"Umbra" 29/?
			       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 4, 1997
Archive Entry  :  "Umbra, Chapter 29"
Classification :  Action Adventure, MSR
Rating         :  R (Adult Themes, Adult Language, violence)
Notes          :  None
Timeline       :  4th year, prior to "Momento Mori."
Spoilers       :  None that I can think of...


Note : Originally, I had titled the chapters with "Book I," with a "Book 
II" planned. The concept was that at the moment Skinner announced he was 
a Guardian, Book I would end, and Book II would pick up. Since I forgot 
totally and missed the switchover, please ignore the Book I and II 
nonsense. This story will span approximately 40 chapters. We are at 
Chapter 29. 11 to go, folks. I hope you have all enjoyed this story. 
Feedback is always appreciated and encouraged.

Enjoy!
-----
Apartment of Walter S. Skinner
Crystal City

	Tired, he thought.
	Exhausted. Bone-weary. 
	Twelve hours of sleep, at a minimum, and the chance to only get 
nine or ten before he had to be back at Scully's apartment.
	Heeling the door shut behind him, Skinner dumped his equipment 
duffel bag in the foyer, and then reached under his FBI windbreaker and 
unclipped his duty weapon and gently put it on the table. His ID case 
flopped down next to it a moment later. Contrary to what he'd told 
Ebert, he hadn't resigned from the Bureau, and had no plans to. A 
sympathetic superior had promised to cover for him, and Skinner had 
taken an "extensive field supervision assignment," according to the 
paperwork.
	As if saving the world could be called that, he thought.
	As if it had been waiting for his arrival, the phone began to 
ring.
	"Skinner," he barked into it.
	"Mr. Skinner." The voice of the smoking man filled his ears, and 
Skinner ground his teeth in annoyance and frustration. 
	"What do you want?"
	"I think that question is rather obvious, Mr. Skinner. I would 
like a status report of our two agents."
	"Resting comfortably, if I know them."
	"Excellent."
	"Do you have any news for me?" Skinner asked.
	"Whatever do you mean?"
	"Cut the crap; I know you've been in contact with Graves."
	There was a momentary pause on the other end of the line, just 
long enough to let Skinner know that his blind shot in the dark had hit 
home. "You have talked to him, haven't you?"
	"I don't believe I know what you are talking about, Mr. Skinner."
	"Sure," Skinner said, repeating something he'd heard Scully say 
more than once. "Fine. Whatever. Are we done?"
	"Almost. On Sunday, Mr. Graves will be contacting you, as I'm sure 
you're more than aware. I must impress upon you the need to allow Agent 
Mulder to make any...important decisions." The smoking man paused. "That 
cannot be stressed enough, Mr. Skinner. The future of certain...efforts 
rides on Mr. Mulder's ability to think under pressure."
	Skinner glanced around his townhouse, looking for something to 
focus his fury on. To think that this man thought he could change 
standing Bureau policy at his merest whim was galling.
	Feeling the twist of a grimace reaching his face, Skinner gave the 
only answer open to him. "Whatever you say...sir."
	"Mr. Skinner; I know that you despise me, and viewed from your 
standpoint, you have every right to. I can only attempt to assure you 
that this is all for the greater good."
	"Who decides?" Skinner demanded. "You?"
	"Under certain circumstances, yes. Things I have experience with, 
things I know about. Other issues? Other issues I leave to those with 
the experience."
	"And what experience do you have preventing the end of the world 
as we know it?" Skinner demanded.
	"Are you referring to Mr. Graves or something else?"
	"You know what I'm referring to."
	There was another pause.
	"Do I?"
	"I am referring to Graves. Why? Is there another plot afoot? 
Another mission I have to send my two best agents on? Another death-
defying leap of faith for a man that has earned little trust and 
absolutely no respect from me or anyone who works for me?"
	There, Skinner thought. I finally said it. 
	It felt good, bucking the system.
	"Mr. Skinner. Need I remind you of the commitment you've made over 
the years?"
	"No. And you'd better not try, either."
	"Very well. Just make sure that Mr. Mulder is in charge of 
the...affair this weekend."
	"Whatever," Skinner said, slamming the phone down. Every time he 
saw that man's face in his mind's eye, Skinner found himself wishing for 
the chance to wring his neck.
	Sighing, Skinner walked upstairs to his bedroom, losing clothes as 
he moved. By the time he entered the bedroom proper, he was down to his 
briefs.
	He was asleep a moment after his head touched the pillow.

                                      ***
Apartment of Dana Scully
0903 Hours

	Sometime during the night she had risen and donned a pair of his 
boxer shorts and his cut-off Knicks T-shirt. She slept, fists curled 
under her chin, her body turned to face him, her face slack and peaceful 
in slumber.
	Mulder had been watching Scully sleep for close to an hour, 
letting his mind drift, thinking about her and him and their newfound 
closeness. The lovemaking during the night had been tender, not 
unromantic, but more...therapeutic, he thought. Calming, soothing. 
	He glanced at his watch. Twenty-four hours until the time of 
reckoning, he thought. A full day until...whatever came next.
	Mulder gently rolled onto his back and tried to think of what 
would happen if Graves' plan succeeded. What would happen if he managed 
to detonate the CBX device in Washington at noon Sunday?
	With dozens, hundreds...thousands of his operatives moving into 
key posts around the country and around the world, the face of the 
United States' political landscape would change forever. Graves would 
crown himself king. He would suspend the constitution under the FEMA 
guidelines for national emergency, declare martial law, dissolve the 
Congress and the Supreme Court, and bring the military both at home and 
abroad to full alert.
	Graves was, by training and experience, a man used to affecting 
policy by the threat and use of violence. He was a man who saw the gun 
and the sword as the solution to all problems. Before long, Mulder knew, 
if Graves succeeded, some two-or-three-bit dictator somewhere would try 
and force America's hand, try to see if the new iron-willed leadership 
of the country was just that, or a paper tiger.
	Mulder shuddered at the thought; he had no doubt that once Graves 
had the keys to the nuclear kingdom he wouldn't hesitate to use it to 
put down anyone, any country, who opposed him. And just as he would use 
weapons of mass destruction abroad, who's to say that he wouldn't use 
more of the deadly CBX to put down revolts at home? Saddam had done it 
to the Kurds. Pol Pot had done it to his own countrymen. In America's 
not to distant past, police dogs and water hoses had been used to put 
down demonstrations for civil rights. Attempting to force people to 
agree with your thinking via force and coercion was not exactly unheard 
of.
	Three people, Mulder thought. Three people stood in the way of 
this plot. Him, a paranoid paranormal investigator, nominally an FBI 
agent trained in law enforcement and investigation, cross trained as a 
psychologist. No one's idea of a Protector of Freedom. Captain America 
he was not.
	Scully, a medical doctor, a fierce woman with a warrior's heart 
and a Zen Buddhists' soul. Not exactly Wonder Woman, Mulder thought, but 
still...if he was going to bet real money on someone being able to pull 
it off, it'd be on the tiny, delicate redhead sleeping next to him. He 
alone, aside from her family perhaps, knew the depths of her strength, 
the reserves of will she was able to draw upon when needed. She had the 
precise, logical mind of an excellent military commander, and knew the 
difference between force and violence, and knew how to apply both at the 
correct time for the maximum effectiveness.
	Skinner, a former (and current) Marine, a leader of men (and 
women,) a man who led from the front when he was able. A man who 
believed strongly in the beauty of strength, the Godliness of standing 
up for what was right. A man who understood as equally as Scully did 
that there were distasteful things that had to be done at times, and 
being able to do them didn't make you bloodthirsty or violent or ugly; 
they made you proud, in a strange way, proud to be able to look the 
monster in the eye and slay it, and emerge with most of your soul 
intact.
	Not exactly Superman, but not a bad resemblance, Mulder thought. 
He could almost see Skinner ripping his shirt open to reveal the large 
red "S." The image brought a smile to his face, and he fought not to 
laugh out loud.
	"What's so funny?" Scully mumbled.
	"Skinner. I was imagining what he'd look like in tights and a 
cape."
	Scully frowned at her partner, not fully understanding the 
reference. "Red cape, red tights," Mulder explained. "A big red "S" on 
his chest."
	Scully smiled at that. "If anyone..." she started, and then 
stopped. The entire topic, as nutty as it was, intrigued her. If Skinner 
were Superman, which Superhero would Mulder be?
	Batman, she thought without pause.
	The tortured Dark Knight was perfect for Mulder. The aloofness, 
the aloneness, the twisted depth of soul. 
	And the car, she thought, remembering Kilmer's line in the movie. 
Chicks dig the car.
	What does that make me? she thought. Batgirl?
	She remembered the 60's series, with Batgirl's skintight purple 
outfit and the flaming mane of red hair poking out the back. Not too far 
off, she thought. She might even look good in the bodysuit.
	"So who are you?" Mulder teased.
	"Batgirl," she replied, before thinking.
	"Oh. So I guess that means I'm the morose flying bat, huh?"
	"Mulder..." she started, hating the whining tone that had crept 
into her voice. Sometimes, the emotional energy required to keep 
Mulder's spirit up was draining.
	"Nah...you're right. Plus...all the cool toys. Frohickie would be 
jealous."
	She leaned over and kissed him gently on the lips. "Morning breath 
aside, he's already got a reason to be jealous."
	"Oh? And that would be?"
	She got out of bed and turned to face him, crossing her arms in 
front of her and casually lifting the Knicks shirt up and over her head.
	Hands on hips, she faced him. "You figure it out," she said, 
softly teasing. "Me? I'm going to take another shower."
	Mulder gulped as she turned and walked into the bathroom.
	Oh my Lord, he thought.
	Scrambling out of bed to join her, Mulder wondered if there was a 
costume store open on a Saturday that had a <good> Batman costume, and 
more importantly, a <good> Batgirl costume.
	Might be interesting.

                                      ***

	"So what next?" Scully asked.
	They had showered together, made love, and then showered again. It 
was almost time for Skinner to arrive, and they found themselves pacing 
the apartment, bumping into each other, driving each other up the wall.
	"If we get the time, I want to go to Quantico and go through some 
re-familiarization with our weapons. It's been a while since I had to 
play very seriously with these particular toys. I'm going to call 
Dawkins over at Little Creek and see if he'll let us go through the 
Death House."
	The Death House, also known as the SEAL Team Six Hostage Training 
Center, was a series of cinderblock buildings constructed on the grounds 
of Marine Barracks, Quantico, designed to be used by SEAL Six, the FBI 
HRT, and the Army's Delta Force. The inside walls were moveable so that 
the internal configuration could be changed at a moment's notice. When 
the SEALs trained on taking down a building full of hostages and tangos, 
the commanding officer was inside playing a hostage during all live-fire 
exercises.
	The FBI was not so generous with their employees.
	"You think this is going to go down inside a building?"
	"Almost certainly. You can't sit in the middle of Potomac Park 
with a loaded Tomahawk missile and not expect to get noticed, Scully. 
It's just figuring out where that's going to be the problem."
	She nodded, accepting his logic. "Unless he disguises it."
	"As what? A big firecracker?"
	She shrugged. "I've learned not to underestimate the bastard," she 
said softly.
	"Let's just hope he hasn't learned a similar lesson."
	Lesson. The word stuck in Scully's mind, refusing to be budge.
	"Sounds like a good idea. But if you're going to go, we all need 
to."
	Mulder nodded. "Yeah."
	There was a knock at the door and Scully moved to open it. 
Glancing down at her attire, (gym shorts, Mulder's Knicks T-shirt and 
nothing else,) she decided that Skinner wouldn't mind. Mulder was 
wearing jeans and nothing else, the water from the recent shower still 
matted in his chest hairs.
	She opened the door to find Skinner standing there.
	"Good morning, Dana," he said.
	"Walter," she replied.
	Skinner entered the apartment and found Mulder seated at the 
kitchen table. 
	"Fo...Mulder," he said.
	Mulder grinned. "Sir, if you don't mind, I'll still be calling you 
`sir.'"
	Skinner grinned. "That's fine, Mulder."
	He glanced at his favorite agents and then at the ground. Their 
easy familiarity, their obvious comfort with each other's body was still 
new to him, and a bit disconcerting.
	"Can I ask a rather unprofessional question?" 
	The partners exchanged glances, and then a secret smile.
	"Sir?"
	"How do you manage it? Being...involved and still working 
together?"
	Scully shrugged. "It's still new to us, sir."
	She saw his face and held up a hand. "The newness of the reality 
of it, sir. As for...before, all I can say is that it was hard."
	"But it's easier now? Now that it's out in the open?"
	Both agents nodded. "We've been through so much together as 
friends and partners, each of us wanting...this, wanting it to be more, 
knowing that it would be right if it wasn't for the rules and our own 
innate stubbornness that...to finally be here is a relief."
	Skinner nodded, accepting the explanation. "Makes sense."
	"So what's the plan?" Mulder asked.
	"Quantico. Death house," Skinner said, the eager growl evident in 
his voice.
	Mulder nodded and arched an eyebrow at Scully.
	"Sir," she started, "That's spooky, pardon the expression. Mulder 
was just saying-"
	Mulder was waving a hand behind Skinner's head, trying to stop 
Scully from letting the cat out of the bag.
	"Was just saying what?" Skinner asked.
	"Nothing," Mulder and Scully replied at the same time.
	"Mulder...are you actually turning into an ass-kicking, name-
taking, widow-making silent wind of death behind my back?"
	Mulder just shrugged.
	Scully laughed. "Oh, yeah...that's him. Deadliest paranoid in the 
world."
	"Can we change the subject, please...Batgirl?"
	The look that passed between the partners carried enough heat to 
melt ice.
	At the North Pole.
	In January.
	At midnight.
	"Batgirl...?" Skinner prodded.
	"Sir," Scully started.
	"Can't you see it?" Mulder said, an evil smile on his face. "The 
purple body suit, the mane of red hair, the motorcycle?"
	"Ok, BatMAN," Scully chided. "That's enough."
	"So who am I?" Skinner asked. There was an unfamiliar expression 
on his face, an expression that took both Scully and Mulder a moment to 
place. It was a smile; a soft, friendly, Hey-I'm-just-one-of-the-guys 
smile.
	"Uh..." Scully said, looking at her partner.
	"Er..." Mulder added.
	"What? Aquaman?" Scully and Mulder shook their heads, cheeks 
flaming.
	"Captain America?"
	Skinner tried again.
	"Not Robin...please, tell me I'm not Robin!"
	That was too much, even for Mulder. He lost his trademark cool, 
dissolving into a fit of laughter, laying his head down on the table, 
shaking with mirth. Scully leaned against the kitchen counter, a hand 
over her mouth, tears streaming down her face.
	"What?" Skinner demanded. "What's so funny?"
	"Well, sir," Mulder said through gasps of laughter, "I was 
thinking about your last name, you know, the big "S", and....well, 
ripping your shirt open...and..." He dissolved into laughter again and 
Scully joined him.
	"Superman?" Skinner said incredulously. 
	Mulder and Scully just nodded, laughing too hard to speak.
	"Cool," Skinner said, sounding very much like either Beavis or 
Butthead.
	That brought the two agents up short. They stared at each other in 
silent shock, their gazes moving from Skinner to each other, and then 
they broke up again, laughing even harder. Skinner joined them.
	This felt good, he thought.	
	Right.
	Several minutes later, they managed to collect themselves. "Ok, 
troops, time to mount up," he said.
	Scully this time, sounding like Butthead. "Huh huh...he said 
`mount.'"
	Again the trio burst out laughing. This time, they recovered 
quickly.
	"We gotta get dressed...c'mon, Mulder," Scully said, dragging her 
partner down the hall and into her bedroom.
	Their bedroom, Skinner reminded himself as he watched the door 
shut behind them.

                                      ***

	Ten minutes later, Scully emerged from the bedroom, dressed once 
again to kill...literally. The black ribbed-cotton Tanktop was back in 
place, as were the cotton ripstop six-pocket BDU's and the matching 
shoulder holsters.
	Mulder emerged as she was threading her hair into a ponytail.
	"Ready?" Skinner asked. "This is going to be a hard morning, 
troops."
	"He said `hard,'" Scully said again.
	"Enough!" Skinner barked, although there was a smile on his face. 
Stooping to grab her duffel, Scully winked at her boss. 
	"What about King?" Mulder asked.
	"Commander King will be acting as a liaison between ourselves and 
any other federal, state or local law enforcement or other agencies that 
will be needed. She has no training in these matters, and would be more 
of a hindrance than a help," Skinner explained. "I've already called and 
explained it to her."
	Mulder nodded, one annoying concern put to rest.

                                      ***
Marine Barracks, Quantico

	"You want to do WHAT?" the facilities Commander said.
	"We need to do several runs through the Death House," Skinner 
explained.
	"You need authorization, there are forms, the time needs to be 
reserved, there's all sorts of-"
	Skinner leaned forward, thrusting his chin into the man's face. 
"You don't understand. We don't HAVE any time."
	"Sir," the FC said, "It's just not that easy."
	As it turned out, it was.

                                      ***

	"Ok, let's go over it one last time," Skinner said. "We have two 
bad guys, three good guys, and a device. We have to hit the room, 
triple-tap the bad guys, not hit any of the good guys, or the device. We 
have to get to the device within six seconds of hitting the door and 
pull the plug."
	Scully nodded.
	Mulder nodded.
	Skinner looked at his two agents and smiled. They had donned body 
armor and goggles. They had decided to forgo ear protection to get used 
to the sound of 9mm gunfire in an enclosed space. Their radios were 
donned and tested, weapons locked and loaded.
	"Let's do it," Skinner said. It was the fourth evolution they had 
undergone. The first one had been horrible; Scully had almost shot her 
partner in a crossing field of fire. The second one had gone better, as 
had the third.
	"I want this one perfect, boys and girls," Skinner said. 
	They lined up outside the door. Scully first, since she was the 
smallest, then Mulder, then Skinner. When Skinner was ready, he squatted 
next to Mulder and reached over to squeeze his shoulder. Once Mulder 
felt that, he repeated the action on Scully's shoulder.
	She held out one Nomex-gloved hand. One, she counted.
	Two.
	Three.
	Pulling the pin on a flashbang, she tossed it in the door and 
leaned back.
	WHUMP!
	The flash was incredibly bright, designed to work in concert with 
the jarring bang, rendering anyone inside disoriented and blind.
	As a unit, they moved in. Scully, gun already at her shoulder, 
finger inside the trigger guard, hit the wall and started moving left, 
to the corner, her MP5 moving in carefully prescribed arcs. Mulder was 
next, hitting the wall and moving to the right.
	There. Spotting a bad guy, Scully touched the trigger. Three shots 
rang out, the first two hitting the `terrorist' in the heart, the third 
in the head. An answering series of shots from Mulder's MP5 signaled 
that he'd found and downed the other terrorist.
	Scully was lowering her weapon when she caught something out of 
the corner of her eye. In a moment, she understood. Skinner had lied, 
had told her there were only two bad guys. 
	There were five.
	Three of them, seated around the device, bent over. Without 
stopping, without thinking, just reacting, Scully threw the MP5 to her 
shoulder and stitched them, firing three three-round bursts. Each bullet 
hit its intended target.
	"CLEAR!" she called, and moved to the device.
	It was a faux bomb, designed more for being obvious than for being 
devious. All that had to be done to disarm it was to unplug it from the 
wall.
	She yanked the cord. Nothing.
	She looked at the device again; Skinner had lied once again. There 
was a backup power line snaking underneath a couch. With strength she 
didn't know she possessed, Scully reached down, her gloved fingers 
sliding underneath the bottom lip and she heaved the couch upright, 
moving for the power cord in the same motion and yanking it out of the 
socket.
	"CLEAR!" Mulder called, and then checked his watch.
	Six point seven seconds.
	Not bad, considering.
	Skinner was in the doorway, crouched, his Baretta Assault Shotgun 
held at port arms.
	"Back out, weapons on safe!" he called, as per procedure.
	Scully thumbed her MP5 to SAFE and stepped out, pulling her 
goggles down to dangle around her neck.
	Mulder joined her, sweat streaking his face.
	"Not bad, people. Scully, you reacted too slowly to the three 
unexpected tangos."
	She nodded, accepting the criticism. "I assumed," she started, and 
then finished, "and made an ass out of `U' and me."
	"Correct. Mulder, you have specific firing arcs, but that doesn't 
mean that once your area is clean you can't look elsewhere. You should 
have spotted them and called them out to Scully."
	Mulder nodded. Skinner was right.
	"As for the device..Scully, I'm impressed." She nodded, accepting 
his compliment.
	"Ok, let's do it again."

                                      ***

	This time, it was four tangos and three good guys and two devices. 
And this time, it was pistols only. Scully had switched to a specially 
modified Glock. It held a laser sight in the frame, where the spring rod 
would normally be mounted, and also had an external flashlight 
attachment as well as Trijicon night sites. Mulder had decided to try, 
for this evolution, a highly-modified Colt Officer's 45. It was smaller 
than the normal Government model, and he liked the way it fit his hand.
	Against Skinner's advice not to switch primary weapons this close 
to D-Day, Mulder had insisted that he wanted to try it. Skinner had 
agreed, if only to teach Mulder a lesson.
	They hit in reverse order this time, Skinner first, then Mulder, 
then Scully.
	Mulder, second through the door, felt himself come alive, felt 
himself come into his own. 
	There were only four tangos this time. The modified Officer's 
model only held six rounds, and Mulder put two into the first three 
tangos, and then rolling on the ground, reloaded and emptied two more 
into the last...all in the space of five seconds. Skinner hadn't had a 
chance to acquire or draw on a target.
	Seeing that Mulder had things in hand, Skinner moved to the device 
as Scully provided rear guard.
	Seven seconds.
	Not bad.
	"Again," Skinner insisted.
	Neither agent protested.

                                      ***
Washington, DC

	The smoking man sat at the desk in another one of the several 
offices that he kept, silently regarding the man that sat across from 
him.
	"Before you go," the smoking man said, "I do have a question or 
two."
	"By all means," Graves said.
	"Why was it necessary, in your mind, to kill all the members of 
Stone's Goblin Team?"
	There was a pause.
	"There was no other way to get Mulder and the Scully woman onto 
the case."
	The smoking man considered this. He'd suspected as much.
	"You seemed to take a particular...enjoyment in your work."
	"It is who I am. What I do."
	"Yes, but...the best of those that do what you do don't enjoy it 
nearly as much."
	"Why are you asking this?"
	"By this time tomorrow, we both expect you to be dead. We still 
have a long ways to go on this project. There are others, others like 
you that have been trained to...operate in the same manner that you did. 
I want to know why you enjoy something like that so much."
	"Don't you get off on playing God?" Graves asked.
	"Not particularly, no. Neither should you."
	"I know," Graves said. "But I do. It's very hard to find someone 
to be good at this who doesn't like it."
	The smoking man nodded, agreeing to the logic. "I suppose I am 
asking if it were possible to train someone to be like you, to be as 
ruthless and efficient as you...yet still remain...distasteful about his 
actions."
	"Or her actions. Don't forget Heather."
	"I haven't. I won't."
	"I don't know," Graves admitted. "It's a difficult subject. I've 
known operators, good operators, who still had a conscience. But they 
eventually got done in by it. They hesitated...or had second thoughts. 
The best of them, the ones with the most of their souls still intact... 
went insane."
	"Yes, I know of them," the smoking man nodded. "Our agreement with 
the Mexican government still holds. Sadly, they will never see the light 
of day again."
	Graves shuddered. 
	"You think it too much to ask? To give your life for a 
countryman?"
	"No, of course not. If you've learned nothing about us in the time 
you've been here, learn that. As a people, we live for the glorious 
heroic gesture. We live for those that would die for us."
	The smoking man nodded. "I've noticed that. Most curious. Our Mr. 
Mulder has come very close to losing his life on more than one occasion 
performing such heroic deeds."
	"But you were watching out for him."
	"Of course."
	"Don't you think that's counter-productive?" Graves asked.
	"How?"
	"When it comes down to the real deal, he won't have any backup."
	"Oh, I wouldn't say that," the smoking man grinned. "I wouldn't 
say that at all. Now...let's go over your plans one more time."
	
                                      ***

Marine Barracks, Quantico

	After ten evolutions, the team was exhausted.
	"Ok, let's call it a day," Skinner ordered. "Showers, and then 
dinner."
	Scully and Mulder nodded and trudged off to collect their 
equipment. Mulder had decided to keep the modified Colt Officer's .45 
instead of his duty SIG. Every shot from the pistol had been true, on 
target, and deadly. It didn't carry as many rounds as the high-capacity 
duty weapon, but what it hit...stayed hit.
	"Hey, Scully..." he called.
	"Yeah, Mulder?"
	"You're one deadly broad," he said, just before entering the 
locker room.
	"Thanks. I think."
	
                                      ***

	Later, at an Italian restaurant in Fairfax, Skinner outlined the 
rest of the plan. "I'll be spending the night on your couch, Scully. I 
thought about splitting us up, about positioning each of us in a 
different sector of the city, but he would have thought of that. I 
expect that we're going to go on a wild goose chase tomorrow for most of 
the time. Graves will probably send us all over the city, defusing bombs 
and all sorts of things before we get to the main event."
	"Any idea of where that will be?"
	"A few. Graves will probably want to make a statement of some 
kind. So it will probably be somewhere famous, somewhere historic. But 
before we get to that, I'm sure he'll have us running around, trying to 
tire us out, distract us, put our nerves on edge. So, it doesn't matter 
where we are, as long as we're together.
	"I've arranged for the use of a Secret Service Suburban. It's big 
and black and has tinted windows..."
	"Very common in the District," Scully commented. "Traffic cops are 
used to clearing the way for them, no questions asked."
	Skinner nodded. "And three heavily armed Federal Agents swooping 
out of one probably won't cause nearly as much terror. People expect 
that sort of thing to happen with those suburbans.
	"I've also arranged for air cover with the Park Police, if we need 
it."
	"How can you be sure that Graves didn't infiltrate-"
	"The man I arranged it with flew over two hundred medivac missions 
in Vietnam, Agent Mulder. One of them my own. I'm as sure of him as I'm 
as sure of you."
	"Accepted," Scully said. "But still-"
	"End of discussion," Skinner growled.
	"And now for the touchy subject," Skinner said softly. Both 
agent's heads came up at that.
	"Sir?"
	"When we get back to your apartment, Agent Scully, I will be 
taking a walk. Exactly two hours. No shorter, no longer. If, in that 
time, you and Agent Mulder feel the need to express any opinions or 
feelings to each other of a personal nature, I'd appreciate you doing it 
then so we can all get a good nights' sleep. And that is all I will say 
on that subject, now, or ever."
	Both agents blushed to the roots.
	"Thank you, sir," Scully said softly.
	"You're welcome." Standing to go and pay the check, he added, 
"Make the most of it, troops. It may be your last time."
	With those sobering words, Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner, 
Federal Bureau of Investigation, and Colonel, United States Marine 
Corps, left the two people who would, both the next day, and in two 
years, have a profound impact on the fate of the world.
	If only they knew, he thought as he reached for his wallet.
	If only they knew.

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END CHAPTER 29