"Umbra" 28/? 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 : August 3, 1997 Archive Entry : "Umbra, Chapter 28" Classification : Action Adventure, MSR Rating : R (Adult Themes, Adult Language, violence) ***************: PLEASE SEE CONTENT NOTES AND CONTENT WARNINGS. Notes : None Casting : Glenne Headly, "Commander Maggie King" : Val Kilmer, "Commander Matt Stone." Timeline : 4th year, prior to "Momento Mori." Spoilers : "Anasanzi" Enjoy! ----- Pave Creek, Montana "What's the situation?" Stone radioed back. Quickly, Skinner brought him up to speed. "No way," Stone said. "No way am I letting that asshole get out of here with a device that can decimate Washington. No frigging way, Skinner." There was the sound of movement on the radio. And then silence. "Scully..." Skinner radioed. *** On the other side of the clearing, Matt Stone was unlimbering an H&K MP5, getting ready to move into position. "...you know what to do," she heard in her headset. Sighing, Scully nodded. She knew what had to be done. Skinner's assessment of the situation was correct. They had to let Graves go; there was no defense against risking the lives of the people of Billings, Montana, just to save Washington. Someone else, someone like Stone, would have argued loud and long that the loss of a hundred thousand lives was nothing when compared against losing the government. To Scully, there was no choice. She drew her SIG. The sound the hammer made as she thumbed it back into the single- action position was extremely loud in the woods. "Matt," she said softly, leveling the gun at his back. "Don't make me shoot you." His head turned, looking back at her. "That's the second time you've pointed a gun at me. I don't recommend a third." "Matt," she said again. "Please." She watched the emotions battling behind his eyes. First there was the irrational anger of having her...a woman!...pointing a gun at him. Then resignation, as the rational part of his mind tried to convince itself that Skinner was right, that this had to be done, distasteful as it was. And then something new, something Scully had never seen before. She didn't like it. It looked like...some form of sick, twisted determination. With a shudder, Scully realized that she was going to have to shoot him, that Stone had lost the ability to distance himself from the mission, that the entire affair had become too personal; he had become too involved. Fifteen years of hunting this man, only to have him slip away at this last moment had sapped Stone's ability to think clearly and rationally. "I could take that away from you," he announced. "I doubt it." "Do you have the balls to shoot?" Scully said nothing. Any words, at this point, were useless.. "I can't let him leave like this," Stone said, a pleading note creeping into his voice. Scully wasn't buying it. The man was trained too well to let that happen. He was playing her, playing her like he had from the start, playing her like he had Maggie King and God only knew how many others over the course of this quest of his. "You have no choice in the matter," Scully announced quietly. "It isn't up to you." "You bitch..." he said. Scully decided to let him have that one. His words towards her meant nothing. Nothing at all. "Whatever," she said. And then Stone was moving, twisting on the ground, his hand moving to the holstered sidearm on his thigh. Scully watched in slow motion as he drew the weapon and chambered a round, all in one smooth motion. "Noooo!" she started to say, and then training and instinct took over. She didn't want to kill him. Every single facet of FBI firearms training, and the additional SWAT training she'd undergone was focused on one single, inescapable fact: You shoot to kill. Always. Without exception. If you draw your weapon, you must be prepared to kill. Do not shoot to wound, to disable, to render inert. You shoot to kill. Scully fired first. The shot took Stone high in the right shoulder, the bullet digging a meaty furrow, missing the clavicle by half an inch, missing the subclavian artery by not much more. The MagSafe frangible ammunition didn't exit his body, but instead disintegrated, transferring the kinetic energy to his body. "Augh!" Stone cried, dropping his pistol. "Report!" Skinner ordered over the radio. "Sir, Commander Stone has been wounded," Scully said, her hand at the push-to-talk switch. "He needs immediate medical attention." Skinner, on the other side of the clearing, wondered if she'd forgotten she was a physician. "Scully..." he radioed, the unspoken portion of his transmission more than clear to her. "Sir, I'm afraid that if I approach him, he'll try and disarm me, and I'll be forced to kill him this time." "Acknowledged," Skinner radioed back. "I'm sending Mulder to help you." "Make it fast; he's losing a lot of blood." Stone rolled on the ground, his left hand coming up to compress the gaping hole in his shoulder. "I can't believe you shot me!" he gasped. "I told you I would," Scully pointed out. "Yeah...never thought you had the...guts." "That's your fatal mistake, Stone. You underestimate everyone around you." "I think I'm beginning to learn," he gasped. "My legs are cold," he announced. "You're going into shock." "Help me?" "Not a chance. Not until Mulder gets here to cover my back." "I promise-" "Your promises aren't worth a hill of beans, Stone. Just compress the wound and hope for the best." *** Skinner felt the phone starting to ring before he heard it. "Hello?" "Shots fired, Colonel? What on Earth is going on out there?" Skinner took a deep breath, resisting the urge to tell Graves to take a flying leap. "Commander Stone had to be...convinced to let you go." "Ah, I see. He is a rather...tenacious lot, isn't he?" "Graves, if you didn't have the CBX bomb in Billings, I'd be in that house myself taking you apart piece by piece." Graves laughed over the cellular. "Oh, I doubt that, Colonel. But, we'll never know the answer to that particular question, will we? My helicopter is just over three minutes out. Please make sure that the rest of your merry little band has better fire discipline than Commander Stone." There was a pause. "Colonel, tell me...who shot him?" "I have no intention of telling you that," Skinner said. "I'm afraid I must insist. Or that little package in Hutchins Park will go off as originally planned, Colonel." Skinner gritted his teeth. "Scully." "My, what a little firebrand she is! I'm looking forward to meeting her, face to face." Graves voice turned cold, tomb cold. "So I can kill her. And Mulder. And King. And you, my dear Colonel." "You just name the time and place, Graves. We'll be there." "Washington. Nine am. Sunday. Wait for me to call you on this number. I can't have you mucking up my plans, now can I? I'll give you one last chance to foil my evil deeds, Colonel, and then I'm afraid that I'll have to go through with my original desires." "We'll be waiting," Skinner said, twisting his neck. He could hear the distinctive whop-whop-whine sounds of a Bell JetRanger III in the distance. "Your ride is hear, asshole." "Ah. So it is. I must leave you now, Colonel. Good day." And Graves was gone. Electronic static and hisses filled Skinner's ear as he watched the chopper circle the house twice and then slowly settle down in the front yard. A moment later Danny Graves exited the front door and waved at Skinner. Right at me! Skinner fumed. The gall! Stooped over, Graves ran to the chopper and threw open the cargo door. Running back to the house, he disappeared inside for less than ten seconds and then reappeared carrying what appeared to be a full-size military duffel bag. "Maggie," Skinner called. "Call someone and find out what the physical dimensions of both an assembled and a disassembled Tomahawk missile are." "Roger that," Maggie said, grabbing her own satellite phone and furiously dialing. Graves tossed his cargo into the chopper and slid the door shut. A moment later he climbed into the co-pilot's seat and shut the door. Ten seconds after that, the chopper pilot pulled pitch. The huge chopper's engine revved up to takeoff speed, and then, slowly, the skids came up off the grass, the nose dropped, and it glided smoothly away, heading south. *** Mulder crashed through the bush, looking for his partner. There! Up ahead, he could see Scully, still holding her pistol on Stone, the SIG held in a steady, practiced two-handed Weaver combat grip. "Took you long enough," she smiled at him. "Hey, Scully...I'm not the outdoors type. My idea of roughing it is to park the RV the 7-11 lot." "Cover me," she said, dropping her gun as Mulder drew his. She worked quickly, assessing her marksmanship. This was the second time she had shot a man for his own good. The first had been Mulder, and now Stone. She was getting good at it, she saw. The wound was messy, but not too bad. The MagSafe ammunition wasn't designed for the use she'd put it to; it was a killing around, designed to shred everything in it's path and render the recipient deader than a doorstop. "You're lucky," she announced. "You'll get full use of the shoulder back. But you do need surgery, and need it pretty quickly, or the muscle tissue is going to atrophy. You also need a tetanus shot," she said, mentally ticking off all the things she wanted to do once she got Stone to a hospital. "No," he said softly. "The round is sterilized by the heat of discharge." "Yes, but a secondary infection can cause gangrene. You want to lose the entire arm, you dumb son of a bitch?" "Don't call my mother a bitch," he said through gritted teeth. "Why not? You've called me one...more than once," Scully pointed out. At hearing that, Mulder's hands began to shake. He was beginning to get a much better idea of what Stone had put Scully through. "You bastard," he whispered. Scully glanced up. "Chill out, Mulder. He's a jerk. We both know that." He smiled at his partner, a woman so strong that he would never fully be able to comprehend the depths of her strength, the reserves of iron will that she drew on. "What are you smiling about?" "Remember when I told the CO of the Georgia that you'd shot me? Well, now I've got another story to tell uncooperative witnesses. `Be careful, I saw her take out a Navy SEAL with her duty weapon. Do not trifle with this woman.'" "Damn straight," she said, standing. She'd applied a pressure dressing to the wound. It wasn't much, but it would have to do until they got Stone to a hospital. As if reading her mind, he gasped, "No hospitals." "Don't even start," Scully began. "You are going to the first Level I trauma center we can find. I will brook no bullshit about this, Stone. You are going, and that is final." She hooked a thumb at her partner. "Or I'll let Mulder here explain to you why I dislike being called a bitch so much." Stone glanced at Mulder and saw murder in the FBI Agent's eyes and decided, for now, to play along. "Fine. Just get me there quick. I want to be ready for Sunday." Scully seriously doubted he'd be ready for any Sunday without at least six weeks of physical therapy, but she decided not to point that particular fact out at the moment. Walking to her partner, she said, "You can put that away." Mulder holstered his weapon and glanced down at her. "How are you doing?" he asked, and then quietly, "Really?" "Pretty shitty," she admitted. "I'm getting tired of this. I just want to shoot Graves and get it over with." He nodded, understanding. Two minutes later, as they stood there holding each other with a wounded Commander Stone lying on the ground in a jealous rage as he watched them, Skinner and King broke through the bushes and approached. "We re-group," Skinner announced. "Maggie will fly us all back to DC aboard her plane." He glanced down at Stone. "Can we walk?" "Probably," Scully said. "Although he'll be in a lot of pain." "Fuck him," Skinner said. "Let it hurt." Turning to Maggie he said, "Go get the Expedition. We can all fit in that." Maggie saluted, turned and dashed off. "What a mess," Skinner observed. "We had him dead to rights." "Have you called the HRT?" Scully asked. "Yeah...they're handling the CBX device in Billings. They have strict orders not to make a report until they talk to me. We should be able to keep this under wraps at least until Sunday." Sunday. As if on cue, all three FBI agents glanced at their watches. It was just after four thirty in the afternoon Friday. They had less than two complete days to get to Washington and plan for the final showdown with Graves. *** Washington, DC The smoking man sat alone in one of the two dozen offices he used, staring at a phone that resisted every one of his silent mental urges to ring. He lit another cigarette, perhaps the thirtieth of that day. His thoughts, as they were most days, were filled with two very special federal agents, the Project, and the plans that he had made. Would they ever understand? he wondered. Probably not. It was a road, he knew, a road that they had started on together almost fifty years ago. Fox Mulder had been picked, selected for this assignment before he'd even been born. His sister similarly selected for a role in the entire scheme of things before she'd been a gleam in her parent's eyes. And the woman. The amazing Dana Scully, the smoking man thought. She had worked out better than anticipated. Everything had. They hated him, he knew, as did Skinner and all the rest. As did the men that he reported to, at least nominally. Having several different sets of masters was nothing new to this man; he'd been doing it for as long as he could remember. And, really, when it came down to it, none of them were really his masters. He could, they all knew, just up and leave one day, return to where he had come from, leave them to the horror that was slowly approaching, closer every day. They could predict within forty-eight hours as to when they would arrive. And God help them if they weren't prepared. He'd seen what could happen to those that were not prepared mentally, physically and spiritually. It was not a pretty sight. The current situation was just another...test, he thought, a wry smile teasing his face, a smile that didn't quite make it to his eyes. A test of the...resolve of his two hand-picked agents. To see if they had the stuff. If they had the heart, the mental toughness required for what was really coming. The time to tell them was looming, he knew. The time to reveal all was not far away. A year or two, nothing to a man like him. A blip on the surface of time. Time. Their arrogance amused him sometimes. How long had it taken to convince them? How many dog and pony shows had he been forced to put on to demonstrate the seriousness of the situation. Those in charge, the `elected officials' didn't believe him. Not at first. Those first ones, the early ones, had believed it to be some kind of trick, a parlor stunt. Tunek had convinced them. Tunek, of the liquid face and the fierce heart. Tunek, sent from home to help soften the blow, to help prepare the weak against the strong. They still misunderstood. Even Mulder, with his brilliant mind, his openness to the extreme, misunderstood Tunek. Alien Bounty Hunter, that was what Mulder called him. Drill Sergeant was more like it, the smoking man thought. Had he been allowed to speak more openly, Tunek would have told Mulder, told him on the ice, told him what was coming, why he was there. Tunek would have told Mulder that he, Tunek, had been where Mulder was. He had seen what Mulder was going to see, had fought the battles that Mulder was scheduled to fight. But the time hadn't been right. It had been too soon, too early. The phone rang. The smoking man lifted the receiver. "Hello?" "It's Graves," the voice said. "Of course it is," the smoking man replied. *** Washington, DC 0003 Hours The Lear jet piloted by Commander Maggie King, USNR, touched down with a squeal of rubber against tarmac. Immediately reversing the engines, she taxied the small business jet to the Butler ramp and quickly killed the engines. "We need a car," Skinner announced to the cabin. "I'll go," Maggie said. Skinner just nodded, turning to his two agents. They'd left Stone at Billings Memorial Hospital. Scully'd had a word with the ER doctor, and the man had agreed that Stone's condition required sedation. Lots of it. It was down to the three of them, they knew. King was a gopher, their support system. There was no one else they could count on, because it was impossible to know who was working for Graves and who was not. "Ok...here's the deal. Go home. Get some sleep. We'll meet at..." He stopped, embarrassed. "Uh...where?" he asked. Scully frowned, and then got it. Skinner was asking where they were going to sleep tonight. She glanced at her partner and saw the hopeful look on his face. Truth be told, she'd wanted a night to herself to regroup, to calm down....to cry in the shower and let all the anger and pain and rage out of her so she could be clear come the morning. One look at Mulder forced that thought from her mind. "My apartment," she said softly. "Fine. We'll regroup tomorrow at Scully's apartment. Noon." "God, I'm tired," Mulder said softly. "Tell me about it," Scully moaned. *** Apartment of Dana Scully Annapolis, Maryland 0114 Hours The duffel bags containing their assault gear, weapons, explosives and other assorted nasty toys and gadgets were incredibly heavy when one was bone-tired, Mulder discovered. He had one over each shoulder and was struggling to keep up with Scully. Quickly unlocking the door, she let them both in and then locked it behind them, testing the knob to make sure it was secure. Mulder dropped the duffel bags in the foyer and turned to her, wanting to do nothing more than fall into a shower, followed shortly by a soft, warm bed. The look on Scully's face froze him in his tracks. "Mulder," she said, and then stopped. "I need...a minute." "Sure," he said. "Want something to drink?" "Tea," she said softly. He nodded and walked to the kitchen, hoping that he could remember where it was. Tired, he thought. So tired. Scully moved to her couch and sat, forearms on her thighs. She felt numb. Cold. Dead. She tried to remember the last seventy-two hours and found that she could not. Bits and pieces, images, fragments of moments, conversations, sounds. It was all whirling in her head, threatening to overpower her, make her go slowly and completely insane. "Here." It was Mulder, at her side, handing her a cup of tea. He held a freshly-opened bottle of beer in his hand, a sign of his own fatigue since he rarely, if ever, drank. She took it, gratefully, and sipped. "Mmm..nice." He said nothing for a long time, letting her sit and think. And then, finally, "Do you want me to go?" She thought about saying yes. Thought hard. "No," she finally said. "I don't know if I'll be much company tonight, but-" And then it was too much. All of it was just too damn much. Scully felt her fingers opening, watched as the cup descended towards the hardwood floor and disintegrated as it hit, spilling hot tea everywhere. She sobbed, drawing her legs up to her chest, her arms going around her knees. "Why?" she asked no one. "Why is he doing this?" Mulder put his beer down on the coffee table and moved to the couch, drawing her into his arms. "Shh," he said, because it was the only thing he knew to say. "I don't know, Scully...I don't think anyone does." Mulder didn't know how wrong he was. Someone did know, someone that was, if not close to him, at least known to him. *** Washington, DC 0130 Hours "Report," the smoking man said. "I planted the CBX device in Billings, as you instructed," Graves replied. "When Skinner and the merry band of marauders arrived in Pave Creek, they fell for the bait. They let me go with the CBX for Washington." The smoking man nodded. That was to be expected. They hadn't been pushed far enough at this point to make the hard decisions. That would change. There would come a time when Fox Mulder and Dana Scully would be forced to make hard decisions, decisions more complex and difficult than any that had preceded them. "Let's go over the final stage one more time," the smoking man said. "It is imperative that this go off without a hitch." Graves nodded. "I know." The smoking man considered Graves from across the desk. Such sacrifice. A plan almost twenty years in the design, a plan that had been put into motion when Mulder was still a young boy. A plan that had involved thousands of people over the years, had resulted in the deaths of more than one, a plan that had one single purpose. To teach a lesson. To teach a lesson to two specific people. Graves knew what the stakes were, knew that Mulder and Scully had been selected for this task long ago. Knew that he was going to have to make the ultimate sacrifice. His life. "Are you sure?" the smoking man said. "This all hinges on you, you know. If you...waver...at the last minute, it will all be for naught." Graves nodded. "We have little choice." After a pause, he added, "I have no choice." "Explain," the smoking man requested. "My brothers," Graves said, a little sadly. "They think me mad, Scully, Mulder, Skinner. They think I am an insane person, wanting to demolish Washington and reduce it to a smoking hole. To kill all those people. They have no idea why I do this. Why it must be done. I do. I understand. I embrace it. I will willingly sacrifice my life in this battle to prepare them." He paused. "To prepare the Chosen for what is to come." The smoking man almost choked on his smoke. Those words; that phrase. The Chosen. Scully. Mulder. Each, chosen, for different reasons, separate and apart from the others. Now, together. Chosen. Chosen for another reason, another mission. For the battle that was to come. "I don't want my brother's death to be for no reason. I want my own death to be for a reason." He hesitated. "Promise me that when the time is right that they will be told what this was all about. Tell me that. Promise me that." The smoking man nodded. "If they make it. If they all make it through what is to come, I will tell them. You have my word." Graves nodded. "Then you have my life." *** Apartment of Dana Scully Annapolis, Maryland In time, she quieted. Mulder continued to hold her, gently rocking, until the sobs lessened and then quit. "Shower," he said softly, and she nodded. Together, they moved to the bathroom. He undressed her, although it was not erotic, not sexual. He simply removed her clothes until she was nude, and then his own. She stood there, waiting for him, her expression numb, empty. He started the water, adjusted the temperature, and helped her under the spray. He worked quickly, efficiently, not trying to arouse or inflame, but to cleanse, to wash away. He washed her body, and then her hair. And then he used his fingers on her back, her neck, her shoulder, trying to relax her. Trying to get the tension out of her muscles and into the humid air that surrounded them. Finished with her, he washed himself quickly. Grabbing a towel, he dried first her and then himself, and the led her to the bedroom. Like a child, she let him guide her. Together, they slipped into the bed. "Mulder," she whispered. "Thank you." "For what?" "For letting me go. For letting me just feel...nothing for a while." "That's what I'm here for," he said gently, his arms around her. Her back was to his front, and they snuggled, two spoons in a cotton drawer, waiting for the night to claim them. "In the night," she said softly, gently, her voice already approaching sleep. "If I reach for you...it's because I need to feel you, need to feel alive, loved, vital. Do you understand? It's not about...us. It's about me." "I understand," Mulder whispered in her ear. And he did. And she did. Hours later, she rolled over and reached for him, using her hands to slowly wake him, to make him ready for her. It was slow. It was passionate. And contrary to what she had said, it was not just for her, it was for them. It was a new way for them to connect, a new way for them to show love for each other. Scully, opening herself, welcoming him into her, into her body as well as her heart and soul. Showing him that side of herself that she'd always kept hidden, kept under lock and key, under iron-clad control. Later, after they'd finished, she cried again. Cried for what she'd been forced to do. Cried for what was to come. If only she'd known, Scully would have cried until the sun rose. -------------- END CHAPTER 28 Content: ScullyFu. Bullet-to-the-shoulder-persusian. Maloelevent plot points revealed. ScullyShowerSceneT. ScullyAngst. Author's Note: For those of you that are enjoying this story, I'd like to take a moment and introduce you to another author. If you like "Umbra," and I mean "really, really like" Umbra, then you might also like a book I just finished reading called "A Flash of Red," by Clay Harvey. It's avaiable in paperback at your local Waldenbooks, B. Dalton's or Borders. Some of you may just file this under, "Yeah, yeah, whatever," but if you like this story, the way it's paced, the general `voice' of the story, then I can almost guarentee that you will like "A Flash of Red." I read it practically in one sitting, and it was a great novel. This is Clay's debut novel, and it's a beaut! His next book, "A Whisper of Black," is due out in hardcover sometime soon. So, if my opinion means anything to you, I urge you to spend the $6.50(US) to grab a copy.