch or move anything." She pointed to
a cement bench off to the side of the building. "Go 
sit for a bit. I'll be back shortly." 
As she moved into the building, Skinner touched Mulder's
arm lightly. "C'mon. Let's sit." He led the other man
across the grass and watched as he lowered himself to
sit. Mulder's eyes were dark and he could almost see 
the man pulling away, going somewhere deep inside
himself. Somewhere cold and black and unfathomable
to the rest of the world, but somewhere where that 
brilliant mind would catch a killer. 
"It's more than just the fairy tale connection," he
mumbled. "Something happened here." He looked
up. "Nathan is what? Thirty now?" Skinner could
see Mulder calculating in his head. "How long has
this place been here?" 
Skinner shrugged, but pulled his phone and made a
call. When he was finished, he nodded. "He could
have gone here, yes. It was opened in '71. And, yes,
same owner." 
Mulder's eyes were closed now, and he was nodding
as if this only affirmed something he had already known,
and for all Skinner knew, perhaps he had. Mulder's
leaps of intuition were more than the older man could
follow, or understand. 
When his agent didn't speak again, he followed suit
and waited patiently. It was Scully who broke the 
silence. 
"OK," she said as she approached, "it's bloody, but
you can still identify the body. The wounds were --"
she paused a moment as she sat and touched Mulder's
shoulder. When he looked at her, she finished. "Lower." 
"Genitals?" 
"Yeah." 
"He was molested." 
"The owner? I don't think so ..." Her voice trailed 
off as Mulder shook his head and rose to his feet. 
"Not the owner, Scully. The Nibbler. He went here
as a child, and he was molested by this man. Probably
as a sick form of punishment." He took a few steps
toward the building, then paused, looking up at the
sign. "For biting." 
"How ..." Now it was her turn to shake her head as 
she followed her partner across the lawn. Never mind
how he knew. She was willing to bet they'd turn up
someone who could corroborate the scenario Mulder
had just laid out. 
The day care center was a converted house and Mulder 
entered into what had once been a living room. It was
now a playroom, filled with small tables, and shelves 
covered with toys and books. A banner over the door
read "Fun Fours." A TV and VCR sat on a rolling 
cart in one corner, and one wall was adorned with 
metal hooks and small wooden cubbies to hold the 
children's things. All were bare today. 
He moved through the playroom to a small 
hallway. A dogleg to his left would take him 
into the kitchen. From where he stood, he could 
see the commercial refrigerator, and the shining 
aluminum island added in a renovation years ago. 
Directly ahead was another hallway that led to an 
addition. Down the narrow hallway toward the 
back, he passed two bathrooms, each with plumbing 
fixtures low to the ground for the children's use. 
The addition was another large playroom, bigger
than the one up front. One side of this room was
taken up with cots that would be brought out and 
spread through all the classrooms for nap time. A
door to his left led out to a play yard, and walking 
through the room to the right led into another, smaller,
classroom. A sign on the doors said, "Tiny Twos." 
Mulder scanned this room quickly, then made another
right and entered a room with three tables and a wall
of toys. A bulletin board held crayon drawings and
proudly proclaimed, "Busy Bee Threes." It was only a
few steps through this room to be back in the original
hall. A glance to his right and he could see the doorway
back to the "Fun Fours" room. To his left was yet 
another classroom. This one had no clever label;
the sign on the door simply read "Kindergarten."
There was a piano in this room, and instead of tables,
there were fifteen small desks, in three neat rows. 
Mulder stood, breathing hard. It was coming next.
The body. The blood. The chance to outsmart a killer.
He turned right and strode down the hall to the small
office on the left of the hallway, just before the four
year olds' room. Where the other rooms had been
a vivid explosion of primary and secondary colors,
bright blues and greens and yellows, this room was
monochromatic red. Blood streaked the walls and
covered the floor and was even spattered on the low-hung
ceiling. A naked man lay on the floor, his body
deformed by the chunks of flesh that had been pulled
from his bones. Mulder glanced at the groin area,
then shuddered. 
"There's another room here, somewhere," he whispered.
"Where this man takes the children who've been bad." 
"But he's just the owner, Mulder." Scully looked at
a piece of paper she had gotten from the local police.
"The employees said he doesn't work with the children
directly. Never has." 
"Doesn't matter. It's here." Mulder sighed, then took
gloves from his pocket and donned them. 
"He only comes in a few days a week to do paperwork;
pay bills, write out paychecks, collect tuition." Scully
was shaking her head. "He doesn't have access to the
children." 
"Yes, he does." Mulder reached out and touched the
dead man's hand, then shivered as if shocked. "Just
have them look for the room, Scully. This house has
been added on to at least twice; there's bound to be a
couple of places with space unaccounted for." 
He moved into the tiny room, backing himself into a
corner, then lowering himself to squat against the 
wall. "I want pictures of it all." One hand waved 
at the room in general, then a long finger began to
point. "Body, clothing, the major wound site, walls,
ceiling, everything." He dropped his hand and stared
at the desk the man lay in front of. "Cause of death?" 
"What you're expecting, I'm sure." Scully looked
up from the man she was instructing to look for a
hidden room. "Blood loss." 
"The penis is missing?" 
"Yeah. And the testicles." 
Mulder nodded. He remained where he was while more
pictures were taken, then rose stiffly and went to the
desk. "Little Red Riding Hood. The wolf ate the 
grandmother." He looked up at Scully. "Why do we
tell children that story?" 
"To, uh, remind them, uh ..." She stopped, unsure. "I
don't know, Mulder. To warn about strangers? To
teach them to be careful?" 
"To make them think someone will always show up
at the last minute and rescue them?" Mulder's voice
was bitter, and Scully wondered how many, many hours
Mulder had spent as a boy waiting for someone to 
rescue his sister. 
"Hansel and Gretel?" Mulder was back at the body now,
stroking the bits of skin that had not been ruined by
the Nibbler's fierce attack. His voice was soft and 
almost dreamy as he asked, "What's the moral of that 
one?" 
Scully shrugged. This was so bizarre. Mulder was 
kneeling in blood, practically caressing a dead body,
and he wanted to know what the meaning of a fairy
tale was. She would never get used to this man. 
"Don't run away from home? Don't take candy from
strangers?" 
"But they didn't really run away, did they? The woodsman
led his children into the forest because he couldn't care
for them anymore." 
"Wasn't there a mean step-mother in that one?" 
"Nathan's mother died when he was three. The dad 
remarried almost immediately." 
Scully cocked an eyebrow. "Wicked step-mom?" 
"Maybe." 
"Day care as a form of abandonment?" 
Mulder shrugged. "To a three year old, sure. Why not?" 
"So why didn't Nathan put the body in the oven? Isn't
that what Hansel did to the witch?" 
Mulder shrugged again. "The man's insane. Who can
understand what motivates him?" He rose carefully,
then turned in a slow circle, cataloging the room. 
"Fairy tales, Scully. What other fairy tales do you 
know?" He was still turning, a slow spin that made
her dizzy to watch. 
"Just the usual. Sleeping Beauty. Cinderella. Snow
White." 
"Interesting." 
"What?" She reached out and stopped his spin. 
"Your choices." Mulder moved forward until he was
in the doorway, then leaned against the jamb. "All 
young women who are callously taken advantage
of and yet, still emerge triumphant." He smiled at
her. "Want my professional eval on what that says
about you?" 
She smiled wryly. "Not really. I suppose I could have
said something about Pinocchio and his *nose,* but I
was feeling charitable." 
Mulder snorted. "What else is there?" 
"We've about run through my Disney video collection.
I suppose Aladdin and Robin Hood might be considered
fairy tales. Or the Arthur legends." 
"Robin Hood. The classic good triumphs over evil
story. But you left out Beauty and the Beast." 
She smiled and leaned over to kiss him gently. "I'm
living that one." 
Mulder leaned down and nuzzled her hair. "My beauty,"
he whispered, then straightening, he went on more
seriously. "What about fables? What can you remember?" 
"The boy who cried wolf." She placed a hand on her
hip and pursed her lips. "Sour grapes." 
He looked up. "Sour grapes?" 
"Yeah, you know. The fox wants ..." 
"Fox? A fox?" Mulder was alert now. She could see the
hairs on his arms rise as every nerve ending stood on
edge. 
"Mulder, I know you've heard this. The fox wants some
grapes and he tries and tries to get them but is never
successful. At last he gives up and says he didn't want
the grapes anyway; they were probably sour." 
"I made a point never to listen to stories about foxes.
I'm probably the only person in my generation who never
saw The Fox and the Hound and never read Fox in Socks."
He sighed. "What else, Scully?" 
"Uh, let me see. Stone soup and Chicken Little." 
He shook his head. "No. What else with foxes?" 
"Oh. Well, there's the fox in the henhouse." 
Mulder froze. "Oh God." 
"What? Mulder, what?" 
"Mulder! Scully!" Skinner's voice was loud, booming 
from the back of the house. "You were right, Mulder."
The AD appeared down the hallway by the small bathrooms.
"You ready to look?" 
"Yeah." Mulder went first, following the AD, and Scully
trailed them both. 
The room was small, tucked away behind a false wall in 
a storage closet. It had a single bare light in the ceiling 
fixture with a dim bulb. There was a large, over-stuffed 
chair on one wall, and a cot on the other. Not the 
child-size cots in the playroom of the center, but a full, 
adult-size camp cot, with a single cotton sheet thrown 
over it. 
But it was the walls that captured and held the attention.
Covered almost floor to ceiling, children's faces stared
at them from the photo montage that papered the room.
Children of different ages, different sexes, different races
with one thing in common. Sad, empty, hollow eyes
that stared at the camera with hopelessness and a complete
lack of childhood innocence. The fruits of this man's 
sins stared down at them. 
All except for one place. Where a picture had been, now
there was only a tiny patch of drywall visible. Mulder
went and studied the empty space. "Nathan." He lifted
his hand to touch the wall, then stopped, staring in 
something akin to shock at his hands. "Scully," he
whispered. "I'm all bloody." 
"Shhhh, Mulder, no." She rushed to his side. "They're
gloves, Mulder, gloves." She peeled the latex from his
fingers, then passed the dirty gloves to Skinner. "You're
fine." 
He was staring at his now-clean hands. "I thought --"
His voice trailed away as he turned again to study the
walls, this time staring at the pictures surrounding the
hole. 
"What did you think?" Scully kept one hand on Mulder's
arm, supporting him, grounding him, keeping him sane. 
"I thought I was the fox in the henhouse. I thought I 
had turned on the chickens." He looked down at her, his
eyes dark and sad, then he reached out and pulled another
picture from the wall. A small, dark-haired girl, her
face marred with a vivid birthmark. "But it's not me." 
He thrust the picture at her, then turned to look at 
Skinner. "Do you know what 'Sterben' means?" 
"Sterben? Dr. Sterben? The psychologist?" Skinner's
confusion showed on his face. "Why should it mean 
anything?" 
Scully turned the picture over and read the back. 
"Renee Lafley." She flipped the photo again. "She 
looks like she's about four." 
Mulder was nodding. "That's about right." 
"Mulder, you'll have to enlighten us." Skinner spoke 
softly, trying to hide his frustration. 
"Sterben is German, Sir. It's a form of the word 'nibble.'"
He swallowed hard, then looked away. "It can also mean
'to die.'" 
"You're saying Dr. Sterben is part of this? She's
involved?" 
Mulder was nodding as he studied the other pictures.
He reached out again, pulling down another photo. 
"Olivia Holsteen." 
"Oh, God!" Scully was shaking her head, backing out
of the room. "Hannah Holsteen is with her." 
End part 08/11


Profiles in Caring: The Nibbler Case II 09/11 
October 22, 1998
11:30 a.m. 
"Dr. Sterben took Hannah out of the hospital." Skinner
put the cell phone back in his pocket. "The nurse on
duty didn't think anything of it, and they don't know 
where she's gone." 
"She's gone somewhere safe." Mulder said. "Somewhere
*she* feels safe. Probably her home." 
"Would she do that? Just go home?" Scully opened the
car door, waiting till Mulder was in, then trotted around
to the other side and joined him in the back. 
"Why not?" Mulder leaned his head back and closed his
eyes. He was quiet for a moment, and Skinner and Scully
waited. When he opened his eyes, he said, "She doesn't
realize we know who she is, or what she's doing. Yeah,
she would still feel safe at home." 
"What *is* she doing, Mulder?" Skinner nodded at the
agent driving and the car pulled away from the curb. 
Through the rear window, he could see another sedan
pull out and follow. Their protection. As if anything
or anyone could protect them from the man they sought. 
"She's trying to redeem herself." Mulder lifted both
hands and scrubbed at his face. "She's trying to 
understand." He dropped his head, then leaned against
the window, eyes closed. Exhaustion etched his features,
and weariness caused his shoulders to slump. "But it
won't work. God knows, I've tried." 
"Mulder?" Scully spoke softly and her hand slipped
across the seat to seize and then cradle his larger one.
"What have you tried?" 
He sighed heavily then turned his head to look at her.
"Why do you think I became a psychologist?" 
"I -- I always assumed it was something that fit your
particular talents, something that interested you. I
mean, I know you joined the FBI to search for Samantha,
but ..." 
"Not really true, Scully. I didn't start looking for Sam
until I'd been in VCS for a while. After I had that case
with Edward Skur and Arthur Dales, after I realized 
there was more to the FBI than just criminal profiling,
after I went to Werber and underwent hypnosis, *then*
I started to see how I could work for the FBI and look
for Samantha. But back then, back when I was just 
leaving home, it was the furthest thing from my mind. 
"Oxford doesn't really have a psych department, per se, 
just the Department of Applied Social Studies and 
Social Research." He squeezed her hand slightly. 
"It was the social research part that interested me. 
What caused some families to grow stronger in the 
face of a crisis, while others collapsed?" 
"Oh, Mulder ..." Scully's voice was soft, and in her mind
she could see the sad, young boy, just sixteen, heading
off to college two years early and an ocean away, trying
to make sense of what had happened to all that was familiar
and comforting. Her heart was breaking. 
"The Department included a lot of different disciplines, 
from prison and probation, to social policy, to sociology
and psychology. The BA was an Honors Degree in 
Human Sciences, then an MSc." 
"MSc?" 
"Master's, Science. It's actually in Applied Social Studies
if you read the whole sheepskin thing." He pulled his hand
from hers and scratched at his nose. "I went on and did 
the doctoral studies in social policy and social work, with
an emphasis on social deprivation and disadvantage which
sorta led into law enforcement." 
"Why deprivation and disadvantage if your initial
interest was family structures?" 
"My focus changed. I realized that despite the chasm
in my own life, the terrible upheaval Sam's disappearance
caused, it was nothing compared to what some people
went through." He was nodding now, as if reaffirming
some long ago decision. "Deprivation and disadvantage
tends to lead to anti-social behavior, which generally
means law enforcement gets involved. I was interning
in a program working with convicts' children, trying to
prevent second generation recidivism, when I got involved
in an active investigation." He frowned at the memory,
and took her hand again. "I found I had an ability to
see things other people missed." He chuckled dryly, 
and without humor. "And I found I had a weak stomach.
I contaminated three different scenes before I managed 
to learn how to control it somewhat." 
"And from that you got into the FBI?" Skinner's 
question was quiet, and Mulder looked up in surprise.
He had almost forgotten he and Scully weren't alone. 
"Not really. I'd been in England for years, and I
had friends." A flush darkened his cheeks and he
cast a furtive glance at his partner. "I even had a
girlfriend -- a first for me. I was going to stay." 
Scully suppressed a smile. Mulder found the oddest
things to be embarrassed about. "So what changed
your mind?" 
"Guilt," Mulder said shortly. "My dad convinced
me my mom wouldn't survive any longer with me so
far away. And I bowed to parental pressure and came 
back to the US. When I got here, I found I had been 
*recruited* by the Bureau." He shrugged. "I have no 
idea what strings he pulled or what favors he collected 
on, but it was an incredible feat, and I didn't have the 
energy to fight him. Besides, the whole Propps case 
was happening, and it caught my interest. So I went 
to work, and I stayed." 
"The Bureau's good fortune," Skinner said. 
Mulder lifted an eyebrow. "Really? Can I quote
you on that next time you have me on the carpet
for a lost phone or wrecked car?" 
"I said the *Bureau's* good fortune, not necessarily
mine," Skinner said gruffly. But there was a twinkle
in his eye and the slightest hint of a smile on his lips,
and Mulder nodded, satisfied. 
"Anyway," he went on, "I digress. I was just pointing 
out that psychology isn't going to necessarily let you
cure what ails you. It just doesn't work that way.
Renee Lafley, or Dr. Sterben, whatever she wants to 
call herself, isn't going to calm her demons by trying
to help others. She needs to deal with her own issues
first." 
"And you think that's what she's doing?" Skinner
was still twisted in the seat, the seat belt taut across
his chest as he tried to meet Mulder's eyes. 
"I think she's damaged. She was one of the victims
years ago. I suspect she's trying to protect, or help
other victims." 
"So why didn't she just turn him in?" The anger
in Scully's voice was almost overwhelming. "Why
not just go for the root cause, cut it out, then clean
up the mess?" 
Mulder shrugged. "She's still locked in the circle
of victim. Remember Karin Matthews? She was 
doing the same thing in a way. She was creating 
victims where they didn't exist. Sterben is trying 
to help victims without ending the victimization -- 
avoiding her own problems in the process, a 
self-defeating task at best." 
"All right, Mulder," Skinner said. "As interesting
as the whys are, the main thing is -- where is she?
Where is the child? And where is Nathan?" 
"She's at home. Hannah is with her, and Nathan is
wherever she's been hiding him." 
"She's hiding him?" Scully voice rose an octave
in disbelief. "Why on earth is she hiding him?" 
"She thinks she can save him. She probably knew
him as a child. They may have even been abused
at the same time, which is why she relates to him." 
"But -- what he's doing. Surely she can't want that
to go on?" 
"No. But she doesn't want Nathan punished either.
She feels he's already been punished enough." Mulder
sighed again, and shifted in the seat. "She wants to
make him see the error of his ways." 
"Excuse me, Sir?" Their driver spoke up as he pulled
the car to the curb. "This is it." 
**************************************** 
October 22, 1998
12:20 p.m. 
"What are you going to do? Hold me at gunpoint?"
Mulder snorted and looked at the house where Dr.
Anna Sterben, formerly Renee Lafley lived. Men and
women in dark jackets emblazoned with FBI, State
Police, and the local county crest surrounded the 
building, glimpses of an arm, a head, or a leg just
visible through the bushes and around the trees that
concealed them. 
Mulder shook his head again at the Kevlar vest Skinner
was holding out. "She's not going to shoot me. She's
against violence." 
"And you are *not* going in there without a vest! End
of discussion. And I won't have to hold you at gunpoint, 
you ass, I'll just handcuff you and throw you in jail." 
Skinner's patience was at an end. He held the vest 
out a moment longer, then slammed it into the trunk.
"Fine! Get in the damn car!" Skinner looked up, 
searching for a familiar face. "Gilroy! Take this
idiot back to the hospital and ..." 
"Walter." Scully's voice was soft, and her touch on
his arm gentle. He stopped speaking, took a deep
breath and looked down into her concerned eyes.
"Did you ask Mulder *why* he doesn't want to wear
the vest?" 
"Scully ..." 
"Shut up, Mulder." She continued to look up into
the AD's face. "You two are a lot alike, you know?" 
Skinner was shaking his head. "It doesn't matter 
why he doesn't want to wear it. It's policy, and it's
common sense." Skinner tore his eyes away from
Scully to glare at Mulder. "And he's *not* going
in there without it!" 
Mulder snorted in disgust and turned his back on 
Skinner. "Forget it, Scully. He's not being reasonable." 
"And neither are you, Mulder!" Scully snapped. "Now ..."
She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, then looked
up, watching a jet move by overhead as she counted 
to ten. "Tell Walter why you won't wear the vest." 
"No." 
"Mul - der-r-r ..." 
"No." 
"Jesus!" Scully looked down, then muttered to herself.
"My nephews are easier to deal with." She looked up
at Skinner. "He doesn't want to wear the vest because
he's injured, not at his strongest, and it's heavy." 
"Scul - lee!" 
"What? Heavy?" Skinner was mentally kicking himself.
He should have realized. It was just that, with Mulder,
it was so easy to forget when the man was hurting, 
because he himself ignored it so well. And besides,
he hadn't protested wearing the vest back at the deputy's
house. Skinner said as much. 
Mulder remained silent. 
"I suspect," Scully said, with a wry look at her 
disgruntled partner and her confused boss, that my
being in the house had something to do with what 
Mulder was willing to go through." 
Skinner thought about it. It made sense. The man
would have walked barefoot on tacks to get into that
house and to find Scully. And he had been barely
able to stand, relying on Skinner to support him as 
they'd moved through the house to the beat of the
metronome. There was no such motivation here,
and Mulder wasn't going to allow anyone to support
him if he didn't absolutely have to. Stubborn 
bastard. "Shit, Mulder, I'm sorry." Skinner was 
staring at the ground. 
"She's not violent," Mulder said. "She won't hurt
me. I know it." 
"I'm sure you think you do," Skinner said, his voice
low and understanding. "But I can't take that risk."
He nodded, dismissing Gilroy, then opened the car
door again. "Sit, Mulder. Wait here. I'll go in
and we'll bring her out." 
"She'll talk better on her own territory." His eyes
were downcast, but he let Scully ease him into the 
car. 
"Then we'll secure the place and *then* you can
come in." He checked the clasps on his own vest,
then straightened. "Agent Scully," he said, and there
was no mistaking that it was the Assistant Director
speaking and not their friend, "you will remain here
with Agent Mulder, is that clear?" 
"Yes, Sir," she answered, the words tumbling out of
her mouth almost against her volition. How the hell
did Skinner manage to evoke that Pavlovian response? 
"Do I need to assign Agent Gilroy to wait with you?" 
"No, Sir." She looked at Mulder, slumped in the seat.
"We'll be fine." She raised her eyes to meet the AD's.
"And we'll stay here." 
"Fine. And you'll understand that the agents who 
will remain with you are here for your protection,
not restraint?" When she nodded, Skinner turned
and headed for the house. 
It was over quickly, and within minutes a man emerged
from the small house, carrying Hannah. Gilroy came
out next, and approached the car. "The AD says you
can come in now." The agent was slightly breathless,
and a sheen of sweat covered his forehead. 
"What happened?" Mulder asked. 
"Nothing, really. You were right, Mulder. She was 
harmless. But after Skinner told her who we were, 
she opened a desk drawer and one of the deputies
panicked. It got tense for a few minutes, but I think
she was more afraid than we were." 
"She would be." Mulder was moving slowly up the 
stairs to the front door of the house. "She's confused.
Doesn't know what set of rules she wants to play by."
He entered the door, looked to his right to see Skinner
seated at a table, their suspect sitting beside him as 
they chatted companionably. "What was in the desk,
anyway?" he asked. 
"Yearbooks. Sorta like a paperback version of school
yearbooks. One for every year the day care has been 
open. Some of the pictures were circled." 
"Victims," Mulder said shortly, then he moved across
the room and joined Skinner and the woman at the
table. 
"Hello, Anna," he began, "or do you want to be called
Renee?" 
"It's not his fault!" The woman looked up and Mulder
could see the tear tracks on her cheeks. "You've got
to understand -- it's not his fault." 
"He was a victim, right, Anna?" 
The woman nodded. 
"Just like you." 
"No!" Her voice was strong and adamant. "Not me.
I'm not a victim!" 
Mulder cocked his head a moment, studying the woman.
"George was a victim," he began again, waiting for her
nod. "A victim like Renee?" Another nod, and Mulder
cast a quick glance at Skinner. The woman was more
damaged than he'd thought. 
"And you want to help the victims, right?" 
"I can help them! I know I can!" The woman drew a
deep, shuddery breath. "All my life, I knew that was 
what I would do. I would help the victims understand
it wasn't their fault. I would make them see they did
nothing wrong. For years I waited, holding on so that
one day I could get away." 
"And you did? You got away?" Mulder's eyes were
furrowed, a crease between his brows as he listened. 
She nodded. "I went to school. I studied. I learned 
it wasn't my fault. I decided I would make sure the 
others learned it wasn't their fault either." 
"Why didn't you just turn the bastard in?" Scully had
joined them, standing slightly to the side and behind 
Skinner. "I don't understand why you didn't just
turn him in." 
"Turn him in?" The young psychologist lifted horrified
eyes to stare at Scully. "Turn him in?" She shook her
head vigorously. "Oh, no. I couldn't turn him in." 
"Why not?" Skinner's voice was mildly curious, his
tone soft and even. 
"Why not?" The woman turned to look at Skinner,
then back at Mulder. "Why not?" she repeated.
"I couldn't turn him in. Not my own father." 
***************************************** 
October 22, 1998
2:00 p.m. 
"Let me talk to her alone for a while." Mulder looked
back at the table from the kitchen where he stood
with Skinner and Scully. Anna was sitting quietly,
sipping a cup of tea as she waited for them to return.
"We're not getting anywhere this way." 
Skinner was silent a moment, then nodded. "You see
if she'll tell you where Nathan is while Scully and I 
check on whether or not the man at the day care really
was her father." 
"He was." Mulder had obviously put that detail aside
as settled. "But you'll have to do the legwork on it
anyway; now's as good a time as any." He seemed
tense, preoccupied somehow, and Scully and Skinner
had both noticed. They exchanged a glance and the
the AD excused himself, walking rapidly out the
front to start the inquiries into Renee Lafley and
Anna Sterben. 
"Mulder," Scully asked, laying a hand on his arm, 
"are you OK with this?" 
He shook his head. "Not really. You know, I really
started out as a bleeding heart liberal, trying to save
the world. But working with people who had no 
conscience, had no soul, I rapidly switched my tune.
There are some people, like Anna out there," he jerked
a thumb over his shoulder, "who are confused, terribly
damaged, but salvageable. It'll be hard, and take a lot
of work with someone very good, but I think she can
be saved. But ..." Mulder shuddered slightly as he
spoke, "someone like Nathan is beyond repair. Something
broke in him at an early age, or maybe it was never
even there, and the only way the rest of the world will
ever be safe from him is if he is locked away forever." 
He placed his hand over Scully's and drew a deep breath.
"I think I was very close to that breaking point, back in
my teens. I don't know what happened, what made me
move in the direction I did, but it could have gone
either way for me. For a long time, I just didn't care
what happened to anyone." 
"I know what happened," Scully said softly. "What
happened is you have the most generous heart of anyone
I have ever known, and there was no way you were 
going to ever be or do things that would cause others
the kind of pain you experienced." She moved into
his arms, embracing him. "The kind of pain you 
still carry." 
He tipped his head down and brushed the top of
her head with his lips. "Not so much anymore,
Agent Scully. I've got someone to lean on now.
Someone who helps me keep my perspective."
His chin rested on her head, and her hands stroked
his back. 
"Just you remember that, Mister," she said lightly.
"And don't do anything foolish." 
"I'm only foolish for you, Scully," he whispered, 
leaning down to capture her with a kiss. 
When she could breathe again, she answered. "That's
what I'm afraid of, Mulder." 
*********************************** 
October 22, 1998
3:10 p.m. 
"All right. Thank you." Skinner closed the phone as
he watched Mulder walk through the living room and
out the door. He moved toward the agent that now
sat with Anna and nodded a question. 
"He just talked with her for a long time, then got up
and said he needed some air." The agent was on his
feet, suddenly worried he'd done something wrong. 
There was a standing order that Agent Mulder was not
to be left unaccompanied, but there were agents 
outside, and he had radioed to tell them the man was
coming out. 
"Did he seem OK?" Skinner was watching as Mulder
opened the car door and slid into the passenger seat,
settling back as if to rest. One of the agents standing
guard in the drive walked over and spoke to him, and 
Mulder smiled, said something, then leaned his head 
back and closed his eyes. The agent stood there a
moment, then walked the few yards back to the 
driveway. 
"I suppose." The man Skinner was talking to was
from the local office, and hadn't worked with Mulder
before. "I don't really know him, you know. He
seemed really tired, but satisfied, if that makes any
sense." 
"Like he'd gotten what he wanted, and was ready to
rest?" Skinner's senses were on alert. Mulder never
wanted to rest when he'd gotten an answer he'd been
seeking. He glanced around for Scully, but she wasn't
back from the late lunch run yet. 
He looked back out the window, opening his phone
to call her, even as he began moving toward the
door to go and talk to Mulder himself. 
But it was too late. He watched in horror as Mulder 
calmly closed the door, slid across the seat, and drove
away, leaving a half dozen of America's finest staring
with their jaws dropped open. 
Skinner broke into a trot, hit the grass outside with
a leap from the porch and was bellowing, "Follow
him! Follow him!" even as a voice came through 
the forgotten phone in his hand. 
"Walter! Walter!" The desperation in Scully's voice
was clear, even before he lifted the phone to his ear. 
Cars were peeling out of the driveway and away from
the curb, tires squealing, agents cursing. One sedan 
plowed into the mailbox in its haste to get onto the
street, and Skinner saw the passenger cuff the driver's
head, before the vehicle found its way to the street 
and took off after the others. 
"Get back, Scully," he growled into the phone. "Forget
lunch, forget food, forget it all." He paused a moment,
gathering the frayed threads of his temper. 
"What the hell happened back there, Walter?" Scully's
voice was a mix of frustration and fear and he answered
in kind. 
"Your idiot partner just ditched us." 
End part 09/11 
Profiles in Caring: The Nibbler Case II 10/11 
October 22, 1998
3:30 p.m. 
No sign of pursuit. He'd lost them. Mulder smiled
grimly as he made a left onto the road that led to the
lake. It wasn't really a triumph because both Scully
and Skinner were going to have his ass -- if he lived
through this. But there was no way he was going to
risk Scully around Nathan -- not now. Skinner was
right. He'd marked her. 
And while he had been able to talk to Anna Sterben, 
even reason with her, Nathan was another thing entirely.
He was quick, and clever, and whatever injuries he'd 
suffered in the fight and the fall from the cliff seemed
to be bothering him very little. He was mobile, and
had a safe place to retreat to, and he was completely
without morals or a conscience. There would be no
reasoning with this man. And even if they outnumbered
him, outflanked him, outthought him, the Nibbler was
perfectly capable of plucking Scully from their midst
and killing her, with no thought that he would die in
the process. In the mind of George Nathan, he had 
already been dead for a long, long time. 
No, Mulder shook his head again, it was too dangerous
for Scully to be in the same state with this man, let
alone involved in a manhunt. He could only hope
that Anna would keep her word and give Skinner the
message at the right time. 
He glanced at his watch. About fifteen more minutes 
to the lake house Nathan was staying at. He drove 
with one hand, the other checked the gun that lay on
the seat next to him. After the mad dash out of the
quiet residential neighborhood, he'd slipped into a
car wash, and waited patiently while the agents 
pursuing him cruised past. He'd used the wait time
to his advantage, checking the car for anything he
could use in the upcoming confrontation. He was 
fortunate that whoever's vehicle this was, it was an 
agent who believed in being prepared. There'd been 
a handgun and spare ammo in the trunk, as well as 
a rifle and a shotgun. He might be injured, but he 
wasn't going in unarmed. 
************************************ 
October 22, 1998
3:30 p.m. 
Skinner stood eerily still, his face suffused with rage.
He closed the phone with studied deliberation and laid
it on the table with exaggerated care. 
Around her, Scully could see the other agents moving
backwards, some unconscious self-preservation warning
kicking in, and she forced herself not to follow. Even 
these people, people who had never worked with the 
AD before, even they could see an explosion was imminent. 
Skinner clenched his fists, then turned slowly till his 
back was facing the room. The muscles in his arms
corded, drawing the linen of his shirt taut across his
biceps, and in the silence of the room, Scully heard
the tiny 'rip' that signaled a seam's surrender. Her
only thought was the seam had taken the right path;
surrender was the only option in the face of the 
elemental storm that was about to be unleashed. 
The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and goosebumps 
erupted on her arms. She was suddenly aware of a 
low sound, something deep and primal and seeming
to come from nowhere and everywhere all at the same 
time. It took her a minute to track, and when she
did, she realized Skinner was growling. Not the 
normal gruff tone he used to hide his emotions,
but an animalistic sound from deep in his throat
that resonated through the room. 
One of the younger agents swallowed audibly, then
bolted out the front door. Scully risked a glance
at the others. Each person in the room seemed
frozen, immobilized by the spectacle of the normally
taciturn Assistant Director as he struggled for 
control. Skinner drew a deep breath, his shoulders
rising upward as he pulled air in, his chest expanding, 
growing ever larger, until Scully began to fear for
the shirt's survival. More stitches gave and she
caught a glimpse of T-shirt visible through the
tear on the left side. 
But her observation of the shirt's demise was 
interrupted by a roar of rage, a deep, wordless
howl of anger that poured out of the AD's throat
like a cataract off the edge of a cliff. One arm
lifted and a huge fist slammed into the plaster
wall and Scully was sure she heard bones breaking.
She launched herself at the other arm that was rising,
wrapping her arms around his bicep and feeling
her feet come off the floor. "Walter! No!" she
screamed into the ear that was now at the level
of her lips. Looking back over her shoulder,
she cried, "Help me!" 
"No!" Skinner bellowed, and the agents who had
finally broken the spell of immobility froze again.
The massive arm went down, and Scully felt solid
ground beneath her feet once more. "Get them out
of here, Scully," Skinner said in a barely audible
voice. 
"Yes, Sir." She turned and spoke to the ranking
official, who in turn spoke to his people. In short
order, the room was clear. 
"All right," she said, her equilibrium restored by
the knowledge that Skinner hadn't gone completely
over the edge, "can you get it out of the wall yourself?" 
Skinner grunted and pulled, and his left hand emerged
in a bloody ball from the wall. 
"Is it broken?" she asked, knowing there was no point
in scolding. 
"I think so." Skinner's voice was back to normal, the 
rage replaced with sheepishness and a tinge of pain. 
"Hmmphf," she snorted. "I don't suppose you'll go
to the hospital and let someone trained to deal with
these things look at it?" 
A single shake of the head was her answer. 
"No, I knew that was too much to hope for." She 
sighed, then took his arm and tugged, leading him
to a chair. "Sit. I'll go get my bag. Don't destroy
anything else while I'm gone." 
Skinner nodded, then rested his head in the hand 
that was uninjured. 
When she returned, she quickly cleaned the wounds,
then taped the hand. Once finished she sat back and
looked at her work critically. "When we find him, 
you'll have to go to the hospital, too, and get this 
X-rayed and set properly." 
"I know." Skinner wiggled his fingers experimentally
and winced. "Stupid, stupid, stupid." 
"Well, you've got that much right." Scully closed the
bag with a 'snick' of the latch, then rose. "What the
hell brought that on?" 
"They lost him. Three fucking cars full of highly trained
agents, and they fucking *lost* him!" Skinner's face
was coloring again, and Scully reached out to touch
his arm. 
"No more walls," she warned. "And what did you expect?
This is Fox Mulder we're talking about. You thought he'd
just let them tag along?" She shook her head. "He's the
one that needs to be punched out." 
Skinner grunted. "Don't think I haven't considered it.
What the hell does he think he's doing?" 
Scully sighed again. "What he always does. Trying to 
protect the people he loves." She smiled fondly, even
as she spoke with irritation. "The idiot." 
******************************************** 
October 22, 1998
4:10 p.m. 
Mulder drove past for the third time in fifteen minutes. 
If he made too many more sweeps, he would surely
catch Nathan's attention. He studied the small lake
house as carefully as he could while driving slowly
past, then continued on for half a mile and pulled 
the car over. He climbed cautiously out of the
vehicle, then began to set himself up for the trek
back to the house. 
The unknown agent's extra Sig went into his belt,
beneath the jacket he wore. The speedloader and
extra ammo filled the jacket's left pocket. He
studied the rifle and shotgun for a moment, before
choosing the shotgun. He filled the other pocket
with shells, then cracked the gun open and loaded
it. He closed it with a theatrical, one-handed 
shake, smiling wryly at his own warped sense
of humor. Here he was, far from recovered
from his last run-in with this man, and yet,
he was amusing himself with bad takeoffs on
every Stallone and Schwarznegger film ever
made. Life was, indeed, strange. 
The late autumn afternoon was darkening. Clouds
obscured the sun and a cool breeze blew up off
the water. The area was deserted. The last of the
summer people were long gone, and the staid
year-rounders were at work and about their business, 
or tucked up safe in their snug homes, content
without the knowledge that a killer lurked in their
midst. 
Mulder stared up at the road back to the house.
He smiled again, nothing wry or amusing this
time, his teeth bared in a feral display that would
have made even the fiercest animal reconsider its
attack plans. He checked the gun at his waist once
more, hefted the shotgun into a position he could
carry and shoot from, and readied himself to confront
his quarry. 
A sound echoed softly in the stillness and he turned
to stare out over the uneasy water. Bits of sunlight, 
escaping through the gray clouds, struck the lake 
and sparkles skittered across its surface. Tiny 
ripples moved with ease and grace, erupting in the 
wake of fish and flowing outward in never-ending 
circles till they reached the shores. A speck of 
darkness in the sky caught his eye and he watched
as a winged killer dove at a ripple, disappeared
beneath the water and then emerged, its prey held
tight in its beak. 
The natural order of things. 
Survival of the fittest. 
Predator or prey. 
Kill or be killed. 
Mulder pulled back on the shotgun's pump, heard the
satisfying 'click' that signaled a round had entered the
chamber, and turned back to the road. 
It was time to go find Nathan. 
**************************************** 
October 22, 1998
4:30 p.m. 
"Excuse me?" Anna Sterben's voice was soft and hesitant
and she had to speak again to attract attention. "Agent
Parks?" 
The woman who was currently on watch turned and stared
down at the psychologist. Her face was a mask but her 
eyes betrayed her disgust with the young woman's actions.
"Yes?" she replied in a correctly civil tone. 
"I need to speak with the Assistant Director, please."
Anna kept her eyes down and avoided eye contact. In
the hour since Agent Mulder had made good his 'escape,'
she'd been subjected to many looks from most of the 
law enforcement officials who had taken over her house,
and none of them had been the least bit understanding.
But the worst of the lot were the Bureau people. Which,
she knew, only stood to reason, since Mulder was one
of theirs, and they were all concerned for his welfare.
Now she waited quietly for Agent Parks to bring the
Assistant Director so that she could pass on Mulder's
message. 
"The Assistant Director is busy, Dr. Sterben," Parks
stated in the perfect politically correct voice. 
"But I need to see him." Anna risked a look upward,
then dropped her head again at the anger and disgust
that blazed from the other woman's eyes. "It's important,"
she added quietly. 
Parks snorted lightly and turned her back on the 
woman who had concealed a killer. She gazed out 
at the street where Skinner paced back and forth, 
a phone plastered to his ear. "I'm sure you think so, 
Doctor, but the Assistant Director has more important 
things to do than soothe your conscience." She took a 
step away from the table, physically distancing herself 
from the woman seated there, and pointedly turned up 
the volume on her radio, her attention focused on the 
search activities that were being orchestrated from 
Anna Sterben's yard. 
"Please ..." Anna said, in a low, tense voice. 
"This is my chance to make amends. Please ..." 
Her pleas went unacknowledged. 
**************************************** 
October 22, 1998
4:30 p.m. 
Mulder looked through the window again and
noted that Nathan had not moved from his seat
before the TV. Pictures flickered across the screen
and the sound poured out as an indistinguishable
drone, barely audible through the window. As 
he watched, Nathan tossed a beer can at the trash can,
missed, gave a thoughtless shrug, and hooked another
can from the half-decimated six-pack at his feet. 
Mulder crouched in the bushes outside the small frame 
house and checked his watch. If Dr. Sterben could be 
trusted, she should be talking to Skinner -- alone --
right now, and he would be organizing backup.
Knowing Skinner, he would be in a car and on his
way immediately. The man was probably ready to 
kill him as it was. That alone should fuel his desire
to reach the lake house quickly. 
And Scully. Scully would be furious. First that he
had ditched her -- again. And secondly, that he had
successfully enlisted Skinner into a ditch of his own.
She was going to kill them both. But Scully tended
to have an insufficient sense of self-preservation in
his opinion, especially when it came to anything that
threatened him. It was one of the things they fought
about. She insisted it was her responsibility, her
obligation, her *job,* to always be there for him. 
And she berated herself heartlessly if anything happened
to him. As his partner, she took every bump and 
bruise he acquired as a personal affront to her ability 
to protect him. And sometimes it made her blind to 
the need to protect herself. 
Mulder shook his head. Of course, logical Scully always
argued that he did the same thing ... But, damn it! It
wasn't the same! This wasn't some run-of-the-mill
pervert or killer they were after. This was a specific
man, with a specific grudge, against a specific agent.
And Nathan's desire to hurt Mulder meant he was going
to go after Scully again, if he had the chance. At 
this point, unless Nathan was so far detached from
reality, and Mulder didn't think he was, the man would
have to know he wasn't going to survive this last 
confrontation. Sure knowledge of one's death tended 
to make one do things without thinking. Take chances
they normally wouldn't take. Attack and kill beautiful,
smart, and sexy redheads with no regard to the fact
they were signing their own death warrant. 
Mulder shuddered. It was a vision too horrible to 
contemplate. He'd been alone his whole life. Alone
and lonely and not even really aware of the lack in his
life. Focused. He'd stayed focused. Focused on school
Focused on the job. Focused on the hunt. It had kept 
him afloat, been his lifeline, but it hadn't kept him 
sane. He'd been sliding more and more into madness
when he worked in VCS. It had been easier and easier
to crawl into a killer's skull, and harder and harder to
crawl out. 
Then that weird case with Arthur Dales had come along,
and he'd found his way to Dr. Werber. Between the two,
it had changed the focus of his life. Changed his focus.
But nothing had gotten between him and his obsessions.
Not even Diana. Nothing, that is, until a certain young
doctor knocked on his basement door all those years ago.
She'd forced him to explain himself. Made him find the
reason in the obscurities he pursued. Insisted he back
up belief with fact, and in doing so, had restored his
credibility and his reputation in an organization that 
had been one step away from removing him permanently. 
And when the Bureau pulled him out of his pet projects,
and insisted he use his profiling skills, she kept him 
from sliding into the sewers so far that he drowned 
in the putrid reek of a killer's soulless mind. 
She gave him balance. 
She kept him sane. 
She made him whole. 
She was *not* going to be the Nibbler's venue for
retribution against the man that locked him away
all those years ago. 
Mulder rose slightly from his crouch and peered through
the window, then drew himself up completely. The TV
droned on happily, but the chair was empty. "Fuck!"
he breathed, and he whirled around, right into the 
barrel of a .38. 
"Language, language," the Nibbler laughed, and then
the world went black. 
***************************************** 
October 22, 1998
4:40 p.m 
"If the AD wants to talk to you, he'll be the one to 
ask." Parks turned and looked down at the woman,
her eyes as cold as if she were dissecting a bug. 
"Please, you don't understand," Anna said. "It isn't
about me." 
"No, it's not!" Parks snapped. "It's about all those 
children your father molested, and that monster out
there that bites people to death. It's about good men
like Gresham, who'll never be an agent again, and 
Deputy Holsteen who died while you did who knows
what with that bastard." She drew a breath angrily. 
"And now, *now,* it's about Agent Mulder, who's 
gone off to find that animal alone." She bent down 
close, her face almost touching the other woman's. 
"Went alone because of something you did. Something
you said. Maybe even something you *are.*" She
drew back and Anna thought she was going to spit on 
her. "You think about that while you sit here. And 
you *wait* for the AD to come to you!" 
***************************************** 
October 22, 1998
4:45 p.m. 
Mulder woke. One eye was swollen shut, and he could
feel dried blood on the side of his face and pooled in 
his ear. His left shoulder ached, the pain spreading 
down from the shoulder socket through the bicep and
down his forearm. It was pulled back at an awkward
angle and he wondered if it was dislocated. He drew
a breath, shuddering as his chest moved and the rib
cage rose. His whole abdomen was beyond consideration. 
He'd been stripped to his shorts and was tied to a 
chair. The rope securing him cut into his skin deeply
at ankles, knees, elbows, and across his chest. He had
some movement of his hands, the rope being tightest
around his chest and elbows. His hands were under
one loop of cord, and by twisting his body and pulling
hard, and through the bloody sacrifice of a layer of
skin, he was able to free them and even bring them 
together in his lap. But he couldn't reach any of the
knots and he had nothing with which to cut the rope.
He pulled at the bonds, testing them, and was not 
surprised when the rope didn't move. Blood dotted 
his body, his arms, chest, right thigh. Through the 
blood on his leg, he could see the human teeth marks 
and his stomach heaved. 
He scanned the room carefully. It was a bedroom.
The only furniture was a bed and chest of drawers
and the straight-backed kitchen chair he was tied
to. A single window looked out over the wooded
yard, and he could see the path that led to the dock.
The bird he had watched earlier, or another just 
like it, drifted across the lake in lazy circles, riding
the thermals as it watched the water. 
He shifted again, feeling the chair rock, and he caught
his breath as it threatened to tip over. A quick glance
at the closed door showed he was still alone, and he
breathed in relief. There was no telling where Nathan
was, or what he was doing. Mulder shifted again, and
the chair inched forward, an almost imperceptible 
movement that brought him fractions closer to the 
chest and caused an explosion of pain across his belly.
He bit down hard, teeth grinding against each other, 
and moved again, making slow but steady progress
toward the chest of drawers, and the wonders that 
could be concealed therein. 
**************************************** 
October 22, 1998
5:00 p.m. 
"I have to go to the bathroom." 
Agent Parks frowned, but nodded, and then rose,
indicating Anna could stand as well. She placed 
one hand on the doctor's arm and led her through
the living room and toward the hall where the bathroom
was. 
As they passed in front of the door, Anna gave
a mighty yank, ripped her arm free, and bounded
outside. She headed straight for Skinner, screaming,
"Please! I need to talk to you!" 
One of the deputies in the yard tackled her, and she
went down heavily. The air was knocked from her
lungs and she lay there, struggling to breathe. The 
man that had taken her down was big, at least eight
inches taller than her and twice her weight, and he
made no move to rise. She shoved at him ineffectually,
and he only grabbed her wrists and pinned her more
securely. 
The commotion had attracted Skinner's attention, and
he was striding across the yard now, Scully following
close behind. 
"Please," she wheezed, still gasping for air. "Please!"
She looked up at the big man who nodded at the deputy.
There was a movement and the mass of brown uniform
that had covered her rose and was gone. "I need to speak
with you." 
Agent Parks was there now, and looking daggers at
her, but Anna cast her from her thoughts. All that 
mattered was getting this man to listen to her. Away
from the redhead. That was what Agent Mulder had
said. Talk to Skinner away from Scully. 
"I'm sorry, Sir," Thelma Parks was saying. "She said
she had to go to the bathroom and she bolted when we
passed the door." The woman dropped her head. "I
should have been more alert." 
Anna looked up from where she lay, spread-eagled in
the grass, and tried again. "Mr. Skinner. I need to 
talk to you!" 
He looked at Parks who shrugged. "She's been going
on like this for about half an hour. Every five minutes." 
"And you didn't call me?" Skinner's voice was granite,
cold and hard and rough. 
Parks swallowed hard and for the first time, began to 
wonder if she'd made a serious error in judgment. "No,
Sir," she replied. "You were occupied with the search
for Agent Mulder and the killer. She," Parks glared at
Sterben, "wouldn't tell me what it was about." 
"It's important," Anna spoke, aware she was finally
being listened to. "I need to speak to you. Alone." 
"I'll talk to you later, Agent Parks." Skinner's eyes
were stone as he dismissed the woman and watched her
walk away. "All right," he said to Anna, "talk." 
Anna cast a look at Scully. "I can't. I'm supposed 
to talk to you alone. He said." 
"Who said?" Scully was suddenly even more alert.
"Mulder?" 
Anna nodded miserably. Not only had she failed at
relaying the man's message, when she'd finally gotten
to Skinner, Scully was there, too. "I was supposed to
speak to you," she nodded at Skinner, "alone. At
four thirty." 
Skinner looked at his watch. "Fuck!" 
Scully reached out and gripped the woman's arms, 
shaking her. "What did he say?" Skinner moved
and she skewered him with a look. "Don't even think
of it," she warned as she shook Anna again. "Where
is he?" 
Anna looked at Skinner who shrugged. "Dr. Sterben,
I'm not going to cross this woman now, and I suggest
you don't either. What did Agent Mulder tell you?" 
"He went out to my lake house to talk to George, and
he would like you to please come out, with 'backup,'
he said." 
"When?" 
"As soon as you got my message." 
Scully released the woman and started for a car. This
time it was Skinner who followed, phone to ear even 
as he bellowed instructions to the agents and deputies
in the yard. He yanked open the passenger door and
climbed in, one leg still on the ground as Scully pulled
away. 
One hand gripped the steering wheel as she drew
her weapon and checked the chamber. 
"I'm going to kill him myself." 
End part 10/11 
Profiles in Caring: The Nibbler Case II 11/11 
October 22, 1998
5:20 p.m. 
It was awkward. He could stand, in a sort of half-crouch,
with the chair tied to his back, but walking was out of
the question. Every move he made, every noise he 
heard, and his heart raced. Shifting the chair had taken
forever, but he was here, standing before the dresser
now, and he'd managed to inch the top drawer open.
With his hands severely restricted, he could barely
reach into the drawer and rummage. It was mostly
junk, old batteries, a plastic flashlight, a hairbrush,
socks and underwear. Nothing he could use to cut
the ropes that held him. Nothing he could use as
a weapon. 
The drawer gave a mighty squeak as he closed it,
echoing in the stillness of the room, and magnifying
itself to a roar in his ears. He froze, still bent over,
and huddled there, waiting for Nathan to charge 
through the door. 
But the silence continued. 
He edged the second drawer open. This was more
hopeful. He found a hammer and screwdriver here,
and a plastic box of picture hanging nails. He rifled
through the hardware, still searching, praying for a 
knife or razor. His prayers went unanswered, but he
did find a lighter. It was silver, with a fraternity crest 
embossed on the front, and his hands shook as he lifted
it. He passed it to his right hand, almost dropping it
in the process, then managed to flip the top open
and flick the striker. 
Nothing. 
He tried again. 
Nothing. 
He could feel sweat bead on his brow as he tried 
for the third time. 
The lighter caught, sputtered, and went out. 
He swore softly, under his breath, said yet another
prayer, and tried once more. 
Yellow flame flickered up, caught, and held. 
He sighed in relief, then winced as he thought of
what he would have to do. He brought the fire up
to the rope, feeling the warmth against his chest.
Soon the warmth turned to hot, and then to burning,
as the rope caught and began to flame. His skin
scorched, and he could smell hair burning, and then
charred flesh, but the rope was loosening, falling
away, and at last, his arms and torso were free. 
He beat frantically at his chest, bile rising up in
his mouth at the odor, then forced himself to bend
and work on the ropes at his knees and ankles. 
He was able to direct the flame more cautiously
with his hands free, but his hands themselves were
badly burned, and his coordination left a lot to be
desired. 
The last rope fell away and he rose unsteadily,
stumbling to the bed and collapsing. He could
hear the TV through the closed door and could only
assume Nathan was still involved in whatever he
was watching. Though that thought was what had
gotten him caught in the first place. 
He looked around for a way out. The door was out,
and the window was nailed shut. He could use the
chair to break the window, but contrary to popular
belief, he really wasn't completely foolish, and he
knew he would never be able to outrun or outfight
the man in front of the television. Once he broke 
the window, Nathan would certainly come, and it
would be the end. 
A wave of pain crashed over him and he swallowed
the cry that tried to escape. Where the hell was
Skinner? Had Anna Sterben forgotten her promise,
or simply decided not to honor it? 
There was the sound of someone moving in the front
room, audible even over the TV, and Mulder froze. 
Nathan was coming. 
He would have to try to run. 
He went back to the bureau, grabbed the hammer and
screwdriver, and then grabbed the chair. 
Behind him, the door creaked as it began to open. 
Outside, he heard cars squealing to a stop, and he 
took hope for the first time in what seemed a very 
long time. 
It took all his energy to lift the chair and heave it 
into the window. Glass shattered and wood splintered,
and behind him he heard a roar of rage. There was
no time to look at Nathan, no time for care with the
glass shards. He threw himself through the window,
feeling something slice his left arm, and then he was
rolling, rolling, rolling. The world grayed for a
moment and he thought he would pass out, but then
it was back in focus, and he scrambled to his feet,
turning to get his bearings. Nathan was between 
him and the road, and behind him he could see Skinner
and Scully -- Scully!! -- pouring out of a car with 
other agents and deputies following suit. Nothing
mattered but that Nathan *not* see Scully. 
He turned toward the lake and began to run, an
abbreviated hop-skip movement that jarred his belly,
sent ripples of pain up his legs and arms, and caused
a major explosion in his head. The bottoms of his
bare feet were quickly bruised and bloody as he moved 
through glass and then onto the sticks and stones that
littered the path to the dock. He ignored it all, with 
only one thought on his mind. 
He had to keep Nathan focused on him, and away
from Scully. 
Shots rang out and he threw himself to the ground,
rolling painfully down the hill toward the lake. 
Someone had started shooting at Nathan! 
He thought he heard Skinner screaming for the shooting
to stop, and mentally gave the man a thank you. Though
death by friendly fire might be preferable to whatever
Nathan would find to do to him. 
He forced himself up again, and continued his steady 
progress toward the dock. If he could get Nathan out
over the water, perhaps he could take him over the 
edge and hold him there until it was too late for them
both. It was all he could think of. The only way to
keep the man from coming back for Scully sometime
in the future. The only way to make sure that Scully
lived. 
The hammer dropped from his hand, forgotten, and he
forced himself to keep moving. Nathan was slowed 
because he didn't know, as Mulder did, that the agents
wouldn't start firing again. It was buying him precious
time to make it to the dock. 
He shuffled a few more yards, then stumbled as his
foot caught on the wood of the dock. He rolled 
forward, then rose again and shambled out, out to
the end of the dock. 
Out to the end of his life. 
Overhead, the hawk screamed, and Mulder looked
up again, watching as it folded its wings and dove
at the water. 
"Here, Nathan," he rasped hoarsely, "here I am." 
The man was at the edge of the dock now, the hammer
Mulder had dropped gripped in one hand. It gave
Mulder a very bad feeling. 
"Come and get me." 
Scully was scrambling down the path to the dock, her
weapon raised. He saw her line up on Nathan, then
trip on an exposed root, and fall. Skinner scooped
her up as he passed, setting her on her feet, then 
raced forward. 
Too late. They were too late. 
"Scully!" The name was wrenched from his lips,
torn from his heart, ripped from his soul. 
Nathan was on him, the hammer coming down once,
twice, a third time! There was screaming in his ears,
the sound of someone dying, and it took him a moment
to realize it was him. The arm he'd lifted to protect 
himself, the already damaged left arm, now lay useless
beside him, broken in at least two places. The hammer 
came down again, and he felt a rib break, and the air
raced out of his lungs with a sharp pain. 
"Closer, you bastard," he whispered, gathering what
remained of his strength. "Closer ..." If he had to be
a fish, he'd be damned if Nathan was going to soar free
as the hawk. 
The hammer went up, and the hawk screamed again,
this time right in his ear. There was a loud crack, and
Nathan fell onto him, blood pouring from a hole in
his stomach. A shadow loomed over them both, the
hawk come to get them, and then it resolved itself into
Skinner. The AD was tugging at Nathan, but Mulder 
had his arms wrapped around the man, holding him 
tight. Skinner didn't understand how dangerous Nathan
was, how hard it was to kill a man like this. And 
killing him was the only way to be sure Scully was safe.
He pulled and rolled, and went off the edge of
the dock, taking the Nibbler with him to rest in the
cool, still water. 
Down, down, down. 
To sleep with the fishes. 
*************************************** 
October 22, 1998 
5:35 p.m. 
"Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!"
Skinner was shedding clothes as fast as he could;
suit coat, then shirt and tie. Shoes flew off his
feet. He paused a moment to reach out and snag
Scully as she made to fly off the end of the dock. 
"NO!" He held her a moment then unbuckled his
holster and dropped it and the gun at her feet.
"You. Wait. Here." He looked up to see Gilroy
on the dock now, almost to them. "Gil -- she stays
out of the water, got it?" 
Scully's weapon was up now, trained on Skinner, and
he stared her down. "What are you going to do, Dana?
Shoot me? Or let me fish him out?" 
Her arm trembled, but she lowered the weapon, dropping
her head. "Get him, Walter. Get him." 
Skinner nodded, then dove, a long, shallow dive that
took him out, away from the dock, but saved him from 
the possibility of hidden dangers in the water. The 
water was cold, a shock to his system, and it knocked 
the air from his lungs. He surfaced and gulped, 
shivering in the wind, then turned and swam back to 
the dock. A look up to get his bearings, then he went 
down. 
The first body he found was Nathan's, hanging suspended
in the water by one of the pilings, the pants caught on a
protruding nail. He shoved the body aside and went 
deeper, peering through the murky waters until his 
lungs were ready to burst. He rose to the surface, 
drew three deep breaths, and went down again.
Small fish had already gathered by the corpse, and he
ignored them as he went down, searching for the body
that still lived. He had to live. Skinner was convinced
that, as Mulder could not live without Scully, she would
not survive long if his foolhardiness cost him his life 
this time. 
He was at the bottom, the water dark with silt billowing
around him. He plunged his hands down blindly, groping
in the muck and the mud, silently beseeching the heavens
to help him find this man. His lungs were straining, 
aching with the need for air, but he forced himself to
inch forward, searching, searching ... 
It was too much. The need for oxygen overcame him
and he blew out without thinking. He immediately
righted himself, pushed off from the bottom, and shot
upward, gasping when he broke the surface. 
Scully was crouched on the edge of the dock, hanging
over it with one hand on the wood, the other in the 
water. Gilroy had both hands around her waist, 
physically anchoring her to the dock, and even from 
the water, he could see the tears streaming down her
cheeks. "Walter ..." 
He was still gasping, sucking in air for his starved
lungs, but he nodded wordlessly. Another ten seconds
to breathe, and then he went down again. Some unknown
instinct drew him to where she was, where her fingers 
reached out, pale and white in the darkness of the water,
and he dove, following her path, down, and down, and
down. And when he reached the mud, when the silt
began to billow, he reached out roughly, angrily, 
screaming in his mind, 'Where the fuck are you, Mulder?' 
As if in answer to his plea, he touched a leg. The leg
led first to a foot, then, when he reversed his path, up
to a waist, a chest, and finally a face. Mulder! 
He wrapped his arms around the unmoving man, then
pushed off for the surface. It was harder going up 
with Mulder's dead weight -- no! not dead! -- but he
pushed on, rising, rising, rising, until, at last, he 
could see the surface, and sun, and then he was 
breathing again, and strong arms were pulling Mulder
from his grasp, then he, himself, was being hauled 
out of the water. 
A blanket appeared from somewhere, and wrapped
itself around him. He was oblivious. All his attention
was focused on the man and the woman on the dock
before him. 
Mulder lay on his back. The left arm was broken -- the
bone protruded through a gash in the forearm. There
was another gash up higher on the arm, an almost
clean slice that cut deeply into the muscle. Blood 
was already beginning to cover it. Burns were visible
on his ankles and legs, and around both elbows. There
was a larger burn on his abdomen, and he grimaced
as he looked at it. 
Scully knelt by Mulder's side and leaned her head
over, resting one ear above the man's heart. 
"Nothing," she said. Two fingers shot out and
felt along his neck, searching out a beat. "No 
pulse." 
Skinner moved and knelt by Mulder's head, looking at
her for guidance. A quick nod, and he lowered his
head, covering Mulder's mouth with his own, and 
breathed. Two times he blew in, watching the man's 
chest rise as the life-giving oxygen was forced 
downward. After the second breath, he sat up, and 
Scully placed both hands over Mulder's heart, and 
pressed. 
"Live, Mulder!" 
He watched as Scully's hands came up and she rose 
on her haunches, then pressed again. 
"Live, damn you!" 
Skinner stared, looking for any sign that Mulder's
heart was beating, that he was breathing on his own, 
but there was nothing. 
Again, Scully worked. The rise, the shift, the pressure,
the curse. 
"Live, you son of a bitch!" 
Nothing. 
Tears streamed from her cheeks, landing on Mulder's
bare chest and rolling off to mingle with the lake water
on the dock. Scully lifted her hands again. 
"Live, live, live!" 
Shift, rise, lift, press. 
"God Damn You! Live!" 
Her head dropped to his chest, then she lifted it, 
shaking her head as she looked at him. 
He bent again and breathed deep, then blew hard into
the lungs of the man on the dock. 'Breath of life, 
Mulder.' When he pulled back, Scully's hands
were over Mulder's heart again, and she was starting
the next set of compressions. 
"One!" 
'Don't die on her, Mulder.' 
"Two!" 
'She won't make it without you, you bastard!' 
"Three!" 
'She depends on you to keep her strong.' 
"Four!" 
'Come on, you lazy son of a bitch! Breathe!' 
"Five!" 
He watched as Scully looked, then listened. 
Another shake of the head. 
He bent and breathed again, amazed at how quickly he
was becoming exhausted. Mulder's chest rose, and
then fell, and then remained still. 
Scully's hands went back into position. 
He looked around. Gilroy held back a phalanx of
men and women, keeping them on the shore. The 
dock was empty but for the three of them. The sun
was setting now, autumn's early nights, and a cool
wind chilled him through the blanket that was still
over his shoulders. Something dark shot past his eyes,
a bird, skimming the water, low and close. 
"Live, Mulder!" Scully was screaming now, 
throwing her weight down onto Mulder's already
damaged chest. 
"Live!" 
"Live!" 
"Live!" 
"Live!" 
Bend, breathe, blow, sit up. He was feeling slightly 
faint with the effort. 
Scully rose up, her bottom completely away from the
dock, then threw herself down onto her hands, her 
whole body focused on the single pressure point 
over his heart. 
"Now, damn it! Now!" 
Before he could make a move, say a word, she threw 
herself down once more. 
"Mulder ..." 
It was a howl, ripped from the deepest corner of
her soul, and Skinner felt something inside himself
break. If this cry, this call to life, didn't bring
Mulder back, nothing would. 
Behind him, the hawk screamed, the sound mingling
with Scully's cry. 
He watched her throw herself down again, and this
time, the man on his back coughed. He coughed,
then sputtered, then turned his head as vile lake water
came up and poured from his mouth. He coughed 
again, choking, and Scully turned his head even more,
holding him till the water stopped and his breathing
evened. 
Then, she lifted her hands once more and brought them
crashing down onto his already ravaged chest. 
Skinner froze, shocked, then reached out and grabbed
her as she started to hit him again. 
"You son of a bitch," she cried. "I should have let you 
die!" 
She was crying now, pulling away from Skinner and 
lifting Mulder, gently this time, cradling him in her lap
as she blessed him with her tears. 
He looked up at her, struggling to focus, then lifted a 
hand. The left arm was useless; blood ran from the 
gash on his forearm, and bone glistened white. But 
the right arm, that arm functioned, and he forced 
his hand up and cupped her cheek for a moment. 
"I love you, too, Scully. I love you, too." 
************************************* 
October 24, 1998
10:00 a.m. 
Mulder opened his eyes and looked up. A curtain of
soft red hair hovered just above his face. A soft hand
lay gently on his shoulder, and blue eyes stared down 
at him. 
"He's awake," Scully declared, and then she was gone. 
"Scully?" Mulder turned his head in time to see her
disappearing out the door. 
"You're in it up to your neck this time, Mulder." 
Skinner laughed softly and reached out to touch
his arm. 
"Wha --?" His voice didn't want to work, and his 
mouth was dry. A straw appeared in front of his lips
and he sipped, remembering Doctor Scully's rule to
go slow. He swallowed, then cleared his throat. 
"What?" 
"I don't think our Scully is very happy with your
decision to ditch her." Skinner put the cup down,
then narrowed his eyes at the man in the bed. "Neither 
am I, I might add." 
"I didn't ... Not you ... I mean, she doesn't understand
how dangerous ..." 
Skinner was shaking his head, not accepting any of the
reasons being offered. "Doesn't matter. Don't you 
know that by now?" He turned and began to pace.
"Mulder, you think you couldn't go on without her?" 
Mulder nodded, watching the AD's movements. 
"You think the world would stop if she went away?" 
He nodded.

"Your whole life, your very existence is bound up in 
that woman?" 
He nodded again. Skinner was right; there really wasn't
anything to say. 
"Well," the AD whirled and strode to the bed, "did it 
ever occur to you that *she* feels that way about you?" 
"Me?" Mulder's voice was a squeak of disbelief. "Not
me," he said, shaking his head. 
"Yes, you. You didn't see her, Mulder. She was 
frantic. She almost ran me over trying to get out
to the lake house. She pulled a *gun* on me, for
Chrissakes, when I tried to stop her from jumping
in the lake after you!" 
"She what?" 
Skinner was nodding now. "Yeah, she did. Thought
she was gonna blow my brains out." Skinner drew
a deep breath. "You owe that woman one serious
apology, and a promise not to ever do that again
better accompany it." 
Mulder was silent, staring at the ceiling as he tried
to process Skinner's words. Could it be true? He knew
Scully loved him. Knew she was devoted to him. But
could she really feel life was not worth living without
him? She had a life. She had others who loved her, and
whom she loved. Her mother, her brothers, her nephews.
She had friends. Hell, she even had Skinner. He snuck
a look up at the big man. If something happened to him, 
Scully would always be able to turn to Walter for support. 
But how could he have let her risk herself with a man
like Nathan? He frowned and Skinner immediately spoke. 
"Don't go there, Mulder. Wherever it is, whatever you're
thinking, just stop it right now. You and Scully are 
partners, in more ways than one. Partners depend on 
one another; they back each other up. Mostly, they let
each other help and they don't make decisions for one
another." Skinner blew out, frustrated. "You had no
right to make that decision without her. Or without
me," he added. 
Mulder closed his eyes and went over it again. Had 
there been another way? Could they have still taken
out the Nibbler if he hadn't launched his lone wolf
attack? He turned it over in his mind. Yeah, they
probably could. He shook his head in self-disgust.
He'd been so blinded by fear, he hadn't thought it
through straight. He opened his eyes and sought
Skinner's. 
"Is she speaking to me?" 
"I don't know." The AD shrugged. "I do know she
hasn't left this room, this chair," he slammed the back
of the chair with a fist, "in the two days you've been
unconscious. She hasn't eaten, hasn't slept, hasn't
left your side. Until now." 
"Please." Mulder looked up, eyes filled with pleading.
"I need to see her. I need to talk to her." 
Skinner nodded. "I'll try," he said, and then he 
slipped out of the room. 
*************************************** 
October 24, 1998
11:25 a.m. 
"You awake?" Her voice was soft and he could tell
without looking that her eyes would be red from
crying. 
"I'm sorry, Scully," he whispered. 
"I know, Mulder, I know." She lowered the rail 
and sat gingerly on the edge of his bed. One hand
reached out and stroked the stubble on his face. 
"But it's not enough, my love. It's just not enough." 
"What do you want me to do?" He was desperate 
and it showed in his voice. "Don't send me away ... 
Please ..." I couldn't live if you sent me away. 
She leaned down and kissed him, her lips lingering 
hungrily against his own. "I could never leave you,
you foolish, foolish man. But, Mulder," she paused 
and brushed his hair back, letting her hand rest cool
and soft against his forehead. "I can't do this. I 
just can't." 
"What do you want me to do?" Please don't leave me,
Scully. 
"I want you to remember something." 
"Remember? What?" Anything, Scully. Anything.
Her hand was soft and gentle, moving over his head, 
his face, her fingers tangling in his hair. 
"After the Emerson case. Do you remember what you
said to me? Do you remember your words?" 
He let his mind drift back to the case that had brought
them together, the case that had forced them to admit
their feelings. His memory searched for the exact words,
and then they were there, engraved in his mind. 
"Once is not enough." 
Scully was crying now, nodding as she kissed him
again. "Once is not enough." She smiled through
her tears, then leaned forward and nuzzled him. "I'm
selfish, Mulder. I want this every day. Every day for
a hundred years. And then I want to renegotiate for
a new contract ..." Her voice broke on the last word
and she sobbed softly. "I can't renegotiate if you're
dead. I can't lose you, my love. I just can't." 
"Shhhh, Scully, shhhhh." He pulled her down, making
space in the bed for her, ignoring the flash of pain as 
her head came to rest in the hollow of his shoulder. 
"You won't lose me. I won't do this again, I promise.
Scully, I didn't understand. I knew how it was for me;
I didn't -- I couldn't -- believe you could feel the same."
He stroked her back, thanking the powers above that
his right arm, at least, still functioned. This time it 
was his fingers that played with her hair. Tears still 
fell on his chest, soaking the thin cotton gown he 
wore. "Shhhh," he murmured. "Ski -- Walter made 
me understand. I won't -- I can't -- do this again. 
I promise." 
Her voice was small and quavered as she spoke into
his chest. "We're partners, Mulder, for better or
worse. Entwined in each other's lives, anchored in
each other's souls." 
He nodded and kissed the top of her head. "Partners,
Scully. Forever." 
The End