"Umbra" 18/? By Dawson E. Rambo Disclaimer : Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner and any other tangentially mentioned characters created by Chris Carter remain his copyrighted property, the property of 1013 Productions, and the property of Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. No infringement of any copyright is intended. Characters created by the author remain his property. Original Post : June 21, 1997 Archive Entry : Book I, Chapter 18 Classification : Action Adventure, MSR Rating : R (Adult Themes, Violence, Adult Language, nudity) ***************: PLEASE SEE CONTENT NOTES AND CONTENT WARNINGS. Notes : None Antishipper : 1 on a scale of 1-10. Shipper : 9 on a scale of 1-10. Casting : Glenne Headly, "CMDR Maggie King" : John Glover, "Danny Graves" : Dan Gauthier, "LTCMDR Richard "Batman" Amend" : Michael Ironsides "RADM Mike Watts" : Ned Vaughn "PO2 Chris Hayes" Timeline : 4th year, prior to anything having to do with cancer. Content Warning: This file contains depictions of pseudo-sexual contact between two consenting heterosexual adults whom are deeply in love with each other. For a fuller description of the sexual acts depicted herein, please see the CONTENT NOTES at the <> of this file. Content Warning: This story contains scenes of violence. For specific details about what type of violence is depicted, please see the END of this file. Enjoy! ---- US Navy F4 Phantom Tail Number N91620220 Somewhere above Nebraska "Gascan, Gascan, this is Batman," Lieutenant Commander Richard Amend called. There was a momentary pause and then the voice of the USAF KC-135 pilot replied. "Batman, this is Gascan. We have you on radar, approximately six miles in trail. Please climb to angels 13 and turn left to heading two six eight." "Roger that, Gascan. ETA, four minutes." Amend switched to intercom. "Commander, we'll be refueling shortly." In the backseat, Commander Maggie King was busy trying to read the contents of the LIBERTY BELL folder and barely heard the pilot. "Uh, ten-four," she said. Amend smiled to himself. He'd been reluctant to speak to his passenger, because every time he had tried she'd given him some vague, disjointed answer. She obviously had a lot on her mind, and Amend's curiosity was aroused. Who was she? Why was it so important that she get to NAS Mirimar? So important, in fact, that she hadn't flown commercial or a regularly scheduled VC-20 flight, but had managed to somehow get a Phantom assigned to ferry her across the country? A little over three minutes later Amend could see 135. "Gascan, Batman, I have you in sight." "Roger, Batman. Turning you over to the boom." A moment later the pilot's voice was replaced by the boom operator's. The huge KC-135 aerial refueling tanker filled Amend's vision, and he was struck by the same thought he always was during these refueling. The US Navy insisted on having only officers and gentlemen (and women, for that matter,) qualify as pilots. Enlisted personnel need not apply. The Phantom he himself was flying was 20 million dollars of jet airplane, the KC-135 another thirty or forty million. And who did they have controlling one of the most dangerous and nerve-wracking maneuvers in military flight operations? A twenty-two year old boom operator, a Sergeant in the United States Air Force. "Batman, this is Nozzle," the voice called, and Amend smiled into his oxygen mask again. What a great call sign; he could imagine the youthful USAF enlisted man using that call sign to pick up women in Omaha. "Please open your hatch." Amend leaned down and flicked the small toggle button. On the nose of his Phantom a small hatch opened, ready to receive the refueling drogue that trailed out of the ass-end of the 135. "Come up," Nozzle called, and Amend added a nudge of throttle. "Come left," the voice called again, and Amend used a gentle combination of stick and rudder, and the huge fighter aircraft drifted slowly left. "Up two," the voice called, and a moment later Amend felt and heard the satisfying click! as the drogue snapped home. "Connect, connect, connect," Nozzle called. "Concur," Amend replied. "Stand by..." He flicked the appropriate switches in the cockpit and a moment later the twin fuel gauges began to climb up. "We have flow," Amend called. "Concur. Six gallons a second," Nozzle replied. "Approximate refuel time is three minutes." This was the most delicate part. Amend had to keep the Phantom practically hovering behind the 135. If he broke the connection before Nozzle shut off the flow, his canopy windshield would be sprayed with JP-4, the standard fuel of all US Military jet aircraft. Similar in chemical makeup to kerosene, once it splashed across the canopy it would freeze instantly, making it hard (but not impossible) to see clearly. "Batman, Nozzle," the drogue operator called. "Go, Nozzle." "How much do you need, over?" "Centerline and both wing tanks." "Roger. Thirty seconds." Fully loaded, the Phantom would have enough fuel to make Mirimar with no problem. But the Flight Operations Officer who had laid this mission on had made it clear that Amend was to get his passenger to Mirimar as quickly as possible, and that meant climbing to almost forty- thousand feet and applying a healthy dose of afterburner. He would need every single drop of fuel he could get. Half a minute later, Nozzle was back on the radio. "Batman, we're showing full at our end." Richard "Batman" Amend checked his gauges. The centerline tank showed full, and the wing tanks were equally teeming with JP-4. "Concur, Nozzle. Releasing drogue." Amend hit the switch and a second later he watched as the drogue detached from the nose of his Phantom. Slowly, Nozzle reeled it back in. "Thanks for the fill-up," Amend called. "Roger that, Batman," Gascan called. "Have a nice flight." The mammoth KC-135 banked to the left and descended, turning back towards home. "Commander, I'm just about to go into afterburner. You might want to hold on." "Ten-four," Maggie called, and Amend could tell by the tone of her voice that she hadn't heard a word he'd said. Oh well, he thought. Lifting the nose, Amend pushed the throttles all the way forward, past the maximum military power stop and into afterburner. The twin Pratt & Whitney engines roared in response, two twin tails of flame leaping out of the plane's tail. The folder that Maggie had been balancing on her lap slid to the floor of the cockpit, spilling the papers. "Shit!" she said. Amend smiled. *** Motel 6 Mission Beach, California "Hey, Scully," Mulder called. "I have an idea." She was in the shower, trying to calm herself down. They had come so close to crossing that line, the line that neither of them was wholly prepared to approach, let alone leap across. It would have been so easy, she thought, letting the water stream across her face. She was still aroused, still so finely attuned to her own senses that Scully thought she could feel every single individual water drop impacting against her face. "What?" "Finish up, and I'll explain." He closed the bathroom door, giving her some privacy. She finished quickly, wrapping another towel around her body and returning to the bedroom. Mulder was lying on the bed with the towel wrapped around him. "Actually," he said, "it was Skinner who gave me the idea." Scully plopped down on the bed and cocked an eyebrow. "When I told him that Watts only knew one other Ronin besides Grave, Skinner said something like, "How would they recognize each other when the time came?" Scully nodded. It made sense, in a Skinner sort of way. Skinner hadn't doubted Mulder's story, apparently. And his mind had quickly worked out the tactical and strategic requirements of such an operation. How would the individual Ronin know if another of their ilk were in command of a facility, or a ship, or a submarine? Good question. "Call Mike. Ask him if there's some kind of code phrase or something we can use." Scully nodded and reached for Mulder's cellphone. She felt the towel shifting and reached for it, not wanting a repeat of what had happened only moments before. Too late. The towel gaped, and Mulder saw her, saw Scully's wet, slick body. Scully glanced up, saw the look on his face and realized that she had nothing to hide from him. She let the towel drop. Mulder groaned. She moved to him, draping her body across his. "Hand me the phone," she whispered, kissing his neck. She felt his hand slapping the bed, blindly searching. A second later she felt him pass the phone to his other hand across her back. "I'll call," he said. "But-" "Do me a favor. Don't move." She smiled against his neck and ground herself against him gently. "Scully..." "Sorry." "Yeah, right." Mulder dialed 1, and then 808, and then stopped. "What's the-" Scully gave him the rest of the number and together they waited for the call to go through. *** Office of the Chief of Staff, Commander, Submarine Forces, Pacific (COMSUBPAC) Naval Base Pearl Harbor Rear Admiral (Upper Half) Mike Watts heard his phone ring. He glanced at it and wondered if he should answer it. It might be Betty, and if he didn't answer it, she'd grow worried. Twenty-six years of marriage had been good to the both of them for the most part, and he hated to worry her. "Watts," he said. "Admiral, Fox Mulder." "Agent Mulder. I see you two got to San Diego without any problem." "Yes, sir. And thank you for all your assistance. The car is wonderful." Watts nodded, impatient. "What can I do for you, son?" Mulder bristled at this, but said nothing. "Sir, this is an unsecured line, so we'll have to be obtuse. Do you remember our discussion this afternoon?" "Yes, of course." "How would you recognize another one?" Watts frowned, thinking, trying to understand what- Oh. "A mark." He paused. "A tattoo. We all have the same tattoo." "Sir! This is not a secure-" "Mr. Mulder, at this point it doesn't much matter. I am quite sure that Danny Graves has better things to do than monitor my communications. The tattoo is of a Phoenix, all black, somewhere on the chest." "What about the women?" "I have no idea, Mr. Mulder. Have a good day." Watts hung the phone up and turned his attention back to the blotter. A Colt M1911A .45 pistol sat in the middle of his desk. Watts picked it up and fingered the envelope underneath it. It was addressed to his wife, and contained... What? A confession? Watts decided that that wasn't far from the truth. Watts hit the magazine release. The pistol's clip fell into the palm of his left hand. Seven Black Talon hollowpoint rounds were nestled in the magazine. One was enough, he knew. One would do the trick. He inserted the magazine back into the pistol and slapped it home. Turning the muzzle towards the door, he grasped the slide with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand and jacked it back. It sounded very loud in the empty room. *** Motel 6 Mission Beach, California "Call him," Mulder said, handing the phone to Scully. "He's on edge." "How can you tell?" Mulder shrugged. "I just can." "Do you think he-?" Mulder nodded and stood, reaching for his clothes. Scully hit REDIAL and listened to the phone ring in her ear. *** Pearl Harbor Watts had the muzzle of the .45 pressed against his right temple when the phone rang again. He felt the tears running down his face, tasted their saltiness on his lips. He tried to ignore the phone, but found that he could not. Swearing, he flicked the safety on and gently laid the pistol down on his desk. "Watts!" "Mike, it's Dana." She paused. "What are you doing right now?" "Dana, I don't have time-" "Mike...are you doing what I think you're doing?" "Dana...please. I know you mean well, but you just don't-" "Trying to tie up those loose ends, Mike?" Scully said, hurrying, trying to break through to him. "Trying to make it all right? This won't do it, Mike." "Dana, goddammit, you do NOT under-" "What? Understand? I understand that a man I used to look up to, a man that I thought was a hero has turned out to be nothing but a coward. A coward that wants to run away when-" "SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!" Watts roared. *** Mission Beach Scully covered the phone with her hand. "Call the base!" she whispered to Mulder. "Provost Marshall's office! Get someone over there now!" Mulder reached for the hotel phone. *** Pearl Harbor "Dana, I'm sorry," Watts said after a long moment. He could hear movement at the other end. He knew what she was doing. "Mike, we need your help. I need your help. We have to fix this thing. We need to make this right. Doing that...won't make it right. Betty will never understand! She'll never believe it unless you tell her yourself." "I wrote a note," he said curtly. "Tell me about it, Mike. What did you say in the note?" "Dana, you're stalling for time." *** Mission Beach Shit! Scully thought. She glanced over at Mulder. He had finally gotten through. "Yes, that's right, COMSUBPAC's chief of staff. She's on the phone with him right now. Hurry!" He cupped the phone and mouthed "Four minutes" to her. Scully nodded. Mulder lifted his left arm, clicking the button on his runner's watch. 4:00 *** Pearl Harbor 03:58 Remaining "Dana...stalling won't work. I have to do this. It's the honorable thing." "Honorable? How can you say that? Your entire life has been dedicated to fighting the good fight, doing what you believe is right! Is killing yourself right?" "I don't know what's right anymore," Watts said softly. "I thought I did...once. But I'm...confused." "It's ok to be confused, Mike," Dana said, her voice soothing. "I'm confused. I still don't know exactly what is going on, what his plans are." "I've thought about it," Watts admitted. "Since you left, I've thought about nothing else." I bet, Scully thought. "Tell me," she urged. "Tell me what you think he's going to do." "I have some notes..." Watts said, putting the gun down on the desk. "Get them...read them to me." "...here somewhere..." Watts muttered. *** Mission Beach, California 3:14 Remaining Scully stood, reaching for her panties. Mulder helped her into them, all thoughts of physical pleasure gone from his mind. She struggled to slide them over her hip with one hand and then gave up as Mulder quickly resorted to dressing her. He held the phone to her ear as Scully slid her arms through the straps of her bra. He snapped it closed and turned to find her pants. *** Pearl Harbor 2:59 Remaining "...tired, so tired..." Watts whispered, looking through the piles of paper on his desk. Off in the distance, he heard something, something that made him stop and look out the window. "...sirens?" he asked. *** Mission Beach 2:50 Remaining "Shit!" Scully said. "Tell them no sirens!" Mulder reached for the phone. "Hello?" "Sir, we're still here." "Tell your units not to use their sirens! He can hear them coming!" In the background, Mulder heard, "...headquarters to all units, proceed at code 2, repeat code TWO!" *** Pearl Harbor 2:34 Remaining The sirens faded. Hmm, Watts thought. Must be a car accident or something. "Found them!" he said triumphantly. He slid his pistol to the side, opening the folder. "Got a pen, Dana? This is a little complicated." "Give me a minute," Scully said. *** Mission Beach 2:21 Remaining Scully motioned with her hand to Mulder, mimicking writing. He shook his head and raced for his bag. He rummaged through it, realizing that he was losing time. He found what he was looking for at the bottom and pulled it out. Stepping to Scully's side, he quickly attached the two tiny suction cups to the cellphone, trailing the wires to the small dictating recorder. He pushed PLAY and REC and then nodded, twirling his finger in a circle. Go. *** Pearl Harbor 2:00 Remaining "Got it, Uncle Mike. Go ahead." Watts nodded, reading his scrawled handwriting. "Well, I figured that he'd need a way to decapitate the leadership of the country. And there's only one way that he can do it that I can think of." He paused. "State of the Union address." *** Pearl Harbor 1:48 Remaining Danny Graves moved quickly up the stairs leading to Admiral Watts' office. Most of the staff had quit work less than half an hour ago, and the halls were deserted. The communications center was manned twenty- four hours a day, but they were locked behind secure steel doors. The USMC guard at the entrance to communications was taking a piss break, and was nowhere to be seen. And if he had been on station, it was doubtful that he would have paid Graves much attention. The uniform fit perfectly. Summer khakis, six rows of ribbons, and Captain's eagles pinned to his collar points. He carried a regulation US Navy briefcase, and his cover was tucked under his left arm. Perfect. Watts' yeoman was gone for the day, sealing Watts' fate. Graves placed the briefcase face-up on the yeoman's desk and opened it. A Glock .45 pistol sat inside, nestled in form-fitting foam rubber. Next to the pistol was the sleek, deadly form of a suppresser. Donning a pair of surgeon's gloves, Graves quickly assembled the pistol, screwing the suppresser into the end. It was already loaded. *** Mission Beach, California 1:30 Remaining "State of the Union? I don't understand." Watts explained. "That's the only time both houses of Congress, the Cabinet, the Joint Chiefs and the entire Supreme Court is all together in one place. It would be the perfect time to take out the entire governmental leadership." Scully gasped. It was perfect, fiendish, diabolical. It made perfect sense. If Graves could somehow manage to detonate a device in the Congress during the State of the Union address, it would have a dual effect. First, as Watts said, it would totally decapitate the government. Second, Washington would be radioactive for months. The physical manifestation of America's government, Washington, would be a smoking pile of radioactive rubble. People would be scared, confused. They'd look for leadership, for guidance. And Danny Graves, the Ronin, would be there to give it to them. *** Pearl Harbor 1:09 Remaining Petty Officer Second Class Chris Hayes took the second-to-last turn almost on two wheels. He could see his destination in the distance. Calculating quickly, Hayes realized it would take him another sixty seconds to navigate the twisting, turning series of roads and streets between here and there. Up ahead, he spotted several dependent children playing in the street, blocking his way. He'd been told to come in silent and quick, but above all...quick. The Chief of Staff to COMSUBPAC was reportedly planning to commit suicide, and an old family friend on the phone was the only thing keeping him alive. Deciding to risk it, Hayes hit the siren. The kids scattered, and he silenced the siren immediately. *** Pearl Harbor 1:00 Remaining Graves glanced over his shoulder, one hand on the knob to Watts' office. He'd heard the siren in the distance. They were alerted, on their way. No time. He turned the knob and stepped inside, leveling the pistol at Watts' face. The admiral wasn't looking towards the door, wasn't aware that Graves had entered. Softly, quickly, Graves moved towards the desk, stepping around the edge. He spied the pistol on the corner and grinned. Watts had been planning to off himself, Graves thought. Doing my work for me, Mike? *** Mission Beach 0:55 Remaining "Do you know where he could get a device?" Scully asked. "It's a bomb, Dana. A toaster is a device. And yes, I know where he could get one. Seal Beach is one place. Almost any ship in the fleet that carries them. This man is a shadow, Dana. He's a ghost. He can come and go anywhere he pleases, any time he wants. He's got identities, clearances, access to things that I can only dream about. He could steal one during a transport, and no one would ever know what happened to it, where it was, or who had taken it until he used it." *** Pearl Harbor 0:40 Remaining Graves reached down and grasped the pistol on Mike's desk. Watts didn't notice until he felt the cold steel of the barrel against his left temple. He slowly turned and looked up into the face of his assassin. *** Mission Beach 0:36 Remaining "I'm so sorry, Dana," she heard him say. The noise of the gun going off was so loud that Scully almost dropped the phone. "NO!" she screamed. "NO!" She lowered the phone. "He did it," she whispered. "He killed himself." *** Pearl Harbor 0:32 Remaining Graves lowered the pistol and reached down, securely wrapping Watts' hand around it. He took a single step away from the desk but saw the phone in Watt's right hand. He knew that he had less than half a minute to make his escape, but he couldn't resist. The temptation was just too great. He reached for it. "Hello?" *** Mission Beach 0:28 Remaining Scully heard something, heard the distant, tinny vibration of a voice on the phone. She lifted it to her ear again. "Mike?" "No," the voice said. "Admiral Watts won't be able to come to the phone, I'm sorry to say. He's quite dead." "Who is this?" she demanded. "Oh...you know, Agent Scully. You know exactly who this is." `Graves,' she mouthed to Mulder. He moved behind her, tipping his head towards her, struggling to hear. "You killed him, you son-of-a-bitch!" "Quite so," Graves confirmed. "But it was with his gun, and there's a very nice suicide note sitting right here on his desk. I'm afraid that you'll have a hard time convincing anyone that I had anything to do with it." Scully took a step towards the door, wanting to dash out into the parking lot, climb into the BMW, drive to Mirimar, demand another plane from Captain Ebert and fly to Pearl, all in the space between two heartbeats. Only then would she be able to put her hands around the neck of this...this... "I'm coming for you," Scully said, her voice icy, cold, dead. "Well, I should hope so. Do remember to bring that lovely partner of yours, won't you? It wouldn't be fun killing one of you without..." *** Pearl Harbor "...having the other there to watch," Graves finished. He glanced out the window. The first car from the Provost Marshal's office was turning the far corner, accelerating up the street. "But I'm afraid I do have to go now. Seems that someone alerted the authorities. But, I must say that I do look forward to meeting the both of you...again." Graves hung up the phone, turned and walked briskly back to the outer office. He quickly disassembled the Glock, returned it to his briefcase and closed it. Exiting Watts' outer office, he turned left instead of right and walked quickly to the end of the hall. The doorway leading to the rear staircase stuck for a moment, and he shoved, hard, forcing it open. He stepped through and closed it, listening the sound of PO2 Chris Hayes pounding his way up the stairs. Silently counting to fifteen, Graves turned and descended the stairs. He exited the building into an alley. His car was waiting for him. Casually opening the trunk, he slipped the case inside and closed it, moving quickly to the driver's side. He started the car and pulled away, turning right at the end of the alley. A Shore Patrolman was directing traffic, but his back was turned to Graves. Turning towards the scene of the crime (the last place anyone would look for a potential culprit,) Graves slowly approached the Shore Patrolman, hitting the switch to lower the window. "What's going on here?" he asked. "Just move along-" the SP said, turning. He saw the twin eagles on Graves' collar and snapped to attention. "Sorry, sir. We have a situation here, and I'm not at liberty to-" "Very well," Graves said, trying to inject a tone of annoyance into his voice. He raised the window and motored past, making sure to slow down and rubberneck like anyone else. He didn't want to stand out in the SP's memory. Graves drove to the gate and exited the base, saluting the Marine guard. He glanced at his watch, calculating. Seventy-six hours, and it would all be over. Perfect. *** Motel 6 Mission Beach, California Mulder carefully removed the tape and held it up to the light. "Well, if we ever catch the son of a bitch, we have him dead to rights. Capital murder, at least." Scully said nothing. She sat down on the bed, hard. Her eyes were far away, and she felt the hot sting of tears building. "He killed him. Just fucking...I can't believe he...fucking killed him...put the fucking gun to his head and just...fucking...killed him." Mulder turned at his partner's words. Scully never swore like that; she sounded like a salty Navy veteran. He kneeled next to her. "Scully...you ok?" She looked at him and snorted. "No, Mulder, I'm not `ok'. One of my parents' oldest and dearest friends was just murdered, and I had to listen to it! How could you even ask? Of course I'm not OK!" Without thinking, Mulder said, "Scully, he was going to kill himself anyway." He saw the look on her face and knew he'd screwed up. She stood. "And you think that makes it all right? You think that because he was scared, confused...that he felt he was out of options, that it's OK? That this man...a hero, Mulder, a genuine, bona-fide, certified hero would think that the country was so bad off, that we're so fucked up that he would participate in a madman's plot to take it over? That he would want to kill hundreds of thousands of people just to make a political point?" Her voice was rising. She's hysterical, Mulder thought, standing. "You know, Mulder, for someone who's supposed to be so fucking smart, you can be really STUPID sometimes!" "Scully..." he said, reaching for her. She stepped back. "Don't you TOUCH ME!" she hissed. Shocked, he dropped his arms. "W-what...?" he asked. She turned and strode towards the connecting door. "X things, Mulder. First, be ready to move out in fifteen minutes. We're going to go talk to Lieutenant Roche at Mirimar. Second...I'll be sleeping in here tonight, Mulder." She turned, stopped, and turned back. "Alone." ---------------------------------------------------- END CHAPTER 18 Content Notes : [sex] Physical snuggle bunnies. Naked Scully. Naked Mulder. No sex. No touching of bulbous tingling regions, as the Church Lady would say. No kissing. [violence] Suicide attempt. Evil assassin. Gun-to-the-head- faked-suicide-murder. No gore. [Angst] ScullyAngst. StupidMulder. Words exchanged in the heat of emotions.