Subject: Profiles IV part 2 of 4
Date: Sun, 15 Nov 1998

Title: Profiles in Caring IV (2/4)
Author: Daydreamer
Author E-mail: Daydream59@aol.com
Rating: R to NC-17 for violence and disturbing imagery
Category: SA - 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, because I am poor and have nothing material they can
profit from.

Summary: Mulder discovers Harold Roberson is not in the Federal
Institution for the Criminally Insane. In searching for Roberson,
he finds more than he bargained for.

Profiles in Caring IV 05/17

"Mulder, I'm concerned about you, too." Scully seconded
the local doctor's opinion. "I think having you stay overnight
for observation is a good idea. I know you're still dizzy, I
know your head is still hurting, and you look a little green
around the gills."

Mulder sat on the examination table, his arms folded tightly
across his chest. "I am *not* staying, Scully," he enunciated
very clearly. "I'll leave AMA if I have to, but I am not
spending the night in this backwater hospital."

"Mulder!" Scully scolded. "This backwater hospital has
staff that seems very competent. Short of following the
ER doctor's recommendation and transferring you
somewhere where they can do the head scans I'd like to
see, keeping you overnight is your best option." She stared
at her partner, then turned to look at Skinner. "I could
use a little help here, Sir."

Skinner nodded, then looked thoughtfully at the two.
They were definitely at a stalemate. "Doctor Scully,"
he began, using her medical title for emphasis, "if we
take him home with us, can we put him on bedrest
and observation at your place?"

Mulder was nodding agreeably now, but Scully was
annoyed as hell. "That was not the kind of help I
was looking for, Sir," she said.

"I understand that Agent Scully," Skinner placated.
"But I am concerned that with Roberson loose, we are
going to need to be as close to headquarters as possible.
And I'd like to keep you both under watch for a bit --
just for safety's sake. Now I can station agents here
to watch you, and go on back to DC alone, or we can
travel back together and I'll be your guard dog for the
time being. If Mulder's concerns over Roberson pan
out, we're going to need to be where we can respond
quickly."

Scully was nodding as well now. "All right," she said
slowly, "that makes sense. But," she turned and glared
at Mulder, "you have a concussion." She reached out
and gently touched his battered face. "Absolute bedrest,
is that understood?" When Mulder nodded, she looked
at Skinner and added, "*You* can be responsible for
making him honor his agreement. I plan to sit on the
couch and prop my ankle up."

"Yes, Ma'am," Skinner said in mock seriousness.
"I'll make sure he rests."

The two men exchanged a brief, congratulatory glance.

Scully took in the silent interplay, then, only half assured
that her orders would be followed, she again glared at both
men. Mulder was wearing his best "innocent" look. She
shifted her gaze to Skinner, who stared back in unconcern.
His unsmiling countenance reflected an 'I'm the AD, you
can't give me orders,' attitude, but the small crinkles around
his eyes belied his stern appearance. She'd been had and she
knew it.

"I'm going out to the car," she said in disgust. "You?" she
tilted her head at Skinner, "You're so eager to take him home?
You can get his stubborn butt out there. And you can deal
with the nausea and vomiting that's gonna follow." She
turned back toward Mulder, who had opened his mouth to
protest. "And you," she added, "don't even think about
complaining. I will not listen to your whining, got that?"

She hobbled slowly to the curtain that surrounded the small
ER cubicle, pulled it open, and slipped out. Both men
watched in silence as she limped down the hall.

"She seems a bit moody," Skinner commented, as he helped
Mulder up from the bed.

"Yeah, well, Scully doesn't approve of injuries, particularly
head injuries, and especially my head injuries." He sighed,
fighting a wave of nausea, then said, "I would venture to say
that seeing as how she is the cause of my current head injury,
she's feeling just a trifle guilty. And Scully doesn't do guilt
well either." He smirked as his eyes gazed down the hall
where Scully had disappeared. "Don't be thinking your
fancy rationale to spring me had anything to do with Scully
letting me go. You just gave her a graceful way of letting me
have my way. I may be able to get a couple days of getting
my way out of this."

Skinner laughed and said, "I wouldn't count on it, Mulder.
I have a feeling you're going to be flat on your back and out
of the loop for several days. Probably longer than you would
have been if you'd just acquiesced nicely and stayed the night."

A look of dismay crossed Mulder's face. "Do you really
think so?"

Skinner laughed again, saying, "I'd bet on it."

The two men made their way to the front of the hospital. The
rental car Skinner had arranged for had been delivered while
Mulder was having his wound cleansed and Scully was in
X-ray. He'd done the appropriate paperwork and then moved
it to the front parking lot. Scully was seated on an uncomfortable
looking bench, leafing idly through an old magazine. Mulder
walked cautiously over and joined her as Skinner went to get
the car.

"Hey," he said softly. "Would you believe me if I said I'm
sorry?"

"No," she murmured back. "How'd you get Skinner on your
side this time?"

"I really am concerned about Roberson, Scully. That's not a
scam." She nodded and he continued. "Skinner knows that.
And we do need to be near our resources. I just know something
bad is gonna happen. We need to be in DC." He met her eyes,
swirling hazel pleading with crystal blue. "I'm not feeling
too good, Scully," he admitted, "but I can make the trip. Really.
I'm gonna be OK."

Her eyes filled with tears again at his admission of discomfort,
but she nodded in understanding at his explanation. Dropping her
gaze, she reached over and gently stroked his arm. "I'm sorry,
Mulder," she whispered.

He reached out and pulled her to him, tucking her into his side.
"Shh," he murmured. "I'm OK, Scully." He took her chin in
his hand and lifted her face to his. "I'm really OK." He leaned
down slightly and gently brushed her lips with his own.

She sighed then, and moved slightly closer to him, resting her
hand on his leg. They were still sitting that way when Skinner
walked back into the lobby. He allowed a smile to cross his
features as he thought that at least the 2 hour ride back to DC
would be more bearable since these two had obviously reached
some sort of accord.

He strode over to them and indicated the car parked in the
loading zone. Both got up and headed for the door. He
observed them as they walked across the hospital lobby.
Scully was still in some pain; she limped in a useless
attempt to keep off her battered feet, and he could see the
occasional grimace that she made as she put too much
weight on her damaged ankle. Mulder alternately stood
and swayed, or stumbled and walked. But both stubbornly
made their way to the car and sank gratefully into their
seats, Scully in front, Mulder in rear.

Mulder immediately moved to lay down on the back seat
and Scully turned to say, "Mulder, no, you can't sleep. You
know the drill for concussion. Gotta stay awake at least
twelve hours. You've got several more hours to go."

Mulder nodded wearily and pulled himself erect. He
pulled the shoulder harness around himself and buckled
in, laying his head back onto the rear door panel. He closed
his eyes and said, "I'll stay awake, Scully, but I gotta
shut my eyes for a bit."

She nodded sympathetically and said, "All right, but you're
gonna have to talk to me so I know you're awake." A wicked
grin flashed across her face and she teased, "Or maybe I should
make you sing?"

Mulder chuckled, then said, "Nope. No way. Uh-uh. Not
gonna happen. I'll talk -- as long as I don't have to think
to do it."

"Since when do you ever think before you talk?" Skinner asked
and was rewarded with laughter from both his agents. He was
laughing too as he pulled away from the curb and began the
drive home.

**********************************************

They were almost to DC, and Mulder and Scully were
arguing again. Skinner sighed to himself, resolved to
stay out of it this time.

"But, Scully," Mulder was saying, "I need to be at
my place."

"Why? My apartment is bigger, it's cleaner, you'll
be more comfortable there."

"I know all that. But I need -- we need," he glanced
over at Skinner, including him in his comments, "we
need to be at my place. Roberson knows where I live.
You moved over the summer."

"May I remind you," Scully said archly, "Roberson
managed to find me once before."

"I know, but my, shall we say, *unofficial* sources
of information are more comfortable contacting me
at my own digs." He reached out to touch her
arm gently, then said, "C'mon Scully, you know
what I'm saying here."

Scully sat quietly, contemplating this information,
and Skinner could see that Mulder was literally on
the edge of his seat, waiting for her decision. He
was pleased to see that Mulder had used the honest,
direct approach this time. Scully didn't like getting
scammed and he felt bad for his earlier participation.

Finally, Scully nodded and said, "All right, Mulder,
we'll go to your place. You can stretch out on the
couch for a while -- the AD has been working to get
some material on the project and Roberson put together
while we've been en route, and I know you're gonna
want to review it."

Mulder nodded vigorously, then winced as pain
lanced through his skull. Scully smiled sympathetically,
then admonished him. "Slowly, Mulder. It's gonna
hurt for a few days."

His eyes were closed again, and he made a sub-vocal
noise of agreement.

"Anyway," Scully continued, "you still have to stay
awake for a while. But once you can sleep, you are
going to go back and use that bed that I know you have
buried in that closet you call a bedroom. Capice?"

Mulder's eyes were still closed and his head rested
in the corner of the door and seat. "Anything, Scully.
I'm ready to go anywhere, do anything. Just get me
out of this car and give me something for my head,
OK?"

"Easy, partner, we're almost there." She turned to
Skinner and said, "Looks like we go to Mulder's
after all."

Skinner had already gotten on the DC beltway
and was headed for Alexandria. The remainder of
the trip was made almost in silence, punctuated
only by the occasional moan or groan from Mulder
in the back.

As they pulled into the parking lot outside his
apartment, he sat up suddenly, clutching at the
door handle and said, "Gonna be sick." He pushed
the door open and leaned out, heaving.

Scully twisted in her seat to lean over the back
and gently stroke his back. She rubbed his shoulders
as he finished, then wiped his sweaty face as he
pulled himself erect. "Better?" she asked.

When he nodded, she turned back around and
got out of the car. When she began to hobble
toward the apartment building, he asked
plaintively, "Aren't you gonna help me?"

"Nope," she called back over her shoulder.
"That's the AD's job. You enlisted him in your
scheme to get home, no matter what. He can
clean you up."

Mulder and Skinner both stared after her in
open-mouthed astonishment. Then Mulder
turned to look at his boss, his face coloring
in embarrassment. "Uh, sorry, Sir," he muttered.

Skinner wrinkled his nose in distaste, then
got out and opened the rear door on his side.
"Maybe you better slide out over here, Mulder.
It might be a bit easier."

Mulder nodded carefully, then slid across the
seat and out of the car. He stood slowly,
Skinner's hand a reassuring presence on his
upper arm.

"Can you make it now?" the older man asked.

"Think so, but I don't feel so good. What the
hell's happening?"

"I suspect the pain medication is beginning to
wear off and you're just now getting the full
effects of that blow to the head." Skinner sighed,
already regretting his rash decision to throw in
with Mulder's scheme.

"Well, what do you expect?" Mulder grumbled.
"The damn doctor didn't give me anything but Tylenol."

Skinner was immediately sobered by this comment.
Mulder, the man who refused all medications,
complaining that he had *only* been given Tylenol?
That was not a good sign. He sighed again. "C'mon,
let's get you inside," he said, and the two men walked
slowly up the walk, following Scully.

By the time they reached the hall to Mulder's
apartment, Scully was standing by the door,
waiting. Mulder looked up at her, then froze
as he took in the yellow crime scene tape that
still sealed his apartment. He shuddered as the
full impact of how close he had come to losing
Scully once again washed over him.

Skinner tugged gently and he moved slowly up
the hall. He dug in his pockets and pulled out
his keys handing them to Skinner. While the
AD opened the door, Mulder reached out and
hugged Scully. One hand gripped a piece of
the yellow tape and he whispered into her ear,
"I'm sorry I wasn't here. I'm sorry I left. I'm
sorry I couldn't leave it alone."

She nodded then kissed his cheek and gently
led him into the apartment. Once inside the door
though, he froze once more, this time his eyes
riveted to the still packed box of his things that
Scully had brought over from her apartment.
His eyes filled with tears and he squeezed them
shut tight, swallowing hard.

She looked, following his gaze, then gasped
and turned to him, saying, "No, Mulder, it isn't
what you think."

He was shaking his head now, oblivious to the
pain the movement created. He swayed, then
leaned back against the door frame, lifting his
arms and wrapping them tightly around himself.

Skinner was standing in the door to the living area,
watching as Mulder began to visibly collapse.
Mulder slid to the floor, his long legs pulled
up against his chest, his arms hugging his legs
to his body and his head falling forward to bury
his face in knees and elbows. He started to move
forward, but Scully was already kneeling beside Mulder.
Skinner cleared his throat. When he got no
response, he said, "I'm going to go see if the
bedroom is set for Mulder. For when he's
ready."

Scully nodded, then glanced briefly up at
Skinner. Her eyes glistened with unshed
tears and she looked pleadingly at him. Skinner
gave her a sad smile and nodded in encouragement.
"I'll be in the bedroom," he repeated, "if you need
anything." He turned and walked through the living
room to the short hallway and disappeared.

Scully refocused her attention on the man on
the floor before her. "Mulder," she said, "look at
me." When he didn't respond, she reached out and
slipped her hand between elbow and cheek and lifted
his face to hers. His eyes opened slowly and the pain
in them was clear. "Mulder," she said softly. "I was
confused. I made a mistake. I wasn't thinking of
getting away from you to get away from you. I was
thinking of keeping you safe from me."

He hitched one eyebrow and tilted his head slightly,
her cue to elaborate.

She looked pleadingly at him, and a single tear
ran unchecked down her face. "I hit you," she
whispered, the self-loathing evident in her voice.
"I was so afraid, so self-centered, so out-of-control.
You know that's not like me."

He nodded slowly, watching her, and she released her
hold on his chin to gently rub his arms.

"You've been after me all summer to see someone,
figure out why I can't sleep, and I've been running from
it. That's not like me either."

He nodded again, then looked down at her hand traveling
back and forth across his arm. He captured her fingers,
stilling her nervous movements, and squeezing gently
to encourage her to go on.

"When you said you were going to go see Roberson, it
all came back to me. What happened before. The dreams.
It was like I spaced out for a minute -- and then I hit you.
I was so ashamed." She lowered her head now, the tears
running freely down her cheeks.

Spreading his legs around her, he reached out and pulled
her to him, settling her in the V of his legs, with her back
against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, and
tenderly kissed her neck, just below her right ear.

"Don't be ashamed," he whispered. "I was pushing, and
I shouldn't have been."

"When you left, I thought it was worked out, Mulder,
really I did. I went to work, but then I had a -- a panic
attack, I guess you'd call it -- and all I could think of was
how I kept hurting you." Her breath hitched and she
released a little half sob.

"Shhh, you could never hurt me." He held her tightly
to himself, nuzzling her neck as he murmured soothingly
into the soft skin there.

"All I could think of was getting some space, some distance,
keep myself from lashing out at you again. I was scared, and
confused."

"So what happened? My box is there." Mulder nodded across
the small entryway. "Where's yours?"

"Skinner happened," she said simply. "He showed up here.
I was packing, almost done actually, and we talked. And I
came to my senses."

He could hear the smile in her voice now and it made him
smile as well. "Scully." Mulder took a deep breath. "I
don't want to make you unhappy. I couldn't live with myself
if I made you unhappy."

"You are what makes me happy, Mulder." She sighed, then
added, "I was being an idiot -- what can I say?"

The tension began to flow out of him, and he felt himself
start to sag again. Black spots danced before his eyes, and
the room began to spin.

As he loosened his hold on her, Scully sensed something
was wrong, and she twisted in his arms just in time to
catch him as the day's events overcame him and he
passed out -- again.

***********************************************

Skinner was pacing the living room furiously. Mulder lay
unconscious on the couch and Scully sat beside him. They
were waiting for the paramedics. When Mulder had not
responded to her gentle attempts to bring him around, Scully
had called for Skinner. He had lifted the younger man and
placed him on the couch while Scully dialed 911. Mulder
was still unresponsive, and Skinner was kicking himself from
here to Tuesday for allowing his headstrong agent to
enlist him in his plans to get back to DC.

There was a knock at the door and Skinner had it open and
the medics inside in an instant. Scully stood unsteadily and
stepped to the side as the paramedic began to make her assessment.
After the initial set of vitals were taken, Scully began to recite
Mulder's history. The second medic was taking notes.

"So he's had two serious head traumas in the last 24 hours?"
the man asked disbelievingly. "Why isn't he in a hospital?"

Scully sighed, then started to explain, but Skinner interrupted.
"Dr. Scully is overseeing his care."

The man shot Scully a withering glance and said, "Then
*Doctor* Scully should have known he needed to be in the
hospital." He looked at his partner. She had an IV started
in Mulder's hand now, and he was ready for transport.

"Let's move him, and roll," she said.

Mulder was transferred to the gurney and the two medics
headed for the door. As Scully started to follow, her ankle
gave again, and she almost fell. Skinner caught her, holding
her still for a moment, before gently pushing her onto the
couch so recently vacated by her partner.

The medics were at the door, watching. "Is someone
riding with him?" the man asked.

Scully started to rise again, saying "Yes," but Skinner
held her in place as he answered "No," at the same time.
Scully glared at him, but he turned to the paramedic
and said, "You go. We'll follow in my car." The medic
nodded and they were gone.

"I want to go with him," Scully said, as she tried to rise
again in vain.

"You're injured too," Skinner responded. "Last night and
today has been too much for both of you."

She was still glaring angrily at him, and he was surprised
at how tightly he had to hold her to keep her on the couch.

"For God's sake, Dana, you still have on your pajamas!"
he exclaimed, frustrated by her one track mind. "You're
wearing shower shoes from the Harrisonburg hospital."

Her eyes widened as his comments sank in, and she slowly
looked down at herself. He felt her relax under his grip and
risked letting her go. He looked anxiously at the red mark
his hand had left on her arm, then said, "God, I'm sorry.
I've hurt you."

She looked at him then looked at her own arm, following
his line of sight. She took in the red mark, then shrugged.
"I'm fair skinned. I bruise easily. 'S all right."

His eyes were closed and he was shaking his head in dismay,
but she reached out and gently touched his arm.

"Sir," she said, seeking his attention. He opened his eyes
to look at her, and she softened her tone, then said, "Walter,
it's all right, really. Once again, you've caught me being
foolish. But," she tightened her grip on his arm, "I would
like to change and get to the hospital as soon as possible.
I don't want Mulder there alone."

He was nodding. "You're right. I'm sorry. Bad time for
self recrimination." He pulled his cell phone, and punched in
the Bureau number. "I'll get a couple agents sent over to
stand guard over him. And Internal Security at the Bureau
can contact the hospital and have him watched until either
we or our people get there."

He finished his arrangements, then asked, "What do you need?"

"I have clothes here," she answered. "Just help me get to
the bedroom and give me about ten minutes. My shoes from
the other night should be around here somewhere as well."

As she started to rise for the third time, Skinner reached out
and helped her. Her ankle still gave, and she half stumbled as
she fought to remain erect.

"Screw this," Skinner mumbled under his breath. He
scooped her up and hauled her to the bedroom, relieved
he had already cleared the bed of the piles of books, papers,
and clothes that had been cluttering it earlier. She was
sputtering as he put her down, and he barked, "See here,
Agent Scully, I am already responsible for one very bad
decision that resulted in my agent having to be taken to
the hospital by ambulance. I *will not* allow another
agent under my command to suffer needlessly from my
neglect. Now -- where are your clothes?"

She pointed silently at a dresser and Skinner opened
the drawer to pull out jeans and a sweater. He held them
up for her inspection. "Are these OK?"

She nodded, and he threw them to her. She flushed, then
said, "Uh, one drawer up, please?"

He turned back to the dresser, opened the drawer, then
stood for a moment. His face quickly flushed as well, but
he reached in and took out a pair of underwear and a bra,
and wordlessly walked to the bed and handed them to her.

"Uhm, thanks," she stammered. "I'll just be a minute."

He nodded, then left the room, pulling the door behind him.

********************************************

Roberson slipped silently into the bushes by the back door.
The house was huge, and securely locked. But it was
almost daylight now, and if General Oldham was still
following his usual schedule, he would be up for a run
at dawn. He could *talk* with the general when he came
out.

Harold waited patiently for another twenty minutes,
then, just as the first rays of sun peeked over the horizon,
the door opened and a man in sweatpants and a T-shirt
stepped out. He took a few steps onto the walk and
began to stretch.

Oldham had aged quite well. He was still fit and trim,
a distinguished looking man of 57. He had been a 27 year
old Lieutenant when Harold had known him last. Assigned
to Lt. Oldham's infantry unit, Harold had been one of
the best point men there were. But sometimes, he had
disappeared on point. Days would vanish, hazy memories
of pain and torment and mind-numbing confusion all
that remained when he would reappear and Lt. Oldham
would welcome him back as if nothing had happened.

Harold watched as Oldham bounced lightly on his toes,
stretching his calf muscles. The man had lost his
first wife and three children in an unfortunate accident
in the mid-eighties. The *accident* had coincided with
one of the times Harold had been free, but no one had
connected him to that event. But Oldham had not
taken the warning Harold had provided. He had
remarried, bringing another child into a world his
father was working to destroy.

Well, he wouldn't be working to destroy the world
anymore. His work for the enemy was over. Harold
threw himself out of the bushes and fell upon the
his old CO, knocking him to the ground. He sat astride
the older man, one hand pinning his arms to the ground,
the other holding a knife to his throat. Leaning in closely
to Oldham's face, Harold asked, "Remember me?"

When the general shook his head, Harold said, "I'm your
point man, Lieutenant. Roberson. 231-00-5555. Private
First Class. United States Army."

Oldham's eyes were wide with shock and he struggled
to break loose but Harold had the advantage in size and
strength. He pushed the knife in slightly and Oldham
stilled. "You didn't heed my warning, Sir," Harold said.

"Wh - what warning, Roberson?"

"When I ended your family in 1984. You should have
ended your involvement in things. You should never have
married again. Now I have to do it again."

Oldham's mouth hung open, and he shuddered as the
meaning of Roberson's words sunk in. "Harold, please,"
he pleaded, "I'm not involved anymore. I haven't
been for years. But if you have to hurt someone, I'm
here. Leave my family alone."

Harold was shaking his head. "No, Sir. I'm sorry, but
I don't believe you, Sir. You knew what they were doing
to me and you acted like nothing ever happened."

"I knew, Roberson, I knew something was happening,
but I didn't know what. I was under orders to just ignore
your disappearances. I thought you were on covert ops,
but I had no way of knowing for sure -- and I wasn't supposed
to know."

"Covert ops," Harold snorted. "Is that what they called
torture of American soldiers?"

"Roberson -- Harold -- it is Harold, right? I didn't know
you were being tortured. I was following orders."

"We all have our orders, Sir," Harold said as he slid the
knife in deeply and watched as the blood ran thick and
red down the front of the man's white T-shirt.

He rose and wiped his blade on the grass, then entered
the house. He dispatched the new wife easily; she didn't
even wake. But the boy was a different matter. He was
sleeping as well, and Harold was taken by the look of
complete innocence on the child's face. He stood staring
at the boy, lost in thought as he began to alter his plans
once more. Perhaps the children could be saved. If they
could be purged of the contamination of the evil parent,
then maybe, just maybe, the children could be saved.

This one would be the first.

End part 05/17

Profiles in Caring IV 06/17

"Here," Skinner said, as he held the sandwich and drink
out to Scully.

She shook her head, never lifting her eyes from the sleeping
figure in the hospital bed.

Skinner sighed, then placed his offering on the small bedside
table. "Scully," he began, but she interrupted him.

"Shhh," she whispered. "He's asleep now. I don't want
to wake him."

Skinner sighed again. Mulder had roused slightly in the
ambulance, and in his usual Mulder way, had managed
to endanger himself even more with his movements.
First resisting the paramedics, pulling out the IV and
attempting to get up from the gurney. Then, fighting
the doctors as they attempted to get his vitals and then
the critical head scans. They'd had to sedate him, the
results of which he was sleeping off now. In his defense,
he was severely disoriented from the head trauma, and
the doctors weren't holding his behavior against him --
this time.

But Scully was another matter. She was feeling guilty
and that guilt was going to make things very difficult. He
knelt beside her chair and lowered his voice. "Scully," he
tried again. She refused to look at him, still staring at
Mulder's unmoving shape. He reached out and took her
hand, startling her, and her eyes jumped to him, then
skittered away.

"Dana," he said very softly, but with enough force for her
to know he was demanding her attention. She slowly
turned her head and met his gaze. "Remember what I
said at Mulder's place?" he asked gently.

She shook her head again, a look of puzzlement crossing
her features.

He shifted slightly, uncomfortable in this half-kneeling,
half-squatting position, but unwilling to risk losing her
attention. "I said," he pinned her in place with his eyes,
"that I had already made one bad decision resulting in
one of my agents being harmed."

Her eyes widened and she shook her head again. "Not
your ..." she began, but he cut her off.

"Yes. It is," he said shortly. "And I can't change that
decision. But I won't make that mistake again." Her
eyes narrowed as she looked at him, and he could see
she was mentally girding herself for battle. They'd gotten
to the hospital a mere thirty minutes behind Mulder, but
she had been sitting vigil here for six hours since.

Given that she had been abducted by Roberson last night,
then the race through the woods, the trip to the community
hospital in the mountains with Mulder, the trip back to
DC and Mulder's subsequent collapse, she had to be running
on no food and next to no sleep for over 24 hours now.
Getting her out of this room and getting her to eat was
going to take every bit of his tactical acumen. Getting her
to rest just might be impossible. "Dana," his voice was soft,
and he let the affection he had for her show, "please. Come sit
with me and eat. Just a bit." His carefully crafted offensive
was falling apart as he heard the pleading whine creep
into his voice.

But perhaps that was what swayed her, allowing her
to see his need for a moment. Letting her know that
he felt guilty as well, and was struggling with this
situation, much as she was. He saw her eyes soften
and he used the opening, squeezing her hand and
saying again, "Please?" He gave her a crooked little
smile. "Mulder will never forgive me if you completely
exhaust yourself." She smiled slightly at that, and her
eyes darted back to the bed, then returned to him.

"I don't want to leave him alone," she murmured.

"I'll have Agent Gerrolds come sit with him. Just
for a little while?" Damn, the whine was back. What
was it with these two? They brought out a side of him
he thought would never see the light of day again. He
cleared his throat softly, then said in a more normal
tone, "We'll get a quick bite, something a bit more
appetizing than a sandwich from a machine, then we'll
come right back, OK?"

She was gazing at him fondly, her eyes soft and he
could feel her appreciation for his gesture and her
own concern for his welfare radiating from her.
She reached out and gently laid her hand on his cheek
and said, "You're a good friend, Walter Skinner," and
he was shocked when he felt tears prick at his eyes.

He quickly lowered his head and covered her hand with
his own. He remained motionless for a long moment,
then released her and rose to his feet. "Let me get
a wheelchair for you," he said as he started to leave.

Her eyes widened as she followed his movement toward
the door. "Wheelchair?" she asked indignantly.

He smiled, then said, "Well, you don't expect me to carry
you *all* the time, do you?"

*******************************************

It had been hard trying to figure out what to do with
the boy. He was sleeping quietly in the back of the
car now, but he had awakened when Harold first
went to pick him up. Harold had clamped a hand
over the child's mouth and quickly carried him to
the car. He had been careful to keep his supply
bag with him, and he had managed to hold onto
the child with one arm, freeing his hand to plunge
blindly in the bag for the bottle of GHB. Unsure of
how much to give someone so small, he forced
a small swallow into the child's mouth. The boy
continued to struggle a bit longer, but slowly, the
drowsiness, then deepening sleep, that was the
drug's trademark overcame him, and he stilled.

Harold laid the child on the back seat, and talked
soothingly to him until his eyes closed and his
breathing evened in sleep. Then he climbed into
the front, started the car, and drove away.

Finding a place to take the boy presented difficulties.
That was one of the problems with changing plans
in midstream. Harold decided to drive back
toward the mountains. He couldn't go back to
the cabin. They'd found him much too quickly
there. But he'd marked several other places on
the mountain as potentials, thinking he might
someday need a place to disappear. He'd found
his potentials by looking at the obituaries and
then following transfer of property activity. Any
of the three he had identified would work, but
he chose the one that was furthest away from
the cabin.

With that decided, Harold was free to plan
his next moves. Somehow, in all that had
happened in the last year, he had lost his
focus. He needed to regain that focus, to
recover his clarity of thought. After he had
killed Col. Kingsley, they had put him away
and he thought they had forgotten him. He
had *hoped* they had forgotten him. But
then, they had come for him again, torturing
his body and destroying his mind. He had
escaped and spent six long months free --
searching for the reason, the cause of his years
of torment.

He'd dug up obscure records, from even more
obscure sources, and slowly began to piece
together a history of a governmental project
he hadn't even been aware had existed --
a project in which he was apparently a test
subject. And during one of his later
experiences, he had heard a name, a name
he recognized and remembered. A name
he clung to through all the things they did
to him, refusing to let it drift away with
the rest of his memories.

He had been returned, and then he escaped,
spending months in hiding as he searched for
a way to set things right. He looked back on
that time as a period of fading lucidity. There
were long stretches he had no recollection of
at all, and he worried that they really had made
him lose his mind. His clarity of thought
seemed to shift from moment to moment, and
when he was clear, like now, it frightened him.

During his brief freedom, he had searched all
the records he could find, even resorting to a fake
name and PO Box to get records from the
Viet Nam era now available through the Freedom
of Information Act. One name had appeared a
number of times -- Mulder. It was a name
he had focused on and in pursuing it, had
come across the FBI agent Mulder. The one
who investigated paranormal phenomenon.
The one who knew there was a conspiracy.
The one whose sister had been abducted
before his eyes when he was twelve. The
one who *believed.*

Harold looked in the rear-view mirror, checking
on the child, and saw he was still asleep. As he
contemplated the child he realized that Mulder,
the FBI agent, would have only been a child himself
during Viet Nam. It was an interesting thought and
he again wondered how that could have escaped him
before. There must be another Mulder, perhaps the
father.

He opened the small cooler on the front seat and
took out a soda, then snagged a bag of chips
from a brown grocery bag tucked in the passenger
seat floorboard. Taking his bearings and
estimating he still had about an hour and a half
to drive, he munched steadily and let his thoughts
return to his plans, both past and future.

He'd been mistaken when he'd tried to lay the blame
on Mulder. It was much higher than him. More
involved. Mulder might really be just a victim,
just like he was. He needed to get the ones who
were really responsible. And that went back to the
military. He finished his munchies, then reached
out to fondle the notebook he had created, the notebook
with the names and locations of as many of those
involved as he could locate. He sighed to himself
as he realized how very easy it was to obtain
information in this light security environment of
the post-cold war era. Oh, you might have to spend
some time piecing things together from separate
sources, but it was all there, just for asking the
right questions.

'So,' he mentally shook himself, 'focus.' He would
track the leaders and take them out. Then, the
children would be liberated. He would test them,
and if they passed, he would let them go. But if
they were contaminated -- from their parent or
some other source -- Harold still wasn't sure what
role the extraterrestrials he had seen played -- then
they would have to die as well.

If he was successful in tracking them all down,
eliminating the leadership, then maybe his actions
would end the torment others suffered, perhaps
even end the conspiracy between the government
and the alien visitors.

Harold smiled as he settled on his plan. Focusing on
the children had its advantages. People were inordinately
attached to children. If the message didn't get through
when he killed the leaders, surely people would understand
when the children disappeared.

Harold was focused now -- he could feel the surge of
righteousness, that purity of purpose that made him
sure he was on the right path. He chuckled in pure
delight as he thought how simple it all was. And somewhere,
in the deep recesses of his mind, in the last vestiges of
sanity, another part of Harold screamed wordlessly as
his monomania claimed dominance over any hope of
rationality.

He glanced again in the rear-view mirror. The boy still
slept. He would be the first. If he didn't pass the test,
Harold shrugged, well, there would be others.

******************************************

Skinner was dozing lightly in an almost comfortable
rocking chair next to Mulder's bed. Scully was finally
asleep in the recliner he'd managed to procure for her.
It folded out into some kind of bed, but she had refused
to lay it all the way back, instead allowing herself to relax
somewhat in a semi-reclining position.

Mulder had awakened earlier, and still been disoriented.
He'd recognized them both, but not known where he
was or how he got there. He did, however, recognize
the catheter that had been inserted, and had been quite
vocal in his requests to have it removed *immediately.*

Scully had used an interesting mix of cajolery, scolding,
pleading, outright orders, bribery, and a healthy smattering
of kisses to get him to settle back down and try to go to
sleep. He had seemed on the verge of drifting off when
he'd been overcome by nausea again, and they'd had to
clean him up and change the bed. Settled once more,
he was sleeping fitfully now, the hated catheter still
in place. Scully had at last fallen into an exhausted
slumber and he now sat alone, keeping the watch over
his two friends.

He was just beginning to drift off himself, when the
door opened and a nurse peeked in. "Mr. Skinner?"
she asked. She glanced down at a piece of paper in
her hand. "Assistant Director Walter Skinner of the
FBI?"

He was rising, moving toward the door before she
finished the long mouthful that was his title. "Yes,
that's me," he said as he slipped into the hall. He
nodded at his agent sitting by the door, then looked
down the hall to the other agent stationed by the
stairwell.

"You have a phone call," the nurse said. "This way."

"One moment," he replied. "Gerrolds, would you mind
sitting inside for a bit? Scully's asleep and we don't
want Mulder to move around too much. Unfortunately,
he's still pretty disoriented and moving seems to be
his first thought when he wakes."

The agent nodded as he rose and entered the room,
closing the door softly behind him.

"Now," Skinner said, "a phone call?"

"Yes, Sir," the young woman replied. "You can
take it at the desk."

Skinner followed her, grumbling about hospital
policies and cell phones being turned off as he
went. They reached the nurse's station and the
woman handed him the receiver. "Skinner,"
he barked.

He listened for a moment. "When did it happen?"
He was silent as the other person spoke. "The
general is dead? And the wife?" The nurse
had looked up as he spoke, eyes wide in prurient
curiosity, and he turned his back to her. "Keep
me informed. I especially want to hear immediately
if there is any word on the son."

He snorted at the following question, then said, "No,
you'll have to reach me through the switchboard. No
cell phones in the hospital." He smiled at the next
remark, saying, "He's OK. Well, OK for Mulder, that
is. He'll live. Got a hell of a whomp on the head, concussed
again, but he'll survive. Scully's with him. If he's a
bit more oriented when he wakes next time, I'll
come on in. Or if you need me there. In the meantime,
call me here with priority items. Messenger everything
you have so far over to me, and messenger me hourly
updates. Thanks, Stevens. You did right to call me.
If you have anything come up with any of the other
names I faxed over to you, get in touch immediately."

Skinner returned the phone, then said to the nurse,
"There'll be a messenger with a packet of information
for me. She'll be here in about 45 minutes. Please
have her sent to Agent Mulder's room."

The nurse was visibly bristling at being placed in the
role of receptionist and errand girl. Skinner noted her
reaction and moved quickly to quell the gathering storm.
"I apologize for having to ask you to do this." He smiled
at her. "I know it's way outside your job description, but,"
he pulled his useless cell phone and waved it in her general
direction, "I'm really at a loss without this. If you could
see your way clear to helping us out, it would be much
appreciated."

The woman nodded, and Skinner smiled again as he turned
to walk back to Mulder's room. 'All those mandatory
Bureau classes in managing people, diplomatic direction,
and conflict resolution may actually have had some merit.'
He smirked at the thought, then cleared his features as
he entered the room.

Agent Gerrolds was seated in the rocker, and Scully was
still asleep. Mulder seemed half-asleep, moments of
stillness punctuated by sudden, jerky movements. He
nodded at Mulder, then raised a questioning eyebrow
in Gerrolds' direction.

"No change, Sir. He's been moving like that since you
left, but never really coming fully awake." Gerrolds
shot a look at Mulder, then added, "If you don't mind
my saying, Sir, he seems to be in some pain."

"I think you're right, Gerrolds," Skinner replied, "but
as long as he's asleep, I'm going to let it be. Scully will
know what to do, but she's exhausted and I'm not going
to wake her unless it becomes necessary."

"Wake me for what?" a sleepy voice called softly.

Gerrolds and Skinner exchanged a glance, then Gerrolds
slipped out of the room. Skinner stepped to Scully's
chair, then squatted down beside her. "Mulder,"
he began.

Her eyes shot to the bed, and he watched, fascinated, as
her face shifted. First fear, gradually relaxing as she
recognized that he was still here, still alive. Then a soft,
loving look that filled Skinner with a pang of unaccustomed
jealousy. How long had it been since someone had looked
at him like that? And finally, the doctor appeared. Skinner
could see the neutral appearance that took over her features
as she began cataloging Mulder's condition, taking in
monitors, watching his fitful movements.

"He's in pain," she commented. "Let me check his vitals while
you buzz for the nurse." She had pulled the chair back
to an upright position and was sitting on the edge. He
reached for the call button, slid the rocker closer to her
and wordlessly pointed at her ankle, then the chair.
She made a moue of disgust at him, but obediently
propped her ankle on the pillow he placed in the seat of
the chair.

He smiled in sympathy at her, then said, "I'll go get
the nurse. I need to make a phone call anyway."

She nodded absently, already engrossed in Mulder's
chart, and he patted her on the shoulder as he left
the room. He walked briskly to the nurse's station,
made Scully's request for assistance, and asked to use
the phone again. The nurse pointed at the phone
behind the station counter, and hurried away towards
Mulder's room.

Skinner slid into the work area, and lifted the phone,
dialing the Hoover. "Kim," he began, when his
assistant answered the phone. "Stevens is putting
together information on a recent double homicide in
Alexandria that may have ties to the Roberson case.
Would you get Callahan and Jefferson to put whatever
they have together as well, and have the courier bring
it when she brings Stevens' material?" He paused,
listening. "Yes, include the reports that the FICI
faxed down. Good catch, Kim, thanks."

He listened a moment longer, then said, "He'll be
OK. And Scully is all right as well. She's tired and
she sprained her ankle, but nothing life threatening
for either of them." He laughed, then agreed, "Right.
Not this time, that is. Thanks, Kim. Mulder's starting
to wake and I want to get back in there. You can reach
me here if you need me." He replaced the receiver
and headed back to resume the vigil.

*************************************

The boy had been a disappointment. If he was an
example of what they were all like, they wouldn't
last long. Harold was driving back toward DC,
needing to get rid of the body, and not wanting it
anywhere near his new lair. He was, of course,
saddened that the child couldn't be saved, but
it was rather exhilarating to watch someone else
go through the tests he himself had experienced so
many times. He shivered as he relived being the
tester, instead of the testee. It was a heady feeling.

He had the next target picked out. A retired major,
a nurse who still lived in the DC area. Her children
were all grown, but there were grandchildren that
could be tested. Harold quivered with excitement
and savored the intoxicating anticipation as he thought
of his next goal. He caressed the small notebook again,
his guidebook to the future. And now that he had
a solid purpose, he had a solid future.

He felt very focused now. He was a man on a mission.
He knew his purpose and knew how to achieve it.
He glanced at the small body on the back seat. It
was really a shame the boy had not been stronger.
But this failure could be used as a message. Where
could he leave the boy so that they would understand
his warning?

End part 06/17

Profiles in Caring IV 07/17

Skinner dozed throughout the night. The nurse had agreed to
wake him if anything came in for him, and he managed to get
several stretches of uninterrupted sleep. Scully had slept as
well, curled up in the big recliner. She had been up and
down through the night as well, tending to Mulder as they
worked to get his pain under control.

When the nurse came in to take Mulder's vitals and do his
neuro check at 6:00, Skinner gave up trying to sleep, and
rose. He glanced at Scully and saw that the light blanket
he'd given her had slipped to the side. He pulled the blanket
up gently, then slipped out to the hall in search of coffee.

As he headed for the nurse's lounge to filch a cup of
decent coffee, the courier came in with a cardboard box of
papers and files. He shifted direction and walked over to
meet her. Exchanging a quick greeting and taking the
material, he headed back for Mulder's room.

Scully was up when he returned, the blanket folded neatly
on the back of her chair. She was reviewing Mulder's chart
as the nurse took his vitals. "How is he?"

She glanced up at him, smiled slightly, then looked
back at Mulder who was watching her through pain-filled
eyes. "He's better," she responded. "We still haven't
found a pain med that he tolerates without nausea, but
his doctor has an order for something new now." She nodded
at the nurse, and she injected a syringe into his IV.

Mulder grimaced as it flowed in, and muttered petulantly,
"It burns, Scully. Why does everything have to hurt?"

She chuckled as she reached out and smoothed his hair
back. "Patience, Mulder," she said, "this should make
you feel better soon."

"Hmmpf," he snorted, "you keep saying that and I keep
puking my guts up."

"Give it a little longer, Mulder," she answered, her hand
caressing his face.

Skinner watched as Mulder relaxed beneath her touch,
then grimaced again as the nurse bent to empty the urinary
output bag. "Scully, please," he whined, "can't you take
the damn catheter out?"

"You know I can't," she answered. "You can ask the doctor
when she makes her rounds in a little while."

"If I get a bladder infection, I'm holding you responsible,"
he grumbled.

Her face fell and she stepped away from the bed, still limping
on her injured ankle and turned to busy herself in the papers
Skinner had placed on the small table by the door. "I am
responsible," she murmured, a mere whisper that only Skinner
heard.

He cleared his throat and both agents looked at him, but
he addressed his remarks to Scully. "The papers you're
looking at are everything we have on Roberson and the
project. I'd like to start going through them and I'd appreciate
your input."

"Yes, Sir."

She answered at the same time as Mulder said, "Well,
what about my input? I'm not dead you know."

She turned then to look at him, and said, "No, you're
not, but you need to rest."

"Well, I can't rest if you two are working in here,"
he retorted. "You might as well let me help."

"NO!" Skinner and Scully answered simultaneously.

"You have to let your body rest, Mulder," Scully
went on. "You've had a serious trauma. I know
you're still dizzy and I can tell the nausea hasn't gone
away yet, despite the Compazine."

He pouted, but remained silent.

"And if we're going to disturb you," Skinner said,
"we'll go work in the visitor's lounge." When Mulder
started to object, Skinner raised his hand in warning.
"I'm not going to listen to your complaints, Mulder,"
he said. "You're obviously feeling better because
you are making a complete pain in the ass of yourself
already. Now, I'd concentrate on resting until the doctor
comes round, then you can ask for the catheter to be
removed and maybe get an estimate on when they're
gonna cut you loose."

"I can check myself out," Mulder mumbled threateningly.

At that, Scully swirled, her body rigid with anger, her
face furious. "You try that, Mister, and I'll shoot you
again, I swear I will! And it won't be in your shoulder
this time." She watched as Mulder visibly recoiled
before her backlash, and she softened her tone and stance
slightly as she said, "Mulder, I'm concerned about
you." She nodded at Skinner, including him, as she
added, "The AD's worried too. It's hardly been 24 hours
since you were abducted and beaten, then I nailed you
with that branch. You always push too hard. Please,
please, give yourself some time this time," she pleaded.

Scully shot an uncomfortable look at Skinner, who
moved to the table and quickly sorted out files into
several stacks. Scooping two up, he said, "I'm going
to make some calls and then I'll be in the visitor's lounge."
He looked at Mulder, "Listen to your doctor, my friend,"
he admonished. He turned his attention to Scully. "Can
you join me in a few minutes? I'll have coffee waiting."

Scully nodded at Skinner as he slipped out the door, but
her eyes were fixed on the man in the bed. Her own
exhaustion was evident in her loss of control. Her eyes
filled with tears and she clung to the door frame for support
as she waited for Mulder's reaction to her waning tirade.
"C'mere," he murmured, holding out his hand. When she
didn't move, he added, "Please? I can't very well come to you."

She smiled slightly at that, then hobbled back to the bed
and took his hand. He looked up at her and asked, "Lower
the rail, please?" She obliged and he pulled her down to sit
next to him on the bed. "I'm sorry, Scully," he said, "I always
seem to worry you." He tugged at her, insisting that she
lay beside him in the bed. She reluctantly complied, settling
gingerly against him. Then he hugged her tightly to
himself, adjusting so that her head rested on his shoulder and
her arm lay across his chest.

"I'm so sorry, Mulder," she whispered as the tears began to
fall. "I can't believe I hit you like that. I didn't even know
it was you. That's three times in two days I hit you. I just can't
believe I did it. I don't know what's the matter..."

"Shhh," he interrupted, stroking her back soothingly. "Stop
this. You were asleep the first time, and running for your life
the last time. And not thinking straight the time in the middle.
And, Scully," he lifted his head slightly to gaze into her eyes,
"I really am OK." He gestured down at himself, taking in the
bed, the monitors, the IV. "All this is precautionary. Yes,
my head hurts. Yes, I'm still a bit dizzy and my stomach
isn't back to it's usual cast-iron condition. But I could walk
out of here now, and I would be all right." He kissed her
gently, brushing her lips with his own. "You've got to
believe that."

She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded gravely
as if finally accepting the truth of his words. He kissed
her again, then pulled her head back to his shoulder. "I've
got to go meet Skinner," she protested.

"He'll wait," Mulder said confidently, and she relaxed into
his embrace, allowing him to hold and comfort her. He kissed
the top of her head, then settled back on the bed, closed
his eyes, and gave a contented sigh. "If they'd let me stay like
this," he murmured, "I'd stay another day without complaint."

"Only a day, Mulder?" she teased.

"Well, it *is* observation," he chided. He opened his eyes and
looked down at her again. "Sorta puts a damper on how I'd like
to spend my time." He smiled as she snuggled against him more
closely, then closed his eyes and let himself drift off to sleep.

*************************************************

Skinner made a note on his notepad, then closed the last file
in disgust. "Incredible," he breathed. "It's the biggest knot
I've ever seen. Every name leads to two more, which lead to
two more, and they're all connected." He glanced up to see
Scully nodding in agreement from her perch on the sofa
in the visitor's lounge. She, too, had a notepad with a list of
names and connections.

Skinner looked down at his list again. There was a name he
recognized -- John Bikowski, his old CO from his own time
in Nam. He hadn't been that much younger than the young
second Looey, and they had formed an odd, awkward friendship.
It had strengthened upon their return when he had met John
again at a Bureau sponsored social affair some years back.
They'd renewed their acquaintance and kept in touch periodically,
even getting together once or twice a year for a beer after work.

It bothered him to see John's name in one of the files, but it was
a lead and he had to pursue it. Hopefully he wasn't involved,
but maybe he knew something that would be useful, or could
provide additional names to look into.

He cleared his throat, attracting Scully's attention, and set his
pen down on the pad next to him. She made one last note, then
closed her folder and took her glasses off. Skinner stood and
stretched. They'd been at it for several hours now.

He walked to the service cart and lifted the coffee pot. "More?"
he asked, then filled her cup as she lifted it to him. He filled his
own cup, took a sip, then said, "We need to compile our lists
and get people running down the connections."

"It's the same names, over and over again," Scully commented.
"Oh, there are lots of names in here, but I've counted 10 that show
up repeatedly. Colonel Kingsley and General Oldham are dead;
that leaves 8 we need to be concerned about."

Skinner nodded grimly. "I can get this out to Callahan and
Jefferson, have them track the remaining ones down. We need
to move on to the connections between the projects and the
military. I've identified 4 different project names -- how many
did you find?"

"Hmm," she lifted her notepad, counting. "Looks like 6 for me.
What do I have that you don't?"

Skinner took her pad and added two more names to his list. "I'll
see what I can find out on any of these. Stevens can put Research
on it and we should have some information in a few hours."

"How did you identify the initial folders we've been looking at?"
Scully asked.

"Roberson's connections. That's what Jeff and Callie were
working on to begin with. I had them vary the search and pull
records on anybody that Roberson had been assigned to when he
was in the military. Then I had them cross-reference with others
who served with Roberson, and pull the names that were common."

Skinner was pacing as he talked. "We need more information.
A lot of this is blacked out and I'm willing to bet the names we
really need are under the black ink." He stopped pacing and
looked at Scully. "Do you see the pattern? The common names
tend to be medical personnel. They were running medical
experiments on troops in Nam." He closed his eyes and shuddered.
"And did you note how many of the men who served with Roberson
are dead now? The percentage of suicides has to be off the charts."

"And several of the non-suicide deaths are very strange," Scully
agreed. She pulled a folder. "George Orton, killed in a single car
crash. He was traveling a straight stretch of highway, in broad
daylight, with nothing on either side of the road for miles, but
the car was found totaled in the middle of the road, not another
vehicle to be found. He was dead at the scene."

"Whatever Roberson was mixed up in, whether through his
knowing involvement or not, it's left a strange trail." Skinner
scooped up the folders. "You done with these?" At Scully's
nod, he said, "I have some preliminary information on a
couple of the projects -- Invasion being the main one because
we knew Roberson had been linked to that one from the last
time we ran into him. I left the rest of the stuff in Mulder's
room. I'll take these back, check on him, and bring the
others."

As Skinner walked down the hall, he saw the nurse open the
door to Mulder's room, step forward and then be propelled
backward as she grappled with a man much larger than her.
A man in a hospital gown. A man with a large bandage
on his head. A man named Mulder.

Skinner broke into a trot and managed to catch them both
before they made it to the floor. The nurse slipped out of
his arms, leaving him to support Mulder, who was bleeding
from his head wound again.

"What the *hell* are you doing out of bed?" he roared at
his recalcitrant agent. The man had a file clutched in one
hand and was swaying even within the sturdy embrace
of Skinner's arms. "I was looking at this ..."

Mulder slumped to the floor, leaning up against the wall.
His breathing was uneven, labored, and his eyes were
unfocused. "Roberson started out to find out what had
been done to him. He was looking for answers. But
somewhere along the line, the search for answers became
the search for who to blame. He's taking out the people
he blames. He killed Colonel Kingsley, and now General
Oldham. He killed the family. That's significant, Sir."

Mulder was panting now, his face working furiously as
he fought pain, dizziness, and nausea. "I looked at
the crime scene photos. I need to see it. I need to go
there. We've got to find him. Sir," Mulder reached out
and clutched Skinner's shirt front, "he's not sane." He
gave a slightly crazed laugh of his own. "I mean, what
killer is? But they usually follow their own internal logic.
Harold doesn't have an internal logic that I can see."

Mulder was deadly pale, swaying on the floor, his hand
still holding Skinner's shirt as he fought to remain upright
and finish. His eyes were wide and his breath came in
ragged gasps. "I need to see it, Sir. I need to see the
scene, and I need the other files. I can't find him, if
I can't see it all. He's gonna kill again. Please," Mulder's
voice broke as he strained to get the last words out, "please,
let me see it. I can't stop him if I can't figure it out."

"Mulder!" Scully was hobbling down the corridor. "You're
bleeding!" she exclaimed. "Get Doctor Martinez," she
ordered the nurse. "And get him back in the bed," she
commanded Skinner. She lifted Mulder's hand, then
said, "You pulled the IV? Damn it, Mulder, would it
have killed you to wait for the doctor just once?"

Mulder blinked, coming back to himself, the frantic,
pleading man of a moment before vanishing before Skinner's
very eyes. "Scully?" he questioned. He looked around
the hallway. "Where ... ?" He looked at Skinner, his
hand still clutching the man's shirt as Scully examined
the small wound on the other hand. "Sir?" He blinked
then shook his head, apparently a big mistake as he
immediately winced and pulled his hand from Scully to
hold his temple. "How ...?"

"Get him up," Scully commanded again. "We've got
to get him back to bed." She rose from beside them,
then reached down to help Skinner lift Mulder to his
feet. Skinner was maneuvering his exhausted, semi-conscious
agent back towards the door to his room, when Scully
suddenly darted forward, lifted the front of the injured man's
gown, and said, "You pulled the catheter too, didn't you?"

"Scully!" Mulder was suddenly alert and struggling in
Skinner's grasp, trying desperately to cover himself as
Scully seemed intent on completing her examination in
the hall.

"Shut up, Mulder," she ordered, releasing the hem of
the gown, and grabbing his arm to propel him forward.
Since Skinner was supporting most of the man's weight,
this action propelled him forward as well. "You are
back to bed, you hear me?"

Mulder suddenly stopped, eyes closed and fighting to
remain erect. Scully yanked on him again, but Skinner
spoke, "Wait, Scully, I think he's gonna be sick again."

Mulder nodded and then lost everything. All over himself.
All over the hall. All over Scully. And all over Skinner.
When he was done, he looked sheepishly at the damage
he had wrought, then said, "I'm sorry, but I found something
you need to see."

Skinner looked strangely at Mulder. It was as if he didn't
remember the strange episode in the hall. "It can wait."
Skinner looked down at himself, then at Mulder again.
He was shaking, almost ready to fall over, so Skinner
moved him quickly back to the room, and helped him strip the
soiled gown. He was too far gone to worry about his modesty
anymore, and that alone edged Skinner's concern up several
notches. The nurse was back now, and she brought a clean
gown which she helped Skinner slip over Mulder's arms.

"The doctor is on her way to look at your wound. I'll fill
your basin so you can clean up." She took Mulder's arm,
guiding him and Skinner back to the bed, and this time,
Mulder sank down gratefully, closing his eyes against the
pain that throbbed behind them.

" 'S important," he whispered.

"Shhh," Scully was there now, taking charge as they waited
for Doctor Martinez. "How did your head start bleeding?"

"Fell," he mumbled. "Getting to the files." His eyes were
still closed but he waved vaguely in the direction of the box
Skinner had left on the table.

Scully took inventory of the room. The IV pump had been
turned off so it wouldn't beep to give him away. The hated
catheter lay on the floor by the bed. The fresh gown was
already soiled from the blood that seeped through the
bandage and the remains of Mulder's latest sickness.
She glanced down at herself. She was pretty soiled as well.

The nurse returned with the basin. Scully reached out and
grabbed it. "I'll bathe him. Can you get me a set of scrubs
to change into?" The woman nodded and left the room.

Mulder was half asleep again, eyes closed against the pain,
and mumbling about something he'd found in one of the
files when Doctor Martinez entered the room. She moved
quickly to the bed and began to strip the bandage from Mulder's
head. "Why do you have to make things difficult, Agent
Mulder?" she asked good-naturedly. "I was ready to let you
go, but now?" She shrugged. "Now, who knows? Now, we
wait and see. Now, you must learn patience."

Mulder moaned slightly as the doctor pulled the last of the
bandage off. "I need to clean this again," she said, "and
since you won't cooperate and rest like you need to, I'm
going to sedate you before I start." The nurse was entering
with the scrubs for Scully, and the doctor called her over
to give the order for a sedative. She noted it on the chart,
then passed the chart to the woman. The nurse left and
quickly returned with a syringe.

"No," Mulder protested weakly, "you need to listen to
me. Roberson's dangerous."

"I know, Mulder," Skinner said soothingly. "You told
me. Don't you remember?"

"I told you?"

"In the hall, when you first came out of your room."

The nurse was pushing Mulder to roll onto his side, and
she injected the sedative into his hip.

"Ow," he complained, "still hurts."

"Stay in bed and rest, and you won't have to put up with
it," Doctor Martinez responded.

Mulder's eyes were growing heavy, and he looked up at
Skinner one last time. "Dangerous," he said. "You gotta
find him." His eyes slid shut and he was asleep once more.

Scully gave a long-suffering sigh. "God, this man is stubborn."
She looked at Skinner. "You need to go change."

He looked down at himself. "Yeah. I'll go home and clean
up. I need to check in at the office, meet with Stevens, Callahan,
and Jefferson. I want to get a team together and pursue this
as one case, instead of two. When I finish there, I can swing by
Mulder's and get clothes for him -- for when they let him out, if he
ever cooperates enough to get out -- and then come back."

"I should have another set of clothes at Mulder's, if you don't
mind," Scully said. "I wear scrubs enough at work; I don't
want to wear them when I don't have to."

Skinner chuckled. "No problem. Just keep our boy down until
I can get back, OK?"

She smiled in response. "I'll try, but where he's concerned,
there are no guarantees."

**************************************************

Skinner had showered and changed, packing a small overnight
bag so he wouldn't have to go home again the next day. He
had called Kim before he left the hospital and arranged to meet
Stevens, Callahan, and Jefferson, as well as a liaison from the
local police force that was investigating General Oldham's murder
and the search for the missing child.

When he got to the Hoover, the team had assembled and was
waiting for him. He brought everyone up to date, beginning
with Mulder's discovery that the man in Harold Roberson's cell
was not Harold Roberson. The connections between Agent
Scully's abduction, Agent Mulder's *meeting* with the still
unknown men in uniform -- Paul Thornton being the only name,
or lead, they had -- General Oldham's murder, and the missing child.
He shared the lists he and Scully had compiled, making assignments
for agents to find the people on the list, and put them under
surveillance.

He steered the local police to the murder of Colonel Kingsley
several years before, explaining Roberson had been responsible
then as well, and was surprised to learn they had already made the
connection. They also offered him a new piece of information --
Oldham's first wife and three children had died in a mysterious
auto accident. Perhaps there was a connection there as well.

With all the assignments made, Skinner dismissed his people
and sat thinking. Mulder was right, Roberson was dangerous.
The missing child was almost certainly in Roberson's hands,
and God only knew what he was doing to the boy. The
experiments -- Skinner shuddered as he thought of what he had
read -- that Roberson had been part of were gruesome and he
prayed Roberson was not reenacting them with a child as he had
attempted to reenact them with Mulder last spring.

Finding the boy -- that had to be the top priority. Warning the
others who had been involved, that was a close second. And
last on the priority list -- figuring out who was behind whatever
had happened to Harold Roberson that had spawned the monster
he had become.

Skinner sighed, then lifted the phone to call his old CO from
Nam. The phone was answered and Skinner spoke. "John?
Walter Skinner here." He paused, then said grimly, "I'm fine
John, but this is really not a social call. I've got a situation
that I think you can help me with. Can you meet me?"

He listened for a moment, then said, "I really don't want
to go into it over the phone." More waiting as the other
man spoke. "All right, tomorrow, 7:00 am. By the Wall?"
He was nodding as he said, "Thanks, John. I appreciate this.
See you in the morning, then."

He replaced the receiver, then rose slowly and pulled his suit
coat back on. He'd done everything he could to get things
moving for the time being. Unless a new lead appeared, or
something else broke, it was time to wait and see. He took
off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose, then
rubbed his eyes. He was tired. He was running on way too
little sleep, and it looked to be another night at the hospital
with Mulder.

He needed to pry Scully away from Mulder and get her to
do the autopsies on the general and his wife. She would
know what to look for, what Mulder would need to know.
He headed for the parking garage, to get his car and make
the drive to Alexandria and Mulder's apartment.

Scully was still pretty tired herself, he thought, as he started
the car and pulled out into the early evening traffic. He
busied himself with reviewing the case, retracing the steps
they'd taken so far, and looking for additional avenues of
exploration. As he pulled into the parking lot at Mulder's
building, he realized, until something else happened or
some new evidence was found, he was at a standstill.

He walked into the building and made his way to Mulder's
apartment. Pieces of the yellow crime scene tape were still
secured around the door frame. Using the key Scully had
given him, he opened the door, then froze. Directly before
him was a large, black trash bag, obviously holding something.
Stacked beside it were several piles of papers and notebooks.
He pulled his cell phone, calling the Hoover and arranging
for immediate assistance, then notified the local PD.

As he waited for the first response team to arrive, he went
to Mulder's kitchen and pulled a latex glove from a small
cache stored in a drawer. He returned and teased the bag
open, then groaned as its contents were revealed. The
battered, bloodied body of a small child lay curled within.

End part 07/17

Profiles in Caring IV 08/17

"How is he?" Skinner said into the phone.

"Better," Scully replied. "He's awake again, and not in as
much pain. He's oriented, but still nauseated. We just can't
seem to find the right drug to control the nausea. He's not
responding to what I usually give him."

"Can he travel?"

Scully sucked in an audible gulp of air, then asked, "Why?"

"We found the general's son."

"Is he ... ?"

"Yeah." Skinner paused as he thought of the small body
crammed so thoughtlessly and uncaringly in a plastic
trash bag. "We really need Mulder to look at the scene
before everyone else tears it apart."

Scully sighed. "All right. He can wear scrubs as well.
Can you send a car for us?"

"Just have Gerrolds bring you."

"Oh. Right. I wasn't thinking." She paused, already
struggling with the mechanics of getting Mulder out,
and the potential risk it exposed him to. "Uhmm, where
exactly is this crime scene?"

"You are not going to believe this, Scully." Skinner
gave a harsh, unpleasant laugh. "Roberson left the
body at Mulder's apartment."

"Oh, shit. I'm not the Oxford trained psychologist and
even I can see the significance of that. Mulder is going
to try to assume full responsibility for this and everything
that happens from here on out now."

"I know," Skinner said softly, "but we just have to make
sure he doesn't."

"We can try, but you know Mulder. Stubborn to a fault."

"Stubbornness is strength, Scully. Don't forget that."

She laughed at that and said, "Then Mulder is the strongest man
I know." Skinner rewarded her with a chuckle of his own
before he closed the phone and returned his attention to
the body and the files surrounding it.

********************************************

"Doctor Martinez, I understand you want to keep him a while
longer. Hell, I want him to stay a while longer. But it's
out of our hands at this point. A child has been killed and
Mulder is needed on the investigation." Scully was
frustrated. Having to argue for Mulder's release in the
face of the obvious -- that he still needed to be in the hospital --
made her feel extremely incompetent. And given that she
had already agreed to his premature release once, with
near disastrous results, she was extremely uncomfortable
pressing the issue. Skinner would never have asked her
to bring Mulder if it wasn't vital.

Mulder was sitting on the edge of his bed, trying desperately
to look as if he wasn't about to pass out, fall over, or be sick,
all three of which seemed distinct possibilities at the moment.
He was very aware of the internal battle Scully was waging,
and knew, too, that things were critical if Skinner was sending
for him in this condition. He looked at the two women squared
off by the door and chose that moment to speak.

"Dr. Martinez. Scully. Both of you stop talking about me like
I'm not here. Don't either of you want to know how I feel about
this?"

Both women turned to gaze at Mulder, and he tried to pull
himself slightly more erect. He flushed under their intense
scrutiny, but forced himself to remain still.

"Well, Agent Mulder," Dr. Martinez asked, "how *do* you
feel? And you might as well lay back down; you're not impressing
either of us with your macho act."

Mulder sighed, but remained upright. "All right, Doctor, if
I'm not fooling you, then you know how I feel. My head hurts.
I feel like I'm about to fall over -- the room keeps spinning. And
I think I'm gonna be heaving my guts up again at any minute."

Martinez had a triumphant look on her face as she looked
at Scully, a look that quickly changed to one of chagrin as
she watched Scully immediately move toward Mulder. She
was totally focused on him as she walked to the bed. "Mulder,
maybe this isn't such a good idea if you feel so bad. Please,
lay down. You don't have to prove anything to me."

"Scully," he responded, taking her hand as she reached
the bed. He lowered his voice, speaking only to her. "You
and I both know we have no choice here. Skinner would never
have sent for me if he could have avoided it. Now, do I meet
the criteria to check myself out?"

"Well, you're awake, you're oriented, and you're an adult -- most
of the time." She smiled at him, her hand reaching out to trace
his still swollen lip. He caught her fingers in his hand, and kissed
them one by one.

"Good. Then stop messing around with her, and get me outta here,
'k?" He gave a lopsided grin, then added, " 'Cause I gotta tell you,
Scully, after we view the scene, I won't argue if you make me go to
bed." The grin changed to a leer. " 'Specially if you join me."

She laughed, then turned to Martinez. "We have to go. Either
discharge him with orders, or give him the paperwork to go
AMA. We don't care one way or the other, but we're leaving
immediately." She ignored Martinez' reaction and turned back
to Mulder. "Lay down for a few minutes. It'll still take a bit
to get the paperwork together. I'm gonna have Gerrolds get the
car and bring it to the front and I'm gonna find you a lovely outfit
to wear." She gestured down at the blue scrub suit she wore.

"Can you make mine green, Scully? Blue's just not my color."

She laughed at him and watched as he gingerly lowered himself
back into the bed, eyes closed against the dizziness. Once he
was settled, she limped to the door, followed closely by Martinez.

"This is that important?" the doctor asked.

Scully nodded. "Critical. Mulder is -- well, Mulder is unique.
He has a gift, a talent, for finding killers. If he'd talk to you
about it, he'd tell you it was a curse, but whatever it is, he
can find them when no one, and I do mean *no one* else
can." She sighed then turned to look at Martinez. "I can't
explain it all, but the man that we're looking for, well, Mulder
has had contact with him before. That makes Mulder the
best chance for finding him quickly, before he kills again."

"Again?" Martinez looked shocked.

"Yes, again." Scully was losing patience. "Why do you think
the AD had guards on Mulder's room?"

"I thought it was -- standard procedure," Martinez stammered.

Scully softened a bit. This really must be throwing this
doctor for a loop, and she wasn't the enemy after all.
"Doctor Martinez," she began, "I know this situation has
been stressful for you and the staff. Having the guards in the
hall and couriers in and out. And I appreciate all you've done
for my partner. He's not the easiest man to deal with when
he's ill."

"You have a gift for understatement, Agent Scully," the
doctor replied.

Scully smiled. "Yes. Well. We *do* need to go. Are you
going to discharge him?"

"Yes. Against my better judgment, I might add, but since
he seems determined to go ..."

"Standard head trauma precautions?" Scully asked.

"Yes. And watch the wound on his head. Clean it and
change the bandage twice a day. Extra-strength Tylenol
for pain."

Scully was nodding. About what she had expected.

"And whatever you can get that works for nausea.
Can you write scrips for him?"

"I can if I have to, but the Bureau doctor will write for
me," she responded. "Ethics." She rapidly scanned the
hallway. "Now where can I get him a set of *green*
scrubs?"

Martinez smiled at that, and pointed to a closet at the far
end of the hall. "Check there. I'll get the paperwork done
and send for an orderly."

**************************************************

"We're here," Scully said into the cell phone.

"Stay put. I'm coming down," Skinner responded.

Scully closed the phone, then reached out to restrain Mulder
as he opened the door. "Skinner's coming down. You wait
for him."

Mulder leaned back into the seat, nodding carefully, and
closing his eyes again. Scully's hand still rested on his
arm, and she slid it down to his hand, twining her
fingers with his. "Can you do this, Mulder?" she asked
gently.

He swallowed hard, then slowly nodded again. "I just
want to get it over with, Scully." He opened one eye
and peeked at her. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but,
I'm looking forward to sleeping."

She squeezed his hand, then looked up as Skinner opened
the door. He leaned in to help Mulder out, and Scully
turned to find Gerrolds holding her door open, waiting
to assist her up the walk. She wrinkled her nose at her
own weakness, but accepted the arm Gerrolds offered.

Leaning heavily on the young agent, she slowly followed
Skinner and Mulder up the walk and into the building.
Mulder was still slightly ataxic, relying on Skinner's
strength to keep him upright and moving in the forward
direction.

They all made it up to the hallway, which was filled with
FBI agents, forensics people, local police, and the coroner.
Everyone was waiting for Mulder, and the steady buzz
of conversation gradually died as all eyes turned to focus
on Mulder. He closed his eyes briefly to the intense scrutiny,
but continued on towards the door to his apartment. He
paused just outside the door, clutching Skinner's arm tightly,
and closed his eyes again.

"Scully?" he whispered.

"I'm here," she answered from behind him.

He nodded, then took a deep breath and opened his eyes.
He stepped through the door, then stopped and began to survey
the room. The plastic trash bag was directly in front of him,
about 5 paces. There were stacks of papers, notebooks,
files and folders surrounding the bag. From his vantage
point of the doorway, a cursory examination revealed that
nothing else had been disturbed.

He took another breath, then shook off Skinner's hand and
stepped forward to the bag. He dropped to his knees, swaying
as he fought for balance and control. "Gloves?" he asked,
reaching up behind him. A pair was dropped into his hands
and he pulled them on. Scully appeared next to him, her hands
gloved as well.

She looked at him, took in the paleness of his face and the
sheen of sweat that covered his brow, and said, "Let me open
it, Mulder."

He nodded gratefully and pulled back slightly. She opened
the bag, rolling the sides down to reveal the small body curled
inside. She sighed as she looked at the broken body, a child
so young, treated so callously and then discarded as rubbish.

"Can you get him out, Scully?" Mulder was green now,
fighting the waves of nausea. "I need to see the wounds."

She looked up at Skinner. "Have the photos been made?"

He nodded grimly, then said, "I'll move him. Where?"

"Just get him out of the bag so we can see him better."
She looked at Mulder again. His eyes were closed, his face
scrunched up -- but against the pain, or the situation, she
couldn't tell.

The coroner's assistant laid a piece of plastic on the floor
and Skinner lifted the child and set him on it. The child wore
brightly colored pajamas, decorated with trains, boats, and
airplanes. He was curled into a semi-fetal position, and
the body remained stiff as Skinner moved it to the matting.

Scully moved in and knelt beside the boy. "He's been dead
at least 8 hours; no more than 36," she commented. "He's
still in rigor." She rolled the child on his back, then looked at
Mulder. "What do you need to see?"

"His abdomen. And his thighs." He shuddered slightly.
"I know Roberson's attraction to those areas."

Scully nodded and lifted the boy's pajama top, exposing his
blood-covered belly.

Mulder swayed again, then turned away, reaching blindly
for Skinner's hands as he sought to rise. "I've seen enough.
The marks are there, aren't they Scully?"

One of the techs handed her a cloth and she wiped the blood
away. Sure enough, there were track marks on the child's
stomach. She pulled his shirt back down, then tugged the bottoms
of the boy's pajamas down, revealing the burns that desecrated
the formerly soft skin of his inner thighs. She covered him once
more, then rose, stripping off her gloves. "The needle tracks
and the burns, Mulder," she said softly.

He nodded, eyes still closed. "You do the autopsy?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied. "I'll look at the general and his wife as
well." She moved to stand beside him and caught his chin
in her hand. He opened his eyes to look down at her. "Tomorrow.
I'll look at them all tomorrow."

He nodded, overcome with weariness, and Scully indicated
Skinner should move him toward the door. The larger man
took a few steps, still holding tightly to Mulder's arm, and
Mulder followed obediently. As they entered the hall,
Skinner asked, "Can I release the scene now, Mulder?"

"Yeah," he said, then stopped suddenly. He looked
around, suddenly lost and unsure of himself. "Scully?
Am I gonna stay with you tonight?"

"Of course you are, Mulder. Why would you think
different?"

He flushed again, uncomfortable with the question.
"You were -- I mean, I wasn't..." he trailed off, confusion
evident in his face. "I didn't want to impose."

Scully sighed. Repairing this would take time. "You
are not an imposition, Mulder. Though I am a little
concerned about your safety." She spoke to Skinner
next. "What are you going to do about security?"

"I'll put a car outside, an agent in the hall, and -- if
you don't object -- an AD on the couch."

Scully laughed, and even Mulder managed a weak
grin, then he said, "Well, AD, your agent is about
dead on his feet. Can we go now?"

"Of course. Do you need anything from the apartment
before we leave?"

The look of confusion was back on Mulder's face.
"Do I need anything?" He turned to Scully. "My
stuff -- Scully, do I ...?" Mulder was beyond uncomfortable
now; he was miserable. He looked back into the apartment,
the box with his things still visible in the entryway.

Skinner turned and followed his line of sight to see
the box Scully had brought over from her place. "We'll
bring that box," he said. "That should do it."

Mulder relaxed slightly, then said, "Make sure somebody
feeds my fish. And I want every one of those papers and
notebooks. Not copies, I need the originals. They can
make copies for the records for the time being."

Skinner nodded to Stevens, who was hovering in the
background. "You heard the man. Originals only.
Send them to Scully's as soon as the copies are made.
I'll be there tonight as well. If anything else breaks,
call me on my cell. At least I can turn it on now.
And don't forget to feed the fish."

He turned back to Mulder, still holding on to him,
and began the trek back to the waiting car, and
Scully's apartment.

***************************************

"I can't believe he went to bed that easily," Skinner
remarked as Scully reentered the living room from
her hallway.

"He's exhausted. And still in a lot of pain." She
growled, frustrated. "I just don't understand why I
can't find a workable combination of painkillers
and anti-nausea drugs. If I get the pain under control,
he's sick. If I get the nausea down, his head hurts.
I'm running out of options."

"Time heals, too, Doctor," Skinner said. "He'll
probably feel a lot better in the morning."

"He would, if he'd sleep. But I can guarantee he'll
be up the minute the files from his apartment arrive."

"We'll all be up, I would imagine," Skinner said.
"Which means we should take advantage of the few
hours we have now and try to sleep." His brow
furrowed as he looked down at Scully's ankle, still
bandaged, and still obviously giving her some difficulty.
"You should get off that foot, anyway. All this moving
around can't be good for it." He raised an eyebrow,
silent inquiry as to his assessment.

She sighed. "You're right. It does hurt. I'm almost
as bad as Mulder with meds." She sank down onto the
couch. "I'll join Mulder in a minute. But first, we
need to compare schedules. I'm going to go do the
autopsies in the morning. What's on your agenda?"

"I'm meeting a friend -- from the military -- first thing
in the morning. He may be able to help find out what
exactly has been done to Harold and how the government
fits in to all of this."

"So, who's gonna watch Mulder?"

"My meeting is at 7:00. Can you do the autopsies when
I get back?"

"Yeah, that'll work. I really don't want to leave him
with anyone else yet. At least he listens to me and you --
most of the time." She smiled, then rose and said, "I've
got a guest room, you know."

He shook his head. "I want to be out here. I feel like I
have a better grasp on anything that might happen if
I'm more in the open." He gestured at her open living
area, then pointed toward the door. "I'll hear the door
more easily, too. Maybe Mulder will sleep through it."

She snorted. "Don't hold your breath. He was already
tossing when I left him." She limped slowly toward the
hall, then opened the linen closet and took out sheets,
a pillow, and a blanket, handing them to the man behind
her. "Help yourself to anything in the kitchen, and you
know where the towels are," she indicated the recently
closed closet door, "if you want to shower in the morning
before your meeting."

He nodded, then said, "Thanks, Scully. Try to get some
sleep, OK?"

"You, too. And, Sir? Thank you."

********************************************

Harold had watched only long enough to see the big
man, Skinner, go into the building. He was important
and he would make sure the message got to Mulder.
He slipped away and returned to his car, pulling out
a map to trace his way to the next target.

A woman again. A nurse whose name had appeared
in the records repeatedly. She had left the military
shortly after Nam, returning to her home in central
Virginia. She still lived there, with her husband and
a grown daughter who had brought two children back
to her childhood home after a divorce.

Harold felt a thrill of excitement as he thought of
being the one to do the tests again. He could almost
understand how the ones in charge, the leaders, like
Cheryl Watkins, could do the things they did. There
was an intoxicating pleasure in being in charge for
a change.

He stifled his growing anticipation, reminding himself
that the testing was not his main purpose. It was the
message. The message of what had been done. The
message of what was still happening. The message
that it all had to stop. The message was the important
thing. It was too late for the adults. They wouldn't
understand the message, no matter what he said. They
would have to be eliminated.

But the children. If the children were strong, like he
was, they would survive the tests, and they could help
spread the message. And if they were weak, he shrugged,
then they would *become* the message.

*******************************************

It was almost three in the morning when there was
a knock on Scully's door. Skinner was up in an instant,
gun in hand as he walked to the door and peered through
the peephole. A young agent, she was new and Skinner
couldn't remember her name, stood in the hall with a
box of papers.

He pulled the door open and beckoned her in. "Just
put that on the chair there," he waved his gun in the
general direction and was amused to see the agent's
eyes widen as she took in the incongruity of seeing her
new boss, barefoot and dressed only in sweat pants,
giving her directions as he waved his weapon.

"There's another box, Sir," she said nervously. "And
there's also the material that was in Agent Mulder's
room at the hospital? Agent Gerrolds had me bring
that as well. I just couldn't carry it all in one trip."

"It's all right, uh ..." Skinner paused apologetically.

"Jacobs, Sir, Sara Jacobs."

"Yes, well, Jacobs, sorry about that. I won't forget
again."

"It's all right, Sir, I am still pretty new. And we only
met once. But let me run back down to the car and get
the rest of the boxes now."

Skinner looked down at his own bare feet, and waged
a quick battle between the opposing forces of sexual
equality, his own standards for treating women, even
women who worked for him, and the more selfish
matter of his own comfort. His standards won, and he
said, "Just a minute, Jacobs, let me get my shoes, and
I'll give you a hand."

"No, Sir, that's not necessary. I'll be right back." Before
Skinner could say another word, she had darted out the
door and was gone. There was a laugh behind him, and
he turned to find Scully standing in the hall, watching
him.

"Just couldn't let her go without offering, could you?"
she teased.

"It's the way I was raised," he growled. "I don't mean
anything by it."

"I know," Scully murmured. "I was laughing at Agent
Jacobs. She reminds me of myself. I was always so afraid
that if I let anyone, especially a man, help me with anything,
it would hurt my credibility as an equal in their eyes."

"I can't imagine anyone seeing you as anything but equal,
Scully," Skinner responded.

"Well, you might be surprised. You've always been very
fair-minded, but not everyone is like that. And really, the
FBI has to be one of the biggest bastions of the 'Old Boy's
Club' left." She snorted in disgust.

Skinner walked over to help her to the couch, but she
shook off his offer of assistance.

"You still don't accept help very easily, Agent Scully,"
he grumbled.

She looked up, a slightly abashed expression on her face,
and smiled. "Sorry." She took his arm and made her way
to the couch. "I am better than I used to be. Now I let
the deiner move the 200 pound bodies for me."

Skinner smiled and nodded his head toward the bedroom.
"Is he still sleeping?"

"He was. How long did we get?" She looked at the watch
on her arm, then muttered, "Four hours." She shrugged.
"Well, that's better than it could have been. God, I'd kill
for coffee." She started to rise but Skinner stood first.

"As an expression of my non-sexist attitude, I'll get the
coffee." He smiled then padded into the kitchen, his
gun tucked into the waistband of his sweats.

She heard cabinets being opened and shut, and the
water had just been turned on, when there was another
knock at the door. Skinner was back before she could
get off the couch, and was peering through the
peephole again, his weapon once more in his hand.

He opened the door, sliding the gun back into his pants,
then turned to take one of the two boxes Jacobs had
balanced precariously in her arms. Just as he started
to grab one, she stepped forward, tripped on the rug, and
the top box slid off, hitting the floor with a loud crash.

The crash was echoed a second later from the bedroom,
and Scully and Skinner both raced to see what had
happened, Skinner beating Scully as she was still
hampered by the sprained ankle. Mulder was just getting
to his feet when they reached the door, and he looked up
sheepishly at them. "Um, sorry. Guess I'm still a little
dizzy."

He rose slowly to his own feet, and reached out to
the bed for balance. "I take it that crash in the living
room wasn't an emergency?"

Skinner shook his head. "Agent Jacobs was delivering
the material you requested."

"Guess it's a good thing I woke up then, huh?"

Skinner shook his head ruefully. "That's debatable,
Mulder. How do you feel? Are you up to looking at
the stuff Roberson left?"

"Do I really have a choice?"

Skinner shook his head slowly, "No. Unless you are
too incapacitated to handle it, then, no, there is no
choice." He turned to Scully. "I'm gonna go
reassure Jacobs she didn't kill Mulder and send her
home. I'll finish the coffee, too. Can he," he flicked his
thumb over his shoulder, "have some?"

"Yes," Mulder answered.

"Absolutely not," Scully said simultaneously. She focused
her attention on Mulder. "You're still off caffeine, Mulder."
To Skinner, she added, "There's juice in the fridge. He can
have a glass of that."

Skinner nodded and disappeared back up the hall.

"Ah, Scully, you're no fun," Mulder whined. "How am I
supposed to function on juice?"

Scully smiled at him. "Hey G-man, never mind the juice.
You're doing pretty good at staying on your feet over there."

Mulder looked down at himself, surprised. "Yeah, I am."
He lifted his hand and touched his head gingerly. "Still
hurts though, but I'm not as dizzy." He stood still for a
minute, taking inventory. "And I don't feel like I'm
gonna heave any second anymore. I'm sorta hungry, but
I don't want to eat, if you know what I mean."

"Give it a little more time, Mulder," Scully said. "Your
appetite will come back." She could hear the door close
in the living room. "That should have been Jacobs
leaving. Let's go see what she brought us, OK?"

They made their way to the living room and Scully sat
on the couch. Before Scully could say anything, Mulder
had snagged one of the boxes and placed it on the
coffee table before the sofa. He sat in the middle of the
couch, eyed the box, then glanced at Scully. Bending
over carefully, he lifted her foot and placed it in his lap,
his fingers lingering on the skin above her ankle. They
exchanged a long look, then Mulder rubbed his hands
together and said, "Let's see what Harold has left for
us, shall we?"

End part 08/17