"Umbra" 6/38
by Dawson E. Rambo


"Wake up in the morning
and I raise my weary head
got an old coat for a pillow
and the Earth was last night's bed
I don't know where I'm going
only God knows where I've been
I'm a devil on the run
a six-gun lover
a gamble in the wind...

I'm going down in a blaze of glory
take me now, but know the truth
I'm going out in a blaze of glory
and Lord, I never drew first, but I drew first blood"

	Bon Jovi
	"Blaze Of Glory"



National Reconnaissance Office
Vint Hill Station

	Scully quickly disconnected the call and turned to face Matt. Her
mouth moved, as if she wanted to say something. Instead, she turned
away, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts, a thousand unanswered,
unasked, terrible, haunting questions. There was so much she didn't
know; so many people with so many different agendas. Who could she
trust? Mulder, without a doubt.
	But Stone?
	Could she trust him? For some reason, some unnamable, unknown
reason she desperately wanted to trust the man in the car next to her.
	"How's your mother?" he asked, trying to start a conversation on a
safe topic. Scully shook her head, biting her lip. She didn't want to
drop into an inane discussion about Maggie Scully, about home and hearth
and children and dogs and houses with white picket fences. It was too
dangerous, too familiar a topic to talk about. Especially with this man.
	"I have some questions," Scully started, her voice making it clear
that she would brook no arguments. The last time she had used this voice
had been in the death row cell of Luther Lee Boggs, when she was scared
and afraid that her new partner, her new friend might be dying because
of some action the convicted murderer had taken. She remembered that
anger, that white-hot place inside her she so rarely visited. Now,
however, she welcomed the warmth, used it to focus her thoughts, her
emotions. Concentrating, she went to that place, and drew the emotions
she found there around her like a shield.
	"I would imagine you do. I'll answer as many of them as I can,"
Stone replied, starting the car and putting it into gear. The tacit
admission that he knew there were issues between them, between them as
two investigators on a potentially explosive case, and between them
as two people, a man and a woman investigating something different,
something equally dangerous, equally able to detonate in both of
their faces, was an incredible relief to Scully. Mulder would have
tossed off some wiseass remark, thrown up some verbal shield against
his true emotions, his real feelings. There was none of that with
Matt Stone, and Scully welcomed the change.
	Or was it?
	Was it a change?
	The man sitting across the car from her was a trained intelligence
agent, a man who had spent the better part of his career living in the
twilight of existence, in the space between shadow and darkness, living
a life dedicated to taking one version of the truth and twisting it to
suit his needs, a life spent hunting the real and imagined enemies of
his country and making them pay with the ultimate price: their lives. A
term Scully remembered from astronomy popped into her mind; Stone was a
man who lived in the umbra of existence. A man who was comfortable being
a facile liar. Was it a change? Or just another tactic in an endless
series of tactics designed by such men to avoid the real questions?
	"I need straight answers, Matt," Scully said. He didn't answer for
a long moment, and Scully was wondering if he was going to when he
finally spoke.
	"I'm glad we're back to `Matt,'" he said.
	"We never left, for what it's worth. But we may not be staying
there long, Commander, if I don't start getting some straight answers to
some very sticky questions. And as far as I'm concerned, the answer to
any of my questions that begins with the phrase, `I'm sorry, but that's
classified' is not a valid answer. Do I make myself clear?"
	"As crystal," Matt said, and then added, "but I may be forced to
give you that answer, as much as I would like to tell you everything."
Putting the car into gear, Matt navigated his way out of the NRO
facility, turning back onto the highway and accelerating.
	"Shoot," he said, his face open and inviting.
	Scully mulled the series of questions she wanted to ask. Choosing
one, she began. "I find it very hard to believe that the US military,
whatever branch it was you were all working for, sent someone that looks
like Major Haynes into Iraq during the war. To say she sticks out like a
sore thumb would make that phrase more trite than it already is. Explain
to me why she was selected for the mission and what her specific role
was."
	Matt mulled his response for a few moments. "Are you going to
answer me?" Scully asked.
	"I'm thinking. Give me a minute."
	"It was a straight-forward question, Matt."
	He turned to face her, his jaw set. "I'm deciding how much,
exactly, to tell you."
	Scully felt the white-hot anger rearing up inside her again.
"Dammit, Matt! You should tell me all of it! You shouldn't have to think
about it!"
	"Listen to me, little girl-"
	That did it. Dana felt her composure snap, a clean break between
her normal, reserved self and the devil that dwelled within her Irish
soul.
	"If you ever call me that again, Commander Stone, you can forget
about any chance at...whatever it is that we're trying to do here. I am
_not_ a little girl, Commander. I am a Special Agent of the _Federal
Bureau of Investigation,_ and I am a medical doctor. Furthermore, I have
seen things and done things that if _you_ were to be made aware of would
probably make that manly-man SEAL macho persona you lug around like a
badge of honor go running off into the sunset with its' tail tucked
firmly between its' legs. DO I make myself clear?"
	Stone's face was closed, the mask of his features befitting his
name: Stone.
	"Understood," he said. "But let me tell you something, Special
Agent Scully. Imagine the worst thing you have ever done, the most
horrific thing you have ever seen, and I will personally guarantee that
I have seen AND done worse."
	"Too bad I'm not a man," Scully scoffed. "We could just unzip and
figure out who's the Alpha Male right off the bat." Her voice was
dripping with poorly concealed contempt.
	"Yes," Stone said, startling her. "Too bad you're not a man, Dana.
Then I wouldn't have to deal with all this bullshit. A man, without me
having to explain it to him, would understand what I'm trying to protect
you from."
	Scully twisted in her seat until she was fully facing him. "What
is it, Matt? What are you hiding from me?"
	His expression was incredulous. "You just don't get it, do you?
It's not you specifically, Scully. It's not you, not at all. It's who
you are as a...I don't know...representative of the real world. I
haven't felt like a part of the real world in fifteen years."
	1982, Dana thought.
	Stone continued, warming up to his topic. "You...all of you. All
of the people that sit at home, fat, happy and ignorant. You have no
idea what is done behind the scenes in your name, to protect you, to
shield you against the monsters and the demons that stalk the shadows."
	Scully felt her anger notching up another click. "Yes, Commander,
I do know, all right? I've been there, on the front lines, with you and
all the others. To use a phrase you might understand, I may not fight in
the same theater of operations, but I am without a doubt a soldier in
the same war! So don't you hand me that-"
	"Scully! You can't understand! No matter how much you claim to,
and I think I might just be falling in love with you for saying it, you
are NOT part of the same army that I am! Your job is to find the truth,
to bring it to the light where it can be examined and qualified and
quantified. MY job is to hide things like that! To bury them in desert
graves, to make them go away for all time!"
	Bury in a desert grave? Scully thought. And then, on the heels of
that: Falling in love? That was ridiculous. They'd met yesterday, for
God's sake. But his words sent a chill up Scully's back.
	"Fine," Scully finally said. "We'll agree to disagree about that.
Now, tell me: What was Heather doing in the desert? What was the
mission? What was her job?"
	Matt thought about it again, and it angered Dana to no end that he
was actually editing his thoughts, that he was considering what to tell
her and what to keep secret.
	"What I said in the SCIF is as far as I can go into about the
mission. We were sent to kill Saddam. As insane as it seems, Heather had
good cover. She was covered as a journalist. She had network ID and the
whole bit. One of the guys even lugged in a Sony DXC-M3A camera and a
bunch of videotapes. We even did a few standups here and there so if she
was captured, she'd have video proving that she was filing reports from
the front lines. She knew if she was captured that she'd probably be
tortured, raped and then murdered, but she was like me, Scully. She knew
what had to be done...and why...and was willing to step up to the plate
to take a swing."
	"Why, Matt? Why did it have to be done?"
	"If I have to explain that to you, you will never, ever
understand, Scully."
	Dana decided to accept that, for the moment, and go on. "She knows
something, Matt. I feel it."
	"What makes you say that?" His casual tone of voice told
Scully that he felt the same way, but wanted to hear her reasoning.
	"A couple of things. First, the way she greeted you, like a long-
lost lover, and then lost it when she found out that we wanted to
protect her. She just totally overreacted. Another thing...she knows
things she shouldn't know."
	Stone laughed. "It's her job to know things that other people
don't know or aren't supposed to know."
	"Like the fact that my partner got his doctorate in Psychology at
Oxford? Which also means she knows his name?"
	That brought Matt up short. "When- Oh, right. When I left. What
else did she say?"
	That question brought a blush to Scully's cheeks that couldn't
quite be explained away by anger or lively conversation. "She said not
to trust you." And then, Scully decided to tell him everything. Maybe it
would crack that oh-so-sanctimonious shell of his. After all, if she
could be one-hundred-percent truthful with him, even when it was
embarrassing...
	"She said you were very good looking and great in bed." The car
swerved as Stone turned to face her, and then he wrenched his attention
back to the road, correcting the skid like an expert.
	"She also said," Scully continued, "that you are a pathological
liar and cannot be trusted, and that I should not put my life in your
hands."
	Stone said nothing for almost two miles. Then, finally: "Do you
agree with her?"
	"About which part?" Scully asked.
	"I don't know. All of it. Any of it."
	"Well, I don't know if I can trust you, Matt. You haven't given me
much to work with. And until you do, I think I'd better reserve comment
on the rest of it."
	Stone nodded. "Where are we going, by the way?"
	"Heather's apartment. I want to check up on the TechServ guys."
	Stone flicked the turn-signal and changed lanes.
	"Guess you don't need directions..."
	"No," Stone said, without thinking. "I've been there before."
	I bet, Scully thought, and again that unfamiliar, unwelcome
emotion welled up inside her: Jealousy.

				       ***

Office of Fox Mulder
Federal Bureau of Investigation
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, DC


	"Mulder," he said, answering the phone.
	"Mulder! It's Langley. Turn on your fax machine and lock the
doors. I asked an online associate of ours to take a crack at the
records of your Commander Stone, and he hit paydirt. Normally we'd ask
you to come over, but the second we finish faxing this to you, we're
going to burn it and forget we ever saw it." Langley paused. "After
this, Mulder -- we're even."
	The phone went dead in Mulder's ear at the same moment the fax
machine behind him hummed to life. Twisting his chair, Mulder watched as
the first page inched their way out of the machine.

			   DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE
		  OFFICE OF THE CHIEF OF NAVAL OPERATIONS
		      CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET:EYES ONLY
				 NO COPIES
			      19 OCTOBER 1982
			    AFTER ACTION REPORT
			   OPERATION JOVIAL CLOWN

	Frowning, Mulder got up and went to lock his office door. Once
again, the Gunmen had come through, prowling in places they had no
business being, uncovering the truth.
	It's a dirty job, Mulder thought with a grin, but someone's got to
do it.

				       ***

Major Heather Haynes' Apartment
Georgetown

	The TechServ van was, to the untrained eye, just another sport
utility vehicle with deeply tinted windows. The plate was from Kentucky,
giving it a little bit of credence as an out-of-town sightseers' car.
Only to Scully's trained eye would it appear as anything else.
	There were no huge groups of external antennas to give it away as
a surveillance van. Gone were the days where wads of whip antennas and
the smaller, circular DF antennas would telegraph to the world that the
FBI was sitting on someone's house or place of business. The engineers
at the FBI Technical Services Unit (TechServ) had made some advancements
over the years. The external antennas and laser audio microphones were
built into the SUV's luggage rack. Pinhole video cameras peeked out on
all aspects. The inside was crammed with several hundred thousand
dollars worth of electronic equipment. It saw everything and missed
nothing. It was capable of receiving video, audio and infrared
transmissions from remote cameras and microphones placed up to two
miles away.
	"Pull over," Scully said, pointing. "There."
	"Why?"
	"Look at the rear bumper of the SUV. See how the license plate
light is on?"
	Stone looked and then nodded. "Sure."
	"That means TechServ is inside, placing the bugs. When they come
back out, the light will go off and then we can get in." Stone followed
Scully's instructions and parked the car.
	"What kind of bugs are they placing?"
	Scully thought about it for a second, considering all the options
TechServ had available to them. "Probably audio, video and infrared.
Motion and heat sensors on all external doors and the roof. Phone tap.
If she has a modem, modem tap, cell tap if she has one."
	"That's quite a list!"
	"Yeah, we like to be thorough."
	Stone ignored the comment and used the edge of the rearview mirror
to study his temporary partner. She was frowning slightly, her gaze
narrowed in concentration as she watched the apartment building. Major
Heather Hynes lived in a twelve-story luxury high-rise, complete with
all the latest amenities. Stone remembered with some fondness the
Jacuzzi-equipped Roman bathtub. Forcing such thoughts from his mind,
Stone returned his attention to the task at hand.
	Scully.
	Oh, he thought, how to win the heart of the fair Scully?
	Then his little voice spoke up; Is it her heart you want, Matty,
or her body?
	The cold part of him, the part that had emerged from the desert
one hot October afternoon answered.
	Either.

				       ***

Special Agent Fox Mulder's Office
Federal Bureau of Investigation
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, DC

	The more he read, the sicker Mulder felt. The classified after-
action report for operation JOVIAL CLOWN had taken the better part of
half an hour to slowly inch its' way out of his fax machine, and if the
Gunmen did have an ounce of sense in any of their bodies, they would
have kept their word and started shredding it immediately.
	Even for someone as jaded as Mulder, the fax made him sick to his
stomach. To think that the government of the United States, even the
Reagan administration, was capable of...this! Sections of the report had
been blacked out. But not all of it.
	He scanned the figures again. Almost three hundred dead. The last
sixty shot execution style, one round to the back of their heads. All of
them already wounded, incapacitated by twenty-millimeter rounds. He read
the same paragraph over and over again, unable to get the images the
words evoked out of his mind:


    PURSUANT TO NMCC ORDER 780-101982 AFTER [XXXXXXX] ARRIVED ON
    SCENE, CONTACT WAS MADE WITH ACTION OFFICER [XXXXXXXX] ABOARD
    USS NIMITZ (CVN69) STEAMING OFF STRAITS OF HORMUZ. AFTER BEING
    INFORMED OF 58 SURVIVING INDIGENOUS AGENTS, [XXXXXXXX] WAS ORDERED
    TO EXECUTE PLAN [XXXXXX] PER NATIONAL SECURITY ACT 1947 BY ACTION
    OFFICER. GROUND FORCES COMMANDER REPORTS THAT FOUR ELEMENTS OF
    [XXXXXX] TEAM[XXXX] REFUSED TO CARRY OUT PLAN [XXXXX]. AIR SUPPORT
    COMMANDER, WHO WAS ON SCENE DUE TO DEPARTURE OF AIRCRAFT AFTER
    TAKING UNFRIENDLY FIRE, VOLUNTEERED TO EXECUTE PLAN [XXXXX]. THIS
    OFFICER HEREBY RECOMMENDS AWARD OF THE [XXXXXXXXXXXX] FOR ACTIONS
    TAKEN BY AIR SUPPORT COMMANDER ON THIS DAY. LTCMDR [XXXXXX], USN
    PERSONALLY EXECUTED PLAN [XXXXX] WITH RESPECT TO THIRTY OF SIXTY
    REMAINING INDIGENOUS AGENTS.

	The report went on and on. As far as Mulder could tell from the
report, the mission in Libya had been highly, deeply classified. Stone
had been flying air support for the mission, and had apparently been
shot down. Then, on the ground, if the report could be believed, he had
personally executed 30 wounded prisoners by shooting them in the back of
the head.
	Mulder's blood ran cold when he thought about Scully sitting no
more than three feet from such a man.
	But...how could such a thing have taken place and still be secret?
Mulder wracked his brain but could not remember reading or hearing about
a single thing related to what was in front of him now. He had to
confirm this. Before he told Scully, he had to be sure.
	Picking up the phone, he dialed.
	The line was picked up, but no one spoke.
	"Mulder," he said.
	"Confirmed," a male voice answered after a moment.
	"I need to know about an operation. All I have is the code name."
	"Mr. Mulder," the voice said, cold, distant, reproachful.
	"All I need to know is if it took place. I'm trying to confirm if
the after action report that I'm reading is a truth or a lie. I won't
ask you to confirm or deny the contents of the report. Just tell me if
the operation took place. If I give you the name, the date and the
location, will you confirm it?"
	The voice pondered the question.
	"Perhaps."
	"October 19, 1982. Libya. JOVIAL CLOWN."
	Mulder wasn't sure, but he thought he heard the voice gasp.
	"Mr. Mulder, you are delving into areas where you do not belong.
That operation has no connection to your stated mandate."
	"I'm aware of that. My partner is currently working with whom I
suspect was the man awarded some kind of medal for his actions on the
ground after the ground forces refused to carry out the orders of the
action officer. Do you know of whom I speak?"
	"I am...aware of the name, Agent Mulder."
	"Is the after action report accurate?"
	The voice laughed. "And then some, Mr. Mulder. The report only
tells half the story, because the participants themselves only knew
half."
	"What should I do?" Mulder asked.
	The voice didn't hesitate. "I would suggest that you get your
partner out of the arena of operations as soon as possible, Mr. Mulder.
If she is...associating with this...person, she could be in grave
danger. He is known to be...unstable. Unpredictable. Quite a patriot, if
you know what I mean."
	"Does he smoke?" Mulder asked, knowing that the voice would
understand the question.
	"Not directly. Secondhand."
	Mulder grimaced at the sick joke. "Can he be trusted?"
	"Again, that depends. If you ask him to go to a place, and perform
an action, a specific kind of action, in the name of national security,
then he is as dependable as death. Otherwise, I cannot comment."
	"Can't or won't?"
	"Can not, Mr. Mulder. As I said, I am only tangentially aware of
the person of which you speak. We may not be speaking of the same
person. But if we are, then your partner is between a rock and a hard
place, is she not?"
	Click!
	Mulder slowly replaced the phone; his contact had confirmed all he
needed to know.
	`Between a rock and a hard place.'
	Between a Stone and a hard place, Mulder thought. His first
desire, his overwhelming desire, was to call Scully and order her, as
her nominal superior, to get the hell out of there and report back to
the Hoover building ASAFHP.
	But without proof, there was no way she'd listen. And Mulder was
loathe to invoke a personal favor from her. The immediate gain, getting
her out of that monster's clutches, would be overwhelmed by the agony he
would go through over the next months. Scully would never let him forget
that he'd felt he had to `rescue' her from the clutches of the Bad Man.
She wanted to be treated as an equal, a full member of the partnership.
Well, now was the time.
	Mulder glanced at his watch. It was just after 1430. He had almost
ten hours until he was due to replace Stone on the stakeout. Time to do
some more research.

				       ***

FBI Surveillance Van Sierra Six
Outside Heather Haynes' Apartment
1730 Hours

	"Baker one to Sam Six," the voice on the radio called. Picking up
the high-powered, scrambled two-way radio, Scully answered the car that
was assigned to trail Heather home from the NRO.
	"Go, Baker One."
	"LOOKER has left Area One. Heading back to Area Zero." Scully
grimaced at the call sign the team had picked for Haynes. Looker,
indeed. She wondered what her call sign was. "Confirmed, Baker One. Six
out." Scully dropped the two-way on the seat to her left. Stone was
seated to her right. She was very aware of him in the close confines of
the van. The two technicians assigned to this detail were preoccupied
with their equipment, as such types were wont to do. Stone and Scully
were relegated to listening to the radio crosstalk and inhabiting each
other's space. She could smell him, he was so close; she could feel the
warm pressure of his leg against hers, and to be truthfully honest, it
was not a totally unwelcome sensation.
	Mulder had his little touches, but aside from those few times when
one or the other's emotions had boiled over due to some trauma, they had
not really touched much, Scully thought. Part of her was fine with that
and probably even encouraged it with her body language and demeanor.
Encouraging such behavior with her partner could only lead to...
	What?
	Disaster, she was sure. Let's be honest here, Dana. Mulder's
pretty damn cute. More than once she had found herself glancing into his
eyes and felt her emotional footing falter just a bit. It would be easy,
she knew, to get lost in those eyes and never emerge again. Her
friendship with Mulder was without a doubt the most significant,
meaningful relationship she had ever had, bar none. And as intimate as
it was, they had both decided by mutual, unspoken agreement not to take
it any further. That did not mean that the desire, the attraction was
not there.
	Far from it.
	She remembered holding his hand. Feeling his arms around her. She
remembered wanting more of that, more of everything that Mulder
represented, and on the heels of that, the alarm bells ringing in her
head and her heart. Mulder was intoxicating, but so was Tequila, and she
wasn't taking bets on which would give her a worse headache come the
morning. Scully was quite clear on that: She loved Mulder, but was not
in love with him. That particular Pandora's box was better left
unopened.
	Locked in the closet.
	A basement closet.
	Locked inside a safe inside a basement closet in the bowels of the
Pentagon, guarded by a platoon of fierce man-killing Marines.
	But, she was a fully functional, grown woman in the bloom of her
youth, to turn a trite phrase. She had...hungers, needs that weren't
addressed by the wonderful, intricate, complicated relationship she
shared with Mulder. Needs that were growing more incessant with every
moment she spent with Matt Stone, USN.
	Scully was very aware of his masculinity. And that part of her
that was aware of him as an extremely virile, masculine male presence
was also shouting `traitor!' at the top of its' tiny mental lungs.
Mulder may not have been a Navy SEAL, and he might have a tendency to
lose his gun at inopportune moment, and he may have the habit of getting
the stuffing kicked out of him on a few occasions, but he was just as
much a man as the knuckle-dragging Naval commando sitting next to her.
	So why, then, was she so...disturbed by Stone?
	Why, Dana?
	There was something, she knew, very deliciously decadent about the
thought of lowering the defenses she'd spent the better portion of her
personal and professional life erecting against the world. Something
so...Harlequin about dropping all the pretense, all the back-and-forth
jockeying for position that passed as male-female relations in the
latter half of the twentieth century and just being...female. Just
being...what?
	Taken?
	Ravished?
	Scully turned her head slightly and looked at Matt's profile. His
beard was starting to show, the rough little nubbins on his face
darkening his features and making Scully suddenly think about how that
rough, scratchy skin would feel like rubbing against certain portions of
her body.
	The van suddenly felt very confining.
	"Is it hot in here?" Scully asked, shrugging out of her trademark
formless trenchcoat.
	"Hadn't noticed," Stone said, his own thoughts not very far away.
He noticed the way Scully's body moved when she took the coat off; he
could see the outlines of her soft, feminine curves as they stretched
the silk blouse she wore to the breaking point.
	Nice, he thought.
	Very, very nice.

				       ***

	The killer spotted the FBI SUV almost immediately. Well, of
course, he thought with a grin. I helped design parts of the damn thing.
The plate light was out, so he knew they had already been inside and had
wired the place from top to bottom. Well, that's ok, he thought. Nothing
like a challenge.
	Although this won't be much of one.

				       ***

	"Baker One to Sierra Six," the car called.
	"Six, go one," Scully answered.
	"LOOKER has arrived home." Scully craned her neck and saw LOOKER,
AKA Major Heather Hynes wheel her pigeon-blood red Mazda Miata around
the corner and down the ramp into the apartment building's garage. So
she is, Scully thought.
	"Affirmative, One. Take up blocking positions one block east."
Scully watched as the TechServ droids found Heather with the thermal
imager and followed her from the Miata to the elevator. "We have LOOKER.
All units, take up assigned positions."
	The six other cars keyed their radios with various forms of "Ten
Four" and "Roger" to signify they had received the message and were
ready for a long night.
	Scully glanced at her watch. "Mark her home at 1739," she said to
the droids. They mumbled assent as one of them bent to write in the log.
Sighing, Dana Scully sat back to wait, trying not to think of the
interesting, sexy man seated not six inches to her right.

				       ***

	The killer waited almost half an hour before making his move. It
was quite simple, once you knew the rules, he thought. Approaching the
building, he took out the first of two small electronic devices that had
been developed for use overseas on installations that were guarded in
much the same way that this one was. The device worked very well on
solid-state electronics. With a few taps of the devices' buttons, the
killer had entered the building undetected. The heat and motion sensors
on the door he had been used had been `told' electronically to ignore
the pressure and heat passing under them as part of their internal
diagnostics checks. They reported nothing, and the four people sitting
in the FBI SUV not more than a hundred yards away had no idea that he
was in the building.
	Moving up the stairs, the man repeated the function at the
stairwell door on Heather's floor. Once the door clicked softly behind
him, he took the second of the devices out of his pack, and started
using it.
	It was even more ingenious than the first one. It was set to scan
for the frequencies being used by the FBI team. It found the audio
frequency first, and then shortly after that, the video frequency. Two
long, sweaty, agonizing minutes later, it found the frequencies the
infrared transmitters were using.
	What the killer did next was simplicity itself. Inside the device
was what amounted to a massive VCR on a set of high-density memory
chips. He recorded ten minutes of activity inside Heather's apartment,
including the television and the sounds of her moving around the
apartment. Ten minutes was all he would need.
	Once he was satisfied, the killer killed the recording and moved
down the hall towards Heather's door. Standing outside of it, he counted
to five and prayed that anyone inside the SUV wasn't looking directly at
the monitors.
	He pressed the SEND button.

				       ***

	Scully had returned her gaze to Stone. She was trying not to
stare, but finding it very hard not to. His face was a mixture of
classic good-looks and the world-weariness of someone who had seen
things and been places that no one should have to see or visit.
	A flicker on one of the monitors caught her eye. Tearing her
attention away for a moment, she spoke to one of the two droids. "Check
number three," she ordered, quietly.
	The technician punched a few buttons and took a reading.
"Transmitting Ok. Nominal interference levels. All normal, Ma'am."
	Scully raised the radio to her lips.
	"All units, report."

				       ***

	In his ear, the killer heard Scully's radio request. The radio
receiver he'd tucked into his ear had been previously tuned to the FBI
tactical frequency. He listened as all six blocking units reported that
there was no trouble.
	Satisfied, he removed the electric lock-pick from his pocket and
gently inserted it into Heather's door.
	It took him six seconds to unlock the door, the battery operated
pick working as quietly as a whisper. He dropped it on the carpet and
drew the 9mm suppressed Browning HiPower he wore in a shoulder holster.
He gently kneed the door open.
	Heather was on the couch watching television and reading the
newspaper. She felt the current of air across her head and twisted, her
eyes wide with alarm.
	"You!" she hissed.
	"Yes, Heather, it's me."
	"You! You're-"
	"No. I'm not. But you are."
	The killer brought the pistol up in one smooth motion, the front
and rear sights aligning as if by magic. It had taken years of practice,
hours a day, six, seven days a week, but he could draw and fire the
weapon as naturally as most people pointed their finger. The pistol made
a soft "pfffft!" sound, and Heather Haynes suddenly had a third eye.
	The killer walked over to the body and stood over it.
	"One left," he whispered to himself. Stone was close, the killer
could feel it. Probably in the van, watching the monitors, thinking
nothing was wrong. It would be so easy to just hit the END switch on the
transmitter, returning the van to the live video feed and wait in the
closet. So tempting. Once Stone was dead, the next part of the plan
could commence.
	All the people that were directly responsible for his personal
hell were almost dead. He had one left to go. And then he could go after
those indirectly responsible. In the most spectacular way possible.
	The killer glanced at his watch. He had four minutes of video
left. A part of him was sad. The game was almost over, and none of them
had really gotten to play yet. Each of them had been so easy to take. It
was almost as if they'd all wanted to die. Hadn't they learned anything?
	The killer decided that the stakes needed to be raised, just a
little. He checked his watch again and saw that he had less than two
minutes. He moved quickly, searching the apartment for what he needed.
He found it in the front hall table, in a small drawer set into the
wood. A deck of cards.
	He extracted the card he needed from the deck and carefully placed
it on Heather's chest.
	Eighty seconds.
	He wiped the gun clean, and then carefully applied a thumbprint to
the slide, and then another to the suppressor.
	Sixty seconds.
	He moved to the door, closing it behind him.
	Fifty seconds.
	He moved down the stairwell quickly, almost forgetting to use the
first device on the exit door.
	Thirty seconds.
	Outside, turn left, walk down the street.
	Sit down on the bus bench.
	Fifteen seconds.
	Deep breaths.
	Five.
	Four.
	Three.
	Two.
	One.
	Playtime's over, Matt.

				       ***

	The screen flickered again, and Scully was turning her head, away
from the monitors this time, back towards the face that was so
interesting, to mesmerizing. But her eye caught a piece of the image
that was on the screen, and all thoughts of subtle flirting with the
dangerous Naval officer was forgotten as the horror of what her eyes
were seeing filled Scully's senses. She almost stood inside the van, but
stopped herself in time, reaching for the radio instead.
	"All units, move in, move in!" she called, already twisting to
unlock the back door. Stone was following her, shouting at her as Scully
dashed across the street. "What?"
	Standing in the road, Stone watched as the six blocking FBI cars
moved in. He glanced back in the van and saw the now-live video feed of
Heather's dead body slumped over her couch. Leaning into the van, he saw
the playing card on her chest and muttered, "Shit!"
	Turning, he took off after Scully.

				       ***

Heather Haynes' Apartment
Georgetown
2130 Hours

	Mulder flashed his ID at the door, and the DC cop let him pass. He
moved into the room gingerly, taking care not to step into anything that
might be evidence. Hands on hips, he stood in the living room, turning
in a slow circle, trying to piece it together.
	The crime scene technicians were still working the place over.
There was a small circle of red tape behind and to the left of the
couch. A small folding placard sat in the middle of the circle with the
number "1" on it. Spent shell casing, Mulder thought.
	Skinner's voice drifted in from what Mulder suspected was the
bedroom. "Well, how DO you explain it then?" he asked. Mulder had an
idea of who he was talking to, and what about. He moved to be by his
partner's side, where she needed him...
	Or, apparently not, Mulder thought, freezing in his steps. Scully
stood, her chin jutting forward, arms crossed across her chest, jaw set,
taking the best Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner had to dish out.
	"I don't know, sir. We'll have to go over the video and audio
tapes in the lab. Somehow, the killer gained entrance to the apartment
and murdered Major Haynes."
	"You were in the van the entire time she was in the apartment?"
Skinner demanded.
	"Yes, sir."
	"And you had your full attention focused on the monitors? At all
times?"
	"We had four people in that van, sir, and none of us saw a thing."
	Commander Matthew Stone was standing behind Scully, his mere
presence visibly offering her support. Mulder turned quickly, before
Scully could see him, and moved to the kitchen. The voices from the
bedroom drifted off, and Mulder decided to concentrate on something
else.
	Anything else.
	The evidence technician from the DC Homicide unit was using the
kitchen table to sort and catalog the evidence. Holding out his ID,
Mulder asked, "Mind if I look?"
	"Nothing leaves the room," the tech said, "But go ahead."
	Mulder looked at the collection of glassine bags on the table. The
Browning HiPower, complete with the suppressor still attached, was in
one bag, the shell casing in another. Mulder could see the telltale dark
flakes of fingerprint powder on the gun and the casing.
	"Any prints?"
	"Mostly clean," the tech admitted. "But I found-"
	"A right thumb somewhere on the gun, clear as day?"
	The tech nodded. "That's right. And one on the suppressor. How'd
you know?"
	"Lucky guess. What's with the shell casing?"
	"Bulgarian surplus, circa...oh, about 1965." Mulder nodded. A
favorite of Special Ops units worldwide. Tons of it lying around
gathering dust. Totally untraceable.
	"Anything else of any use?"
	"This," the tech said, handing Mulder the playing card, also in
it's own glassine envelope.
	Turning it over in his hand, Mulder felt his blood run cold once
again.
	It was the Jack of Spades.
	Blackjack.
	VF-221. Naval Fighter Squadron 221, "The Blackjacks" was the unit
(then) Lieutenant Commander Matthew Stone had been assigned to on
October 19, 1982.
	Mulder turned at the sound of Skinner's voice, dropping the card
back on the table.
	"Mulder, what are you doing here?"
	"I came to offer Scully..." Mulder started, and then realized how
patronizing he sounded, and stopped speaking.
	"Support? Very nice, Mulder, but she's already gone home."
	Home? Mulder thought. How did she get-
	"Commander Stone was gracious enough to offer her a ride," Skinner
said, as if reading his mind. "You, Agent Scully, and Commander Stone
will all report to my office, oh-eight-hundred tomorrow morning to go
over the...circus this investigation has descended into." Skinner
thought about asking the obvious question, like...where had Mulder been
when all this was happening, but resisted. He would give Mulder the same
chance he was offering Scully and Stone.
	"Go home, Mulder. Get some sleep."
	Mulder snorted. As if.
	But he took the advice. He left the crime scene and made his way
down in the elevator. He'd heard the preliminary reports on the radio on
his way into the scene; he knew that Stone was in the van with Scully
when the murder occurred, so he was not directly involved as far as
Mulder could tell.
	But one thing was for certain. Stone knew the killer, or the
killer knew Stone.

				       ***

Apartment of Special Agent Dana Scully
2223 Hours

	Stone pulled the Caprice to a stop at the curb and killed the
engine. Scully started to get out of the car, but a restraining hand
from Stone stopped her.
	"Dana." Her name from his mouth was an urgent, eager whisper, and
Scully felt the fire run up her spine and detonate inside her head at
the exact same, precise moment the alarm bells in her heart started
ringing.
	"No," she said softly. "Not tonight."
	"You need-"
	"You have no idea what I need," Scully whispered, turning to face
him. "I need a friend tonight, Matt."
	"I can be your friend," Matt offered, using the time-honored line
of all men using anything they can think of to gain entrance through the
magic portals: The apartment door.
	"I already have a friend," Scully answered. "I'll see you
tomorrow, bright and early."
	Matt removed his hand and nodded. "Good night, Dana."
	"Good night, Matt."

				       ***

Apartment of Special Agent Fox Mulder
2240 Hours

	Mulder dug the chirping cellphone from his jacket pocket.
"Mulder," he answered, his voice slurred by what passed for sleep in his
life.
	"Mulder, it's me."
	Scully. Her voice washed over Mulder, a comfortable, familiar wave
of warmth and tenderness. "Scully," he said.
	"I hate to ask you, Mulder...but-"
	"Anything, Scully."
	"Can you come over? I need someone to talk to."
	Mulder stood, reaching for his jacket. "I'm on my way."


==================================================================
End Chapter 6


"The Stranger" Words & Music Copyright (c) 1977 by Billy Joel. Copyright
1977, 1985  Impulsive Music and Columbia Records. From the album "Billy Joel
Greatest Hits  Volume I" Used without permission. No infringement intended.

"Blaze Of Glory" Music & Lyrics by Jon Bon Jovi. Produced by Danny
Krotchmar. From the motion picture soundtrack "Young Guns II" Copyright
1990 Polygram Records. All Rights Reserved. Used without permission, and
no copyright infringement was intended.




				 "Umbra" 7/38
			       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. The author believes
that the use of copyrighted characters in the forum known as "Fan
Fiction" is protected under the "Fair Use" statutes of US Copyright law.
No infringement of any copyright is intended.

Characters created by the author remain his property.

Original Post  :  May 6, 1997
Archive Entry  :  Book I, Chapter 7
Classification :  Action Adventure, Scully/Other, Scully/Mulder,
		  Mythology
Rating	       :  R (Adult Themes, Violence, Adult Language)
Archive	       :  Any public accessible server that does not require fees.
Missing Parts  :  Missing chapters of this or any of my stories
		  http://www.azstarnet.com/~drambo
Feedback       :  Please. All comments (positive, negative, whatever,)
		  gratefully accepted. Email addresses are:
		  drambo@azstarnet.com


				    Spoilers
		   Up to but not including US4 "Momento Mori"


			       Casting For "Umbra"
		Note: Not all characters appear in all chapters.

Dan Gauthier			LTCMDR Richard 'Batman' Amend
David Marshall Grant		VC-20 Pilot
Ed Harris			Ron Burke
Fred Ward			SDCSO Deputy Sanders
Glenne Headly			CMDR Maggie King
J.T. Walsh			CMDR Armfield
Joan Allen			Janet Ebert
John C. McGinley		CMDR Jenkins
John Glover			Graves
John Heard			Adam Roche
Judge Reinhold			Teddy
Kyle Chandler			Yeoman Richie Anderson
Mary Stuart Masterson		LT Ally Roche
Michael Behin			Officer of The Deck (USS Georgia)
Michael Ironsides		RADM Mike Watts
Ned Vaughn			Petty Officer 2nd Class Chris Hayes
Robert Prosky			Annapolis Jail Guard
Sam Neil			CAPT Ronald Ebert
Tom Sizemore			Annapolis PD Detective
Tom Skerritt			CMDR Scott Adams
Tommy Lee Jones			CAPT Kauffman
Val Kilmer			CMDR Matthew Stone
William Baldwin			LT Vinny "Boombox" Ferucci
William H. Macy			CAPT Newman


Enjoy!

"In these days and these hours of fury
When the darkness and answers are thin
Lovers come and check out in a hurry
Shallow and hollow again
Come lay your body beside me
To dream to sleep with the lamb
To the question your eyes seem to send
Am I your passion your promise your end?

Barring divine intervention
There is nothing between you and I
And if I carelessly forgot to mention
Your body your power can sanctify
Come feed your hunger your thirst
Lay it down the beast will die
You can question my heart once again

I will stand firm in the tempest
I will ride destiny's trail
To believe when the truth comes up empty
To hold and respect without fail
Come and be one in the motion
A desire they cannot comprehend
Never to question again
For I am your passion your promise
your end"
	== "Yes I Am"
	   Melissa Etheridge

"The heart knows what the heart wants,
and the mind knows nothing of the heart."
	- Anonymous

=====================================================================

				       -7-

Apartment of Dana Scully
2310 Hours

	Mulder parked his Bureau-issue Taurus at curb in front of Scully's
apartment and twisted the ignition key to OFF. He glanced up through the
windshield and saw that there was only the one light on as far as he
could tell.
	Mulder tried to quell the feeling of disquiet rumbling in his
stomach. He had tried to figure the reason why Scully had invited him
over to her apartment (itself a rare occurrence,) the entire way over.
They lived about half an hour apart, but he had made the trip in less
than twenty minutes, complete with a stop at Dunkin' Doughnuts for some
of their extra-high-octane coffee. The coffee that kept the DC police
awake during the night shifts, the coffee that had been consumed are
more crime scenes than any other. He had two Styrofoam containers with
him, just in case Scully needed a jolt.
	Mulder locked the car and then made his way upstairs. He was
trying to figure out how to unlock Scully's door without putting either
of the coffee cups down, because he knew that if he did, he would end up
knocking one of them over with his foot. It was as inevitable as the
tides; it wasn't a matter of if it would happen, but how deeply the
stain would affect the hallway carpet. He was still struggling with the
idea of balancing one cup on top of another while digging in his jacket
pocket for the keys when the door opened wide, revealing a wide-awake
Dana Scully.
	"Mulder," she said softly. "Thanks for coming."
	He just nodded and entered the apartment, handing her a cup as he
passed. "Coffee," he explained.
	"Thanks," Scully smiled, "But I drink tea."
	Embarrassed, Mulder shrugged. "Sorry."
	"No, Mulder, it's OK. I appreciate the gesture." Closing and
locking the door, Scully pointed at the couch with the back of her hand.
"Have a seat, Mulder. I'm going to go put this in a real mug." Scully
moved into the kitchen, and Mulder took the opportunity to seat himself
on her couch, moving to the far end and settling down.
	Scully, in the kitchen, opened the cabinet next to the sink and
reached for her favorite mug. It had the FBI crest on one side, and her
name ("Dana Scully, M.D.") on the other. It had been a graduation
present from Scully's mother.
	The other mug sat next to it.
	Purchased when Mulder was...in New Mexico, Scully had purchased it
specifically because it reminded her of Mulder. It was a simple black
enameled mug with a drawing of Marvin the Martian. Scully realized with
a start that she hadn't used that mug in almost a year, and that she had
never told Mulder she'd gotten it.
	No time like the present, she thought. Pouring her coffee into her
mug, she grabbed "Mulder's" mug and returned to the living room, holding
it out for him to take.
	Mulder's eyes were on his partner, concern etching his face. He
didn't notice the mug's illustration until he had transferred his coffee
into it and was raising it to his lips to take the first sip. He pulled
it back slightly, his gaze narrowing on the image, and then he smiled.
	"Scully, this is really cool!"
	Smiling, she sat at the other end of the couch, tucking her feet
underneath her. "I'm glad you like it, Mulder. I kind of got it for
you."
	Mulder laughed. "Oh yeah, considering all the time I spend here."
	Scully's smile was her only answer. "I guess I could ask you why
we don't spend more time together away from work, but we already know
the answer to that question, don't we?"
	Mulder nodded. "Yes. We do."
	There was a long silence, and finally Mulder broke it. "Scully...
not that I don't enjoy every moment we spend together, and not that this
isn't nice and all...but why did you call me?"
	Scully was in the middle of sipping her coffee, and she took the
opportunity to gather her thoughts before speaking. "It's this case,
Mulder. I found out some things today that I think we should discuss.
And since you hate using the telephones for anything sensitive, and the
fact that Matt might show up at the office early tomorrow morning, I
wanted to do this here."
	Matt? Mulder thought, but wisely chose to say nothing.
	"There's more going on here than we've been told, Mulder. As you
know, Matt and I went to NRO today to meet with Major Haynes." Scully
paused, again trying to find the words. "Mulder, she was gorgeous.
Supermodel beautiful, I kid you not. And that's what got me thinking. I
don't care what Matt told me, it doesn't seem likely that they would
have sent a woman into combat that looks like her. No matter what the
mission."
	Mulder interrupted. "What was her cover?"
	If Scully was surprised that Mulder knew Heather had gone in
covered, she didn't show it. "Journalist," she said. "Complete with all
the background paperwork and props to back the story up, or so Matt
said."
	"You keep calling him `Matt'," Mulder pointed out.
	Scully arched an eyebrow in his direction. "That's the man's name,
Mulder."
	"What happened to `Commander Stone'?"
	Scully used the pretense of taking another sip to buy time to
compose her answer. "Matt and I..." She stopped, then began again. "He
and I..."
	"Are becoming close," Mulder finished. Scully couldn't meet his
gaze. She just nodded. Mulder looked away. He couldn't look at her. The
slowly creeping dread that had been building since yesterday was now a
full-blown bummer. He had tried so hard not to think about it, to resist
the temptation to obsess over it. The images came to his mind unbidden,
little mind-movies of Scully and Stone walking down the beach arm in
arm, laughing as the slowly creeping tide tickled their bare feet. It
was a clich,, something about of a cheap romance novel, but that image,
among others, would not go away. He had a sudden mental snapshot of
Scully in Stone's arms, moving towards him, her lips seeking his, her
eyes drooping heavy with passion, her tongue coming out, snakelike, to
moisten her lips, and then-
	"Mulder?" Scully's voice snapped Mulder out of his reverie, and he
turned his attention back to the matter at hand.
	"I'm sorry, Scully. I just...need a minute." Scully said nothing.
Standing, she went back to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator and
located the milk carton. Returning to the living room she added a dollop
to her coffee and then offered the carton to Mulder, who shook his head.
His mind was a thousand miles away. The images of Scully and Stone had,
thankfully, left his mind for the moment. Instead, he was battling with
a new set of emotions, a brand-spanking-new feeling that was surprising,
both by its presence, and its intensity.
	He was struggling to qualify it, to put a name to it. The first
description that came to mind was obvious: Jealousy. But not the kind
that Scully would expect, not the kind that most people, if they knew
the situation, would expect. He wasn't jealous of Stone because he had
Scully's affections. They were partners, friends. He wouldn't be human
if he claimed that he'd never thought of...that with Scully. She was a
gorgeous, intelligent, interesting...captivating woman. A woman who had
more than once put her own life on the line for him, a woman who'd had
to endure more pain and suffering than anyone had a right to expect.
Melissa Scully was dead and gone because of him, because of his crusade.
He knew that he loved her...but he was not in love with her.
	Was he?
	He searched his soul, looking deep. He found his affection for her
there. He sighed deeply, and caught a whiff of her scent in the
apartment, an intoxicating sand-spice-perfume scent that was pure
Scully, a scent he had come to treasure over the years. A door inside
his mind unlocked, and he went through it, going down the mental stairs
to the next level.
	Well, why not? Why not Scully? Just because they were partners?
The FBI was filled with couples that had started off as partners. The
bosses frowned on it, but they realized that it was bound to happen.
There was no regulation against marrying your partner, oddly enough,
just one against sleeping with them. In the insane world of internal
office politics, Mulder held the opinion that the FBI brass would almost
rather have two male partners sleeping together than a man and a woman.
	So, why not Scully? Well, Mulder reasoned, for one thing, they'd
be split up, separated, scattered to the four winds. Scully would be
returned to Quantico, or perhaps a field office. Mulder had too much
clout these days to be taken off the X-Files, but something would have
to be done.
	And then, of course, there was the deeper reason. The little voice
came out of his hiding place. It wasn't the normal little voice, the
invisible demon that spoke to Mulder when he was at his spookiest. It
was the evil twin of that voice, the little troll that only spoke in the
wolf hours of the night, when the only thing to talk to, the only thing
to curl up with was a cold, impersonal pillow. The voice of self-doubt
and guilt that had plagued Mulder all his life.
	She won't want you.
	She doesn't feel the same way.
	She'll laugh at you if you ask.
	Mulder was amazed to discover that a very small part of him was,
in fact, in love with Scully. He'd buried it so deeply and so completely
that only the specter of Matt Stone taking Scully's heart brought it to
the surface. And that explained the ache in his gut and the heaviness in
his chest.
	And on the heels of that, another thought. Anything he did that
was even sensed by Scully as being an attempt to break her and Matt up,
any even oblique attempt to discourage the normal developmental cycle of
the relationship would damage his relationship with her. Possibly beyond
repair.
	Mulder felt his gut clench as he realized he was going to have to
ride it out. And then, a savior. The evil twin's better half spoke up,
emerging from the same mental closet, bringing words of joy, of
happiness, of salvation.
	Even if she slept with him, even if Scully and Stone had a torrid
affair that lasted the rest of the case, when the case was over, Stone
would go away. He might be reassigned, me might have a mission somewhere
else. There was no way he was going to become a permanent part of
Scully's life. She was entitled to a fling, to a casual thing between
her and another consenting adult. God knew he hadn't been an angel for
the last four years. His thoughts hadn't been pure. Who was he to point
the finger?
	"Ok, Scully, what about Heather's cover story bothers you?"
	She shifted on the couch, glad to be back on the main topic. "It's
not that her story bothers me, specifically." She held up a hand. "Wait.
Let me back up. When I was at NRO, she asked Matt to leave the room for
a minute, and then she let something slip. She told me that she took
people's minds apart for a living. She knew psychology better than the
kind they taught at Oxford."
	Mulder considered that, and the implications behind it. "She knew
about me."
	"She knew Matt and I were coming. Someone on the inside was giving
her information."
	Mulder nodded, mulling it over. "Ok, but that seems like just
normal business in the intelligence circle. Remember, Scully, you and I
are not exactly unknown in those circles."
	Scully nodded, not wanting to take the next step. "There's one
more thing."
	"I'm listening."
	"She and Matt had a relationship. Before, I mean."
	Mulder wiggled his jaw as he thought about it, an old nervous
habit from school. Was the fact that their co-investigator had a history
with the now-dead Major Haynes bothering Scully professionally?
	Or personally?
	How to approach that subject? Mulder thought.
	Easy, his mind answered. Give her the benefit of the doubt.
	"I assume you confronted Stone about it."
	Now it was Scully's turn to shift on the couch uncomfortably.
"Sort of. He admitted that he had a history with her, that they'd been
lovers in the past. He maintains that it has no bearing on the case, and
I believe him."
	Mulder desperately wanted to ask if she had any evidence to back
that up, but remembered that she had gone along on his hunches more than
once.
	More than twice, Mulder.
	But then there was the pieces of paper in Mulder's pocket. Four of
them, neatly folded into quarters, shoved in his left rear pocket. Which
was more important? His friendship with her, or Scully's safety?
	No choice.
	Mulder scooted over closer, using his arms to lift himself off the
cushions enough to move. Scully's eyes got very wide as she watched him
move, but she said nothing.
	He reached out, taking the cup from her hand and placing it on the
coffee table. Then he took her hands.
	"Scully," he started. "I don't know how to tell you all this..."
	"Mulder...what is it?"
	"It's about Matt. Some things I found." He felt her fingers
tighten on his, and then her arms were trying to pull away. Her eyebrows
were knitted together, her mouth turned down in the beginning of the
famous Scully frown.
	"No...listen to me. Listen to what I have to say. If, after
listening, you don't want me to tell you what I know, I'll respect your
wishes."
	Scully's fingers loosened and she nodded. "Go ahead, Mulder. But I
already know what kind of man he is."
	Mulder didn't answer. "Did you know he was a pilot, too?"
	"Naval Aviator," Scully automatically corrected, and then paused.
"No. No, I didn't. That's strange. Why doesn't he wear his wings?"
	Mulder scooted a little closer, taking a deep breath. "Scully, I
care about you very much. About your happiness. I know that working with
me all these years hasn't been easy, and I appreciate your...dedication
to my quest. No matter what other feelings I have for you, I'm your
friend first."
	Other feelings? Scully thought.
	"I am not playing mother hen, and I don't think that you need
protection, Scully. You're a fully grown woman, and you already have one
mother. You don't want or need another. But I have learned things about
Matt that I'm almost positive you don't know, and...it's important that
you know, Scully. I think it's very important that you know what kind of
man you might be getting involved with."
	Tentatively, she asked, "What kind of things?"
	"Bad things," he said softly.
	Scully withdrew her hands and stood, walking to the fireplace.
Putting one hand on the mantle, and the other on her hip, she titled her
head up and studied the picture of her father mounted there. Captain
William Scully, USN, was in his full dress uniform, wearing his cover,
his medals on full display.
	"Go ahead, Mulder."
	Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Mulder began. "From
Annapolis, Stone left for primary flight training in Pensacola, and then
to jets in Texas. After jets, he qualified for the F-14 program. He was
assigned to VF-221."
	Scully turned, her face going white. "The blackjacks?"
	"Yeah, Scully. I was going to point that out. But there's more."
	She bit her lip and nodded, both hands on her hips. "He made his
carrier qualifications, and flew for two cruises aboard the USS
Eisenhower. Then...he was selected for something else. A mission. A
classified mission into Libya."
	Scully could see it coming, but she wasn't there quite yet.
"1982?" she asked.
	"Yes!" Mulder said. "He told you?"
	"No. I'm piecing this together bit by bit, Mulder. Tell me the
rest."
	"1982...Libya. Whatever mission it was, it involved both air and
ground forces. He was the commander of the air support forces, and he
got shot down. The ground force ran into some resistance. They
encountered about 300 troops. At one point, there were only sixty of
the...other guys alive. They contacted the action officer for the
mission, who was aboard the Nimitz in the Straits of Hormuz. They were
ordered to execute the survivors, Scully. All thirty of them." If it
were possible, the normally fair Scully whitened even more.
	"Some of the ground forces refused to carry out the order. The
after-action report states that..." Mulder halted, not willing to finish
it, not willing to inflict that kind of pain on his partner, his best
friend.
	"He killed them, didn't he? He executed all of them."
	"No," Mulder said, moving to soften the blow, although he didn't
know why. "Thirty of them."
	"Well," Scully laughed, a short barking noise. "At least he's not
a total monster!" She started pacing, running a hand through her hair.
"How, Mulder. How did he do it?"
	Mulder looked away, unable to meet her eyes. "Execution style.
Back of the head."
	Scully crossed her arms. She studied her partner. She was angry at
him, angry for digging this dirt up on the man who she-
	What?
	She-
	No, not that.
	Anything but that.
	But...yes...maybe?
	No.
	Scully shook herself, wanting the feelings inside her to go away.
She wanted nothing more than to call Matt, to beg him to defy Mulder, to
prove her best friend, her partner, wrong. She wanted that dark,
dangerous man to claim that it was all a mistake, a paperwork screwup, a
misfiled report. But she knew that he couldn't, because it fit.
	"I haven't felt like a part of the human race in 15 years," he'd
said. 1982. It all fit.
	"Oh God, Mulder," Scully said, her voice shaking. "He told me he
loved me! What am I going to do?"
	Mulder knew what he wanted to do. But he couldn't. That would be
cruel, taking advantage of her.
	He stood and joined her, taking her hands in his own again.
"Listen to me," he whispered, dragging her eyes back to his with the
urgency of his voice. "Scully...we're friends, right?" She nodded.
"Scully, we've been friends for four years, partners...best friends. But
we're not..._that_ kind of friends. I want to be here for you, to help
you through this. If we do this...if we go there...this is a new place
for us, and we can't go back. I can't go back. I won't. I know I'm not
the most sensitive person that ever lived. I can be flip and dismissive
sometimes, especially when it comes to your feelings. But...not this
time, Scully. Not about this. This is too important to you...to us. If
you let me in, there's no going back. Do you understand what I'm telling
you?"
	Scully felt the tears welling up behind her eyes, stinging and
vicious. Mulder was trying so hard. She could see the pain and hurt in
his eyes, could feel his need and hunger to be there for her, to be the
man, the person she so desperately needed. Struggling not to cry, she
just nodded her head.
	Twice.
	"Come with me," he whispered. "Come sit down on the couch."
	They moved together, bumping knees against the coffee table as
they shuffled towards the couch. Mulder sat on the end, holding his arms
open, and Scully came to him, burying her face against his chest, her
arms around his neck and shoulders.
	Mulder said nothing for the longest time. He just held her and
softly stroked her hair, letting his even breathing and calmness wash
over her.
	Scully wanted to cry, wanted to let it out so bad, wanted to
scream and yell and throw things. She wanted to punch Mulder, just to
have something to hit, something to take her aggression out on. Instead,
she just took comfort in Mulder's closeness, in his warmth.
	Mulder shifted slightly. "Scully...do you love him?"
	Silence. He let the question hang in the air.
	"Mulder, I've only known him for two-"
	"Do you love him?" Mulder asked again.
	"No," she finally said. Mulder's heart soared, and then plummeted
with her next words. "But I could. So easily."
	He wanted to ask why, what could she possibly see in him, what
could attract someone like her to such a monster, but knew better than
to ask.
	"Let's talk about the case," she whispered.
	"Sure, Scully. What do you think the card meant?"
	"The playing card? It's obvious. The killer knows Stone."
	Stone, Mulder thought, grinning. She's calling him `Stone' again.
	"But we knew that," she added. "Or at least, we assumed that."
	"Why is it important?" he prompted.
	"Mulder, I'm too tired to think-"
	"Because it's the only thing he's left at a murder scene except
for the murder weapons, complete with handy-dandy fingerprints from a
dead man. He was sending a message, Scully. A very specific message to a
very specific person. The killer knows we're onto him, Scully. He knows
Stone is on his case."
	Scully twisted in Mulder's arms, laying her head in his laps, her
forearm across her forehead, looking into her eyes. There was nowhere
for his hands to go except where they did. Gently, he put his palm on
her stomach, feeling the muscles shifting underneath.
	God, she's warm, Mulder thought.
	Warm and soft.
	"That was his plan all along, wasn't it?" Scully said.
	Mulder nodded. "That's why my take on it is. And remember, I'm a
nationally certified violent crimes profiler. My opinion counts when it
comes to this." She heard the smile in his voice and returned it for
real; it wasn't the full-wattage Scully Smile that Mulder treasured, but
considering the circumstances, it was a good effort.
	"Who? His father?"
	"I doubt it. But I do know one thing. Or at least, I suspect it.
Somehow, what happened in Iraq is tied to Stone, Heather Haynes, what
happened in Libya, and the killer. Somehow, they're all interconnected."
	Scully chewed on the inside of her cheek. "I'll agree about the
killer, Stone, Heather and Iraq. Libya is a bit of a stretch. That
happened fifteen years ago, Mulder."
	"I don't think they're directly related, Scull." She smiled at his
use of her nickname. It was so...familiar. Warm. Comfortable.
	Mulder.
	"How, then?"
	"Something happened to Stone in Libya. And that has something to
do with what happened in Iraq. That's about as far as I can take it
right now."
	"What's next, then?"
	Mulder moved again. The feel of Scully in his arms was perhaps the
most divine thing he had ever experienced, but she was heavy!
	"Well, you and Stone need to explain to Skinner how a killer got
through the tightest security that the guys at TechServ were able to
manage, kill your remaining team member, and escape, all completely
undetected. I imagine that will take a good portion of the morning."
	"Oh, God," Scully wailed. "Skinner! I forgot all about Skinner!"
Suddenly, she smiled. Reaching up a hand, she pressed her palm against
Mulder's cheek. He could feel her nails against his beard stubble. They
made a scraping noise as she massaged his face with her thumb.
	"Thank you for making me forget Skinner," she said. Scully saw
something flare behind Mulder's eyes, something hungry and animalistic,
and she dropped her hand.
	But not right away.
	"What are you going to do?" Scully asked.
	"I'm going to talk to the Gunmen about their contact. The guy that
dug all this stuff up is going to talk to me. He's going to get me
names...men assigned to the Libya mission. I'm going to talk to them.
I'm going to find out what happened in Libya. And I'm going to use that
leverage against Stone to tell us what happened in Iraq."
	"Trust no one," Scully whispered.
	"No," Mulder said, just as quietly. "Just be careful who you
trust, Scully."
	She smiled again, and then hoisted herself upright. "Go home,
Mulder."
	"No," he said.
	"What?"
	"I'm staying here tonight."
	Scully's eyebrow reached a new height. "Excuse me?"
	"I mean it," he said, patting the couch. "RIGHT here. I'm not
leaving this couch. You have two choices, Scully. You can sleep here,
tonight, with me. I'll hold you all night, and in the morning, we'll
both pretend that it never happened. And we'll succeed at it, too.
Because this isn't about being partners; this is about being friends.
Or, you can go and sleep in your bed. But I'll still be here, because I
want to be here. If you need me in the night, just come out. I'll be
awake." He laughed. "I promise."
	Scully felt the heaviness in her chest, the ache in her heart.
"You dear sweet man," she said. "What would I do without you?"
	"Perish and die. Just as I would. Now, put up or shut up, Scully."
	She giggled, and stood, moving to the lamp by the window. She
turned and faced her partner, smiling as he arranged the throw pillows
so they could lay down together. When he was ready, he nodded, and
Scully doused the light, blanketing the apartment with darkness.

***

	Below, on the street, in a parked car carefully hidden in an
alley, away from any streetlight or other ambient illumination,
Commander Matthew Stone, USN, sat. The fourteen-power Ziess binoculars
brought Scully's window into sharp focus. He'd seen Mulder enter the
apartment almost an hour ago. He'd seen them moving around the
apartment, had seen when Mulder had stood and walked to Scully's side,
taking her hands and leading her to the couch.
	And now Scully was turning, smiling over her shoulder, her hand on
the light.
	The apartment went dark.
	Stone lowered the glasses.
	Oh, he thought. So that's how it is?
	I don't think so.


				       -8-


"Violence is the quest for identity. When identity
disappears with technological innovation, violence
is the natural recourse."
	Marshall LcLuhan

"You know what I think about violence. For me it
is profoundly moral - more moral than compromises
and transactions."
	Benito Mussolini

"We are all shot through with enough motives to make
a massacre, any day of the week that we want to
give them their head."
	Jacob Bronowski

"Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee
Agreed to have a battle;
For Tweedle Dum said Tweedle Dee
Had spoiled his new rattle."
	Lewis Carroll


				       -8-

Apartment of Dana Scully
0620 Hours

	Scully woke slowly, enjoying that early morning sluggish-warm
feeling. Slowly the realization dawned on her that she wasn't alone, and
there was a moment of panic that was more telling than Scully would ever
admit when she desperately tried to remember who, exactly, it was she
was so comfortably snuggled up against.
	It was with no small relief that she discovered that it was
Mulder. Rarities of rarities, he was actually asleep. She moved slowly,
gently, not wanting to wake him right away, taking a few moment to study
his slumbering features. She felt a small smile tugging at the corners
of her mouth as she realized that the lines of tension that were usually
etched into his face during normal waking hours were not visible. His
face looked relaxed, almost...happy.
	She lowered her head again, breathing deep the scent of the both
of them. Had she been asked, Dana Scully would have scoffed or laughed
at anyone who had suggested that she would ever find herself in the
position of waking up, literally, in her partner's arms. Not that Mulder
was a toad or a troll.
	Nothing could be further from the truth.
	But the fact of the matter was that their relationship, as
rewarding, challenging and yes, even exasperating as it was, had limits.
Self-imposed, specific, unspoken limits that neither one of them had
been willing or ready to break.
	Until last night, that is.
	A very private thought slowly crawled across her mind, and she
regarded it the same way an entomologist might a particularly
interesting bug. Waking up in Mulder's arms was not exactly the worst
thing that had ever happened to Scully. Not by a long shot, she
realized. Scully enjoyed snuggling as much as the next person, but it
had been a long time indeed since she had been held in this way. It felt
good, comfortable...right.
	And that was a very scary thought. Almost as scary as her now-
admitted slowly-growing attraction to Matt Stone. Memories of the
discussion with Mulder from the previous night began trickling into her
consciousness. He was right, she realized. There was no possible way for
them to go back to the way things had been between them before last
night. But Scully also wasn't sure where, exactly, they had found
themselves, relationship-wise. Mulder had really opened his heart to her
last night, had listened without judging, had accepted her feelings for
Matt without any overtly hostile comments.
	But really, she thought, why should he care? We're friends and
all, she thought, but not quite that...
	What?
	Scully found herself struggling to find the words, the concepts to
apply to the nature of her relationship with Mulder. It just defied
description. They were friends, partners, confidants. And what else?
	Scully remembered the crush days. Those first few weeks, working
with Mulder for the first time, watching his amazing mind work, watching
the way he took cases apart like a Swiss watchmaker. She remembered that
feeling of almost worshipping him. And then, as the relationship grew
and matured, and she realized that Mulder was, in fact, human and that
he did make mistakes from time to time (more often than the damnable man
would _ever_ admit,) that crush had slowly faded, replaced instead by
profound respect and admiration. There was no doubt in Scully's mind
that Mulder was her closest friend, and that their relationship was the
most profound one she had ever experienced in her life.
	So, again...why not Mulder? She sighed softly, letting the lesser
voices of her personality take over. Taking Mulder on as a romantic
partner was just fraught with so much...baggage. He was a deeply
damaged, haunted man. Part of that damage manifested itself in such a
way that he seemed brilliant, driven, obsessed in his quest for the
truth. And she admired that about him. But Scully had seen the dark side
to that brilliance, the huge emotional price that Mulder had to pay to
exist in the world wired the way he was. And as important as Mulder was
to her, Scully wasn't sure she wanted to take that burden on.
	Mulder stirred against her, his hands tightening around her.
Scully smiled, knowing that her closeness and warmth were somehow
comforting to Mulder as he slept, and was glad that she could be there
for him in this way. It was another step, she realized, another tiny
fraction of an inch gained in the Trust Olympics, a seemingly never-
ending game between them. As difficult as it was for Mulder to trust
anyone, she knew he trusted her, just as she did him.
	Implicitly. Completely. Without reservation or question.
	Can't say that about Matt, her mind replied.
	Scully made a fist and plopped her chin on it, watching him sleep.
They would have to get up soon, and then it would be the Morning After.
The questions would hang in the air, unasked, unanswered. If this night
had happened four years ago, Scully wasn't sure that the partnership
would have lasted much longer. But it had happened at the right time,
the right moment in their trip through this life together, she thought.
We can handle this. We've handled worse.
	Mulder woke, his eyes opening. He saw Scully staring at him, and
he knew that she'd been doing it for a while; her eyes were clear,
bright, awake. No sleep-puffiness, no early-morning glaze to give away
the fact that she'd just woken.
	"Morning," he croaked.
	"Morning," she answered, softly. "We-"
	"I know. I have to get back to my place. Shower, change clothes,
the usual."
	Having said that, they were both reluctant to move. Scully spread
her fingers and rubbed Mulder's chest through his shirt. She opened her
mouth to thank him, but he was already moving, using his leverage to sit
them both upright on the couch.
	Running his fingers through his hair, hair that looked like a
deranged chef and a MixMaster had gotten a hold of it during the night,
Mulder looked pleasantly rumpled.
	He stood, looking for his jacket. So many thoughts were rushing
through his newly-awake mind. He was trying to sort through them all, to
categorize them, prioritize them, trying to find a handle on at least
one single, discrete thought that he could concentrate on.
	Scully stood to walk him to the door. Mulder shrugged into his
jacket, found his gun, slipped it into his holster, and tried to find
something to say.
	Anything.
	She walked up to him, very close, inside his space. He liked it
when she was there, inside his zone, her head titled up to look into his
eyes. She visibly wanted to say something, and Mulder wanted her to, but
was afraid to hear what she would say.
	"Thanks," he said softly. He watched as the expected eyebrow-arch
occurred.
	"Thanks? Mulder, I should be thanking _you_!"
	He chuckled. "Scully, last night was the first time in a long time
that I actually got some sleep. Thanks for...being there," he said, full
well knowing that he was taking her off the hook, letting them both deal
with what had happened as something that he'd needed. With a single
sentence, he'd defused the situation, and to tell the truth, he was kind
of pleased with himself for doing so.
	Scully wasn't buying it, but she decided to let it slide. If
that's what made it comfortable, palatable for Mulder, she'd go with it.
She quickly leaned up on her toes and kissed the side of his mouth,
aiming for the cheek and catching about a quarter of his lips.
	"You're welcome," she said, turning to open the door.
	Mulder caught her elbow, using his thumb to turn her back to face
him. Without knowing why, he leaned down, tilting his head, moving for
her mouth. "Was that a proper good morning kiss?" he asked. Scully's
mind froze; she did not know what to say, how to react. All she saw was
Mulder's mouth moving towards hers, his eyes slowly closing, all she
felt was the tickle of his breath against her cheek, her chin, her nose.
And this time it was her, she who acted without knowing why, who felt
her own eyes drooping slowly closed, her own head and mouth moving
towards his.
	The contact was brief but electric. He kissed her softly, gently,
a swift, tantalizing brush of lips against lips. As chaste a kiss that
had ever existed, she thought. And then he was moving past her, reaching
for the knob himself, turning it, twisting it, opening the door and
stepping out. He turned to look over his shoulder at her, his trademark
leer back in place, and Scully knew that it was fake, that it was an
act. She knew that that single, gentle, soft kiss had affected him just
as much as it had her.
	She had only to look into his eyes to see that. He smiled and
waggled his eyebrows once, a facial shrug that said nothing at all and
spoke volumes in the same instant. She raised her hand to shoulder
height, spread her fingers and waved, her other hand moving to her
mouth, her mind trying to decipher the reason why her lips tingled so.
	He reached back, his hand finding her shoulder and squeezing once,
twice.
	And then Mulder turned and left Scully alone with her thoughts.
	She closed the door, turning at the last moment to use her butt to
shut it.
	Oh, Lord, she thought. We're in trouble now!

				       ***

	Mulder got into his car, moving as quickly as possible. He wanted
to get as far away from Scully's apartment as possible as quickly as
possible. It wasn't that he was upset, angry, ashamed or afraid. He just
wanted as much time as possible before the work day began to go over the
night before in his mind. Like Scully, he'd never thought that what had
just happened ever would.
	He twisted the key in the ignition, automatically checking the
mirror before pulling into traffic.
	A flash of light caught his eye, something he recognized from
another time, another place. It wasn't recent enough to trigger an
instant recall, and it took him almost forty seconds to realize what it
was that he'd seen.
	Sunlight. Reflecting off the highly-polished lenses of a pair of
very powerful binoculars.
	Mulder knew who it was. He had no doubt. His first impulse was to
reach for the phone and dial Scully and tell her. She would be furious
with Stone. It might actually be the straw that broke the camel's back.
	Mulder's fingers curled around the bulk of his cell phone. He had
removed it from his jacket and was already turning it over in his hand,
his thumb moving towards the STO button before he thought better of it.
	There was a better time, a better place for such a discussion.
	Mulder dropped the phone on the seat next to him.
	And began to whistle.

				       ***

Office of Assistant Director Walter Skinner
Federal Bureau of Investigation
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, DC
0830 Hours

	Scully and Mulder arrived at the same time. He had showered and
changed, as had she, and they shared a private moment in front of
Skinner's door. Without thinking about it, Scully reached up and
straightened Mulder's knot, using the fingers of her left hand to smooth
the silk flat. Finished, she looked up and smiled primly.
	It was a very...possessive thing to do, and it filled Mulder with
a sense of warmth and comfort.
	Scully knocked.
	"Come!" Skinner called, and they entered his office. Matt Stone
was already there, in dress blues, as was Admiral Karn, who was wearing
khakis. The three silver stars of his rank glittered on his collar
point, and Scully wondered if he'd worn the uniform as a way of imposing
his will on the situation. Those stars were hard to miss.
	And there was something different about Stone, too. His dress
blues had been updated since the previous day. He was wearing his wings
of gold, and his Budweiser in addition to his medals and Master Blaster
wings.
	"Mulder, Scully, come in," Skinner said, standing. "We're just
about to get started."
	"Commander, Admiral," Scully said. Karn smiled and nodded.
	Stone did not. He moved stiffly to the conference table and sat,
refusing to meet Scully's eyes.
	Confused and more than a little hurt, Scully moved to the other
side and joined Mulder.
	"The purpose of this meeting is to discuss the current situation
regarding this investigation, and to make a decision regarding the FBI's
continued involvement," Skinner began. He had a pen in his hands and he
turned it over and over as he spoke, staring down at the pad of paper in
front of him. He was clearly uncomfortable, and Scully had the feeling
that Skinner had been undergoing an ass-chewing of epic proportions
since last night. The FBI Brass did not like opening the Washington Post
to stories about how they had managed to let someone under their
protection die.
	"The investigation into how the person or persons responsible for
the murder of Major Haynes is continuing," Skinner continued.
	"Sir," Stone said, interrupting. "I may have some new information
about that."
	Skinner sat back, using his open hand to indicate that Stone had
the floor. "Please, Commander, by all means."
	Stone looked Mulder directly in the eyes. "Last night, after I
dropped Agent Scully off at her home, I did some investigating on my
own. There exists technology to defeat the FBI technical surveillance
gear. While not exactly common knowledge, it is not that hard to come by
if one knows where to look. And if nothing else, the killer has proved
that he is a capable operative within the clandestine world. It would
not be beyond the realm of possibility for him to have obtained such
equipment and utilized it to facilitate the murder of Heat- Major
Haynes."
	Mulder gritted his teeth, watching as Stone out maneuvered him.
Mulder would look silly going to Scully now and claiming that the man
had been watching her apartment all night.
	Scully caught the vibe passing between Stone and Mulder and tried
to suppress a sigh. She knew, a small part of her had known, that it was
eventually going to come to this. Alpha males, trying to establish
dominance. Whether it was about the investigation in general, or her
specifically, something was going to have to be done.
	"Very well," Skinner said. "For now, that's the hypothesis we'll
work with. The question is...what to we do next?"
	"If I may," Scully said. "The playing card presents some very
interesting angles. As I'm sure the Admiral and Commander Stone are
aware, Navy fighter wings all adopt nicknames. One of the units, VF-221,
has long been known as the "Blackjacks." I'm of the mind that Commander
Stone and I head over to BUPERS and see if we can dig up anything on
pilots or crew assigned to VF221 the past." Scully used the oblique
threat to capture Stone's attention, and she saw that she had it. He was
boring holes in her eyes, trying to discover what she knew by the sheer
force of his will.
	We'll talk, her eyes promised, and he nodded, accepting it.
	"Good idea," Skinner agreed. "At this point, I'm going to remove
myself from day-to-day oversight. I don't want to micromanage this
investigation. Admiral, Commander, these two agents are perhaps the best
investigative team the FBI has right now, and the brass has made a
decision. We've gotten in so far now that to pull away would be
political suicide for the Director. Therefore, he's ordered that Mulder
and Scully, with Commander Stone's help, be given full reign." Turning
to his two agents, Skinner continued. "Mulder, Scully...this is unusual,
but for the remainder of this investigation, you will not be filing
daily status reports. I will be your point of contact if you need
anything, manpower, overtime, anything. But you will be on your own
until this case is solved, or you hit a dead end that you cannot
surmount. Your travel expenses, if needed, have been preapproved." He
paused. "If there aren't any more questions, the Admiral and I have some
other issues to discuss."
	Mulder and Scully exchanged an incredulous glance. What Skinner
had just announced was completely, totally unheard of inside the FBI.
Two relatively low-level field agents being given complete and utter
control of such a sensitive, potentially explosive investigation just
did not happen in Federal law enforcement.
	Mulder was elated. He wouldn't have to go to Skinner anymore to
explain his theories, wouldn't have to reveal the information he'd dug
up about Stone (or, for that matter, any subsequent information he might
come across) until the time was right. Released from the confining ropes
of investigative policy and procedure, Mulder was free to do what he did
best: take the ball and run like a man with his ass on fire.
	"No, sir," Mulder said, standing. "No more questions."
	Scully rose with her partner and followed him out. After a moment,
Stone also rose and departed, leaving Admiral Karn and Skinner alone.
	The door securely shut, Skinner faced his old friend. "You said
you had something for me."
	"Yesterday, DTSA detected two unauthorized accesses to highly
classified records dealing with Commander Stone. One was an after action
report on a mission that is still so highly classified that I was not
given any information about it. The other access was a basic background
check, although it was a very sophisticated attempt."
	Skinner chewed the stem of his glasses. "What do you think it
means, Jake?"
	"It means that my Commander Stone may be in this deeper than I
thought, Walter. He may actually be involved. When I called DIA to try
and pry some information about the operation out of them, I was told by
a two-star piss-ant to go jump in the lake."
	Skinner grinned. "Couldn't you order him to reveal the
information?"
	"No, doesn't work that way. That little twerp holds my security
rating in the palm of his hand. And without a top secret security
clearance, I would be out of a job."
	"Try the back door."
	"I will. My daughter is married to the J2 over at JCS, a Brigadier
General Paul Jiggs. I may place a bug in his ear about this and see what
happens."
	Skinner nodded. "I have to tell you, Jake, I'm taking a lot of
heat over this entire investigation."
	Karn nodded. "I'm aware of that, old friend. As am I. CNO has left
me an email requesting my presence in the Tank this afternoon for a
little chat. I can only guess what the topic of our little discussion
will be, but I will keep you informed as to the outcome."
	Karn paused. "I just hope they can catch this bastard."
	Skinner grunted. "Trust me, Jake -- if this asshole can be caught,
those two will do it."

				       ***

Sixth Floor Mens' Room
Federal Bureau of Investigation
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, DC

	Mulder checked under all the stalls before dialing.
	"Lone Gunmen."
	"It's me. No names."
	"Mulder! Use a landline!"
	Mulder grimaced. "I said no names, Frohickie!" Realizing what he'd
just done, Mulder smacked his own forehead.
	"What can I do for you, Mulder?"
	"I need a name. No arguments, no bullshit. This is the biggest
thing you can imagine, Frohickie. I need the-"
	"Commander Maggie King, BUPERS. But she doesn't know we know who
she is, so tread carefully."
	"Thanks, Frohickie," Mulder said, ending the call. As he hung up,
Commander Matthew Stone entered the bathroom, moving to a urinal as he
unzipped.
	"Personal call?" he asked.
	"Something like that," Mulder said. "Listen, Stone, I have an
errand to run. You and Scully going to be ok for a few hours?"
	Stone finished his business, zipped and turned to face Mulder.
"We'll be fine," he said, a snide undercurrent in his voice. Mulder
thought about saying something, but decided that he wanted to find out a
lot more about this man before confronting him.
	Mulder pushed past him.
	"Mulder," Stone called.
	He turned.
	"Be careful." There was no mistaking the malice in Stone's voice,
and for a moment, Mulder saw the killer inside Stone, saw the face that
those thirty soldiers had seen in the Libyan desert.
	"I will," Mulder promised.

				       ***

Office of Special Agent Fox Mulder
Federal Bureau of Investigation
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, DC

	Mulder entered quickly, using his butt to shut the door behind
him. Scully was at her new desk, tapping away on her laptop. "Stone is
on to us, I think," he said.
	"What do you mean, `us'?" Scully asked.
	"I think he knows we've been checking up on him. That's why he's
wearing his wings and that other thing."
	"His SEAL badge?"
	"Yes, whatever."
	"You noticed?"
	Mulder smiled and took a step towards her. "If I could do what I
wanted in this office, Scully, I'd take your face in my hands and tell
you that I don't miss anything. Especially when it comes to you. I know
Stone's important to you, Scully. Just...be careful, OK?"
	Scully was touched. She suddenly wished Mulder _would_ take her
face in his hands and kiss her again like he had that morning.
	Mulder smiled, seeing that thought in her eyes. "Maybe later,
Scully. I'm off to BUPERS." He turned to go, then stopped. "Whatever
decision you make," he said, speaking to the door so he wouldn't have to
look at her, "I'll support."
	"What should I tell Stone?" she asked. Mulder was secretly pleased
that she wasn't calling him `Matt' anymore.
	"Tell him I went hunting for the truth. Actually, tell him I went
to DCSPERS to check up on Haynes. That will buy me some time."
	He had the door halfway open before her voice caught him.
	"Be careful, Mulder."
	"I will. Call me."
	Mulder had been gone for all of ten seconds before Stone made his
appearance.
	"Good morning, Special Agent Scully," he said, formally.
	"Good morning," she said, arching and eyebrow, asking the silent
question with her face: What's wrong?
	"Sleep well?" he asked. For a trained intelligence officer, he
sure as hell gave away a lot with his face.
	And then she knew. She pursed her lips so he wouldn't see her jaw
clenching. The son of a bitch had actually stalked her!
	"Very well, as a matter of fact," she said, her gaze suddenly
chilly.
	Stone let the silence build between them before finally speaking.
"Well, I suppose we should go to BUPERS." Scully suddenly realized that
was where Mulder was heading.
	"No. Let's go to DCSPERS first. I want to do some checking on
Heather first. Then we can go to BUPERS."
	Stone's gaze narrowed. "Sure," he said. "I'll meet you there, if
that's all right. I have...an errand to run on the way over."
	Scully nodded. "Of course." She grabbed her trenchcoat and they
left together, heading for the garage.

				       ***

	Matt watched Scully's Camrey pull out of the FBI lot, his hand
already reaching for the cell phone. He dialed quickly.
	"BUPERS, Commander King, sir."
	"Hi, Maggie. It's Matt."

				       ***
Office of the Chief of Naval Opertions,
Bureau of Naval Personnel (BUPERS)
Federal Office Building #2
Washington, DC

	Commander Margaret King, USNR, hung up the phone and promptly said
a very unladylike word, a word that rhymed with `brother-trucker.' Of
all the people she had never expected to hear from again, Commander
Matthew Stone was very high on the list. He was also very high on the
list of people that Maggie King never wanted to hear from again.
	Six years. Six years and the bastard calls as if we're old
friends. Like the last time we talked, the last time we saw each other
was yesterday!
	And he had the gall, the unmitigated audacity to ask her to lie.
To lie to an FBI agent investigating him in an official capacity.
	When pigs fly, she thought.
	Her intercom buzzed.
	"Yes, Anderson?"
	Her yeoman spoke through the intercom. "Ma'am, there's a Special
Agent Mulder from the FBI on line three for you. Should I take a
message?"
	"No," Maggie said quickly. "I'll take it."
	With pleasure, she thought.
	"Commander King speaking, sir," she said, using the proper
military protocol for answering a phone.
	"Commander, my name is Fox Mulder, and I'm a Special Agent with
the FBI. I was wondering if I might have a few moments of your time."
	"Of course, Agent Mulder."
	"I was wondering if we could meet somewhere."
	That was an interesting request, she thought. "How about my
office?"
	"Ma'am, with all due respect, this is a matter of some
sensitivity. I would appreciate meeting some place public."
	Matt must be in more trouble than he's letting on, she thought.
	"Very well. Where would you like to meet?"
	Mulder named a popular breakfast restaurant in Alexandria, and
Maggie quickly agreed. She'd always wanted to eat there.
	"One more thing," Mulder said before hanging up. "I know a friend
of yours, and he asked me to mention him to you. Sort of way of
establishing the...sensitivity and need for discretion in this matter."
	Now Maggie was interested.
	"Who?" she asked.
	"Well, you probably know him by a different name than I do. You
know him as LoneGunGuy."
	At the mention of her online friend's screen name, Maggie almost
dropped the phone. This Mulder character knew LoneGunGuy! Maybe she
could finally learn something about him!
	"I'll be there in half an hour," Maggie said, dropping the phone
back into the cradle without even saying goodbye. She stood, reaching
for her jacket, and then stopped. Reaching under her blotter, she found
the well-worn, dog-eared envelope and tucked it into her pocket.
	Grabbing her Navy-issue purse, she headed for the door.

				       ***

Patty's Pancakes
Alexandria
0940 Hours

	Mulder stood when he saw Commander King enter the restaurant. He
motioned to her, and she hurried to join him. Sliding into the booth
opposite him, she leaned forward, her hands together, her eyes bright
and alive.
	"Before we talk about Commander Stone, I have to ask you a
question."
	Mulder was taken completely aback. "How did you know this was
about Commander Stone?"
	"He called me about five minutes before you did, asking me to
cover up for him. But that's not important right now. I'll tell you
anything you want to know about him. But first-"
	"What?"
	"LoneGunGuy. Do you _know_ him?"
	"Yeah, for about eight years," Mulder said.
	"Oh, good!" Maggie said. "Tell me about him. Tell me all about
him."
	Mulder felt his world spinning. "Uh...why?"
	"Because he's just so...wonderful!" Maggie said.
	"Excuse me?"
	Maggie reached into her pocket and withdrew the envelope. Sliding
it across the table to Mulder, she said, "Wouldn't you say that a man
that can write that kind of poetry is wonderful?"
	Poetry? Mulder thought. I must be dreaming.
	Frohickie?
	Poetry?
	He took the envelope and opened it, sliding out some folded pages.
Unfolding them, Mulder saw that they were laser-printer pages. The first
one jumped off the page at him:

	Alas!, how light a cause may move
	Dissention between hearts that love!

	Mulder forced his face into a stony mask. He could not laugh. He
would not laugh. Only Frohickie would plagiarize Thomas More to seduce
someone on the Internet.
	He turned the page.

	Wine comes in at the mouth
	And love comes in at the eye;
	That's all we shall know for truth,
	Before we grow old and die.

	Great. William Butler Yeats.
	He turned the page again. "He sent me that one the first time we
went to a private chat room." Mulder was absolutely sure he didn't want
to hear any more about _that_.
	He read:

	Love, all love of other sights controls.
	And makes one little room an everywhere.

	Mulder sighed. Well, at least his taste in poets was improving.
John Donne this time.
	"So?" Maggie insisted. "What's he like?"
	"Uh-"
	"I assume he does something terribly secret for the government."
	Mulder felt his eyebrows crawling up his face in disbelief. He had
no desire to mislead this woman, but he needed her, needed her
desperately. "He works outside the normal channels, that much is true.
I'm sorry, but I can't tell you more than that." He hated himself, but
he had to say it. "It might put his life in danger. You understand."
	"Oh yes, of course!" Maggie said, blushing. "If you talk to him
tell him that...tell him I said hi."
	"I'll be sure to do that," Mulder said, feeling the waves of
laughter that had been threatening to explode slowly receding. "Now,
about Commander Stone?"
	Maggie sighed, pushing her hair out of her eyes. "That bastard.
What do you want to know?"
	"Everything," Mulder said.
	"Well, a lot of it is highly classified-"
	"Commander Stone is...involved in a murder investigation. A
multiple murder investigation."
	"Is he a suspect?" Maggie asked.
	"I'm not at liberty to say. But his involvement is...substantial."
	Maggie nodded. "It was bound to happen."
	"What?"
	"His taste for blood. It was bound to catch up to him eventually."
	Mulder felt like he was one huge ear, a virtual recording device.
His photographic memory was on full RECORD mode.
	"Could you go into a bit more detail?"
	Maggie sighed, sitting back again. "How much do you know?"
	"I know that he was in Libya in 82, and that he was charged with
the unlawful taking of human life. But since he's still in the Navy, and
I can't find any record of him having served a moment of time, I assume
he was acquitted."
	"No," Maggie said, her eyes far away. "The charges were dropped.
But that's not the worst part."
	Mulder said nothing, using the old interrogator's trick of letting
the subject fill in the silent spaces.
	"The mission profile was complicated. This isn't in his official
records, Agent Mulder. I got this from him via...other means."
	Pillowtalk, Mulder thought, but said nothing.
	"The mission was related to the nuclear arms program that was
being jointly developed by Libya and Chad. A clandestine mission to
destroy the processing plant that Libya was using to develop weapons-
grade plutonium. Matt was the Air Commander for the mission. He was
flying an F-14 in a close-air support mission. Navy SEALs were the
ground element.
	"When the SEALs arrived on scene, a Libyan transport plane showed
up, dropping airborne troops. Or, what looked to be airborne troops,
anyway. Stone was given the weapons-clear order by the action officer,
and ordered to kill as many of them as he could.
	"He used his 20 millimeter cannon, Special Agent Mulder. He made
six passes, using the Vulcan like a firehose. The Libyans dropped over
three hundred troops. They also had a unit of troops on the ground that
we didn't know about, a small special operations-style force. They had
Stingers that had been purchased from Afghanistan. Matt was shot down.
He ejected, and came down right in the middle of it all.
	"There were about sixty survivors, and the action officer ordered
them all executed. Some of the SEALs refused, and Matt offered to do it.
He killed thirty of them himself."
	Mulder nodded. "That much I was aware of."
	"Well, you probably don't know this part. It was not exactly a
diversion, but it was a setup. The troops? OpSec had been broken;
Qadaffi knew we were coming, and he set us up. Set us up to take the
blame in the international geopolitical arena. They weren't airborne
paratroopers.
	"They were children, Mr. Mulder. The oldest one was perhaps
fifteen years old. Commander Matthew Stone, USN, personally executed
thirty children in the furtherance of his country's foreign policy."



				       -9-


"It was an Oxford secret. The kind you
can only tell one person at a time."
	     - Anonymous


Patty's Pancakes
Alexandria
0947 Hours

	Mulder shook his head slowly, not believing his ears. "That's not
possible," he said. "There was never anything in the papers, on the
news!"
	Commander King smiled the smile of those that have peered in the
darkest recesses of another person's mind and returned to see the light
of day, worse for the wear, but wiser. "Agent Mulder, if you had any
inkling of the things that go on in the name of national security, in
the name of furthering the foreign policy interests of this country and
those that run it, you would probably go screaming into the night."
	Mulder felt a flash of irritation; if she had known the things he
and Scully had seen, she wouldn't be so quick to condescend.
	Scully.
	Oh, my god...Scully was with Stone at this moment, heading over to
DCSPERS or BUPERS!
	"Do you have any proof of this? Any at all?" Scully would require
proof. Hell, anyone would require proof after hearing the incredible
words that King had just spoken.
	Maggie shook her head. "Just his word. But let me tell you
something, Mr. Mulder. I have no doubt that the mission took place as
Stone described it to me." She paused, the blush slowly creeping up her
face. "I heard him screaming in the night, Mr. Mulder. Nightmares. Bad,
horrible dreams."
	Mulder snorted. "It sounds like he's due a few of them."
	Maggie nodded. "One part of me agrees with you, I will admit. To
think that he killed children...it's abhorrent. But, on another front,
please realize that Matt didn't send those children into battle. He was
following the lawful orders of those above him, those that thought the
mission as originally planned was worth the risk of life that Matt and
the SEALs represented. It was someone else who sent those children to
die in a ploy designed to do only one thing: Embarrass the United States
and protect Libya's nuclear policy."
	Mulder hook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. There was just
so much, so much information to wade through and dissect. He was no babe
in the woods; he knew that sometimes horrible, sickening things had to
be done to protect the security of his country. He had no problems with
those that chose to make the profession of arms their life's work.
Captain Bill Scully was a prime example, as was Walter Skinner.
Honorable men who had gone in harm's way to protect those people that
they loved, and a country they adored.
	What would Walter Skinner say if he knew what had transpired in
the Libyan desert? What would have Scully's father thought?
	"Lawful orders?" Mulder whispered. "You can give a lawful order to
kill a child?"
	King nodded. "The Rules of Engagement are pretty clear. They were
operating under Executive Authority, signed by the President. Congress
had been informed, and had given their permission. The children, sad as
it was, were armed. They had AK's, and knew how to use them."
	"Tall enough to reach the trigger, tall enough to shoot, right?"
	King nodded slowly, accepting Mulder's rebuke.
	"Why weren't they taken prisoner? God, wouldn't that have been a
better solution, politically? What would Qadaffi have been able to say
when the world was presented with irrefutable proof that he was using
children to fight his wars?"
	King sighed. "Iran and Iraq were doing the same thing at the same
time, Mr. Mulder. And Qadaffi hardly worries about what the west thinks
of him, only other Islamic countries. And the two largest Islamic
countries in the region were doing the exact same thing. To be honest,
Mr. Mulder, the military hadn't thought that far ahead. They had never
expected any resistance to the mission, and so they had no backup in
place. It was never expected that Matt would be shot down, that he would
be forced to make the choice that he did."
	"Why?" Mulder wanted to know. "Why would he chose to murder those
children?"
	"He didn't murder them, Mulder. He executed them. There is a
slight difference. What he did was reprehensible, but it was not a
crime, not in the eyes of the law."
	"But he was charged-"
	"Mr. Mulder, there are two things about those charges that you
need to know. The first is that they were dropped. The Article 32
investigation was completed, as required under the UCMJ, and the charges
were dropped."
	Mulder was surprised to find that he was gritting his teeth.
"What's the other thing I should know?"
	Maggie sighed again, a deep, sad sound that made Mulder's stomach
flop.
	"He wasn't under Article 32 investigation for the execution of
those children, Mulder."
	"What?!"
	"He killed a SEAL. Well, not exactly killed. Let me put it to you
this way. There was a disagreement of some kind, and one of the ground
forces members ended up dead under mysterious circumstances. The
Commanding Officer of the ground forces filed the Article 32 complaint
investigation form, but after review, the charges were dropped."
	Mulder's mind started racing. "The paperwork. Where's the Article
32 paperwork?"
	Maggie King shook her head. "It's sealed." She saw the look on his
face, the look that said he had ways of finding things out. She could
see his mind working, watch as he went through the list of his contacts
throughout the government, Mulder's own personal fifth column of spies
and informants.
	"Mulder, there's no one that you can ask to find the records,
because the records don't exist. Not only was the Article 32 dropped,
but the records were expunged. Actually physically destroyed. Put in a
burn bag at NIS headquarters."
	"Shouldn't the Judge Advocate General have a copy?"
	"They might have some notes or something buried in a drawer, but
when a record is expunged, it is expunged."
	Mulder took another tack. "Is there a list of officers that sat on
the review board? The ones that made the original decision to drop the
Article 32 investigation?"
	Maggie considered this, scratching her chin. "I'm sure there might
be somewhere...I'd have to check."
	She looked up into the excited, wild eyes of Special Agent Fox
Mulder and grinned. "Here, use my cellular," he said, offering his phone
to her. She looked at it dubiously, wondering if the man actually
expected her to put her career on the line right here, right now, for a
man she had met only moments ago.
	Well, she thought, he does know LoneGunGuy.
	She took the phone and dialed. Her yeoman answered, and she
started issuing instructions. He took notes, promised to call her back
as soon as he found anything out, and disconnected the call.
	"I told him to look for anything that would like Stone to that
Article 32 investigation and to get back to me. Your best bet-"
	"Is to find someone retired, someone who won't mind risking his
pension."
	"Or her pension," King pointed out.
	"Or her pension," Mulder agreed.
	King stared at the young FBI agent for a few long, strained
seconds. Now that the ball had started rolling, it was only a matter of
time before it came back to bite her in the ass, she was sure. Commander
King knew that there were forces at work at pay grades way, way above
her own that made looking out for officers like Matt Stone their life's
work. She had known other officers, men and women she considered unfit
to command a platoon of mess-kit repair technicians who had been given
commands of aircraft carriers, Spruance-class destroyers, even entire
fleets of submarines and ships, all because they had a `hook,' a senior
officer who looked out for classmates, the sons and daughters of
friends, and every once and a while, those select few officers who were
pinpointed and fast-tracked for promotion to Commander, Captain and
above. Up until this breakfast meeting with Special Agent Mulder, Maggie
would have bet a year's salary that there were Admiral's stars in Matt
Stone's future.
	Now she wasn't so sure. Part of her was sad, because despite all
her objections to the contrary, both internal and external, she still
harbored feelings for Matt. He'd been an exciting, dangerous man, the
kind of man that had brought all her `bad boy' fantasies to light. But
part of her was glad, a much larger part, because she felt in her bones
that men such as Commander Matthew Stone, USN, should not be placed in a
position of authority over other lives. He was too dangerous, too
unpredictable, too bloodthirsty.
	"So tell me what happened," she finally said. "What brought you to
me, other than LoneGunGuy?"
	"I really can't go into it," Mulder demurred, holding up his hands
to stop her protest, "not because I don't trust you." Although I don't,
he thought. "But..it'd be safest for you. I'll make you a deal. If and
when I can talk about this, you'll be the first to know. I'll tell you
everything I know." He lifted his eyebrows. "Deal?"
	She reached over and shook his offered hand. "Deal, Mr. Mulder.
Now, are you going to buy me breakfast, or was that just an empty
promise to get information out of me?"

				       ***

Office of the Deputy Chief of Staff for Personnel
The Pentagon
Alexandria, Virginia
1000 Hours

	Matt Stone entered the outer office of the DCSPERS and smiled down
at Dana Scully, who was sitting in a chair waiting, her legs crossed
primly at the thigh. She was flipping through an issue of Army Times.
She tried to find it within herself to smile back at this man, but found
that she could only manage to keep something just this side of a grimace
on her face.
	Taking the seat next to hers, immediately moving into her space,
violating that invisible, silent wall she kept up to ward off the world,
Stone whispered in her ear, "What's wrong?"
	She moved away, using her eyes to force him back. He saw the look
on her face, the same look that hundreds of suspects and other
uncooperative individuals had seen on her face...
	And moved back.
	"Nothing," she said softly. "We'll talk later."
	Stone just nodded, trying on a hurt-puppy expression. He had seen
Mulder do the same thing to her, and its effect on Scully had not gone
unnoticed.
	Scully had to fight to keep the look of disgust off her face. On
this man that look was...disgusting. Revolting. With a start, Scully
realized why Stone was such a good investigator, such a good
intelligence agent. He had that unique ability to become a chameleon, to
change himself to fit any situation, to give the target of his
attentions (and probably his affections, too, she thought,) what he
thought they wanted and needed. He was the candy man, offering up the
treats that his...subjects, targets...lovers wanted.
	He's trying to make me react to him the way I react to Mulder, she
thought.
	As if I would ever.
	The anger inside her notched up another level, and she wondered
what it was that she had thought she'd seen in Commander Stone. Nothing
could be further from the truth at this point. She could hardly stand to
be in the same room with him, let alone have him actually touch her.
	"Special Agent Dana Scully?"
	Scully looked up at the mention of her name. A tall,
distinguished, straight-backed US Army Major was standing in front of
her, a bemused smile on his face.
	"Yes?"
	"I'm Major Donald Gates," he said, offering his hand. Scully
stood, shaking it. "Commander Stone," Matt said. The major, although
outranked by Matt, gave him a look that made shivers run up Scully's
back. "Commander," he said softly, shaking Matt's hand. He released it
just a little quickly, Scully thought.
	She found herself liking Major Gates rather easily.
	A enemy of my enemy is my friend, she thought, wondering why that
had entered her mind.
	"If you'll come with me," Gates said, turning to lead them to his
office. Stone started to follow along, and sensing this, Gates stopped.
"I'm sorry, Commander, but this briefing is for Agent Scully only."
	Stone stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes narrowing. "Excuse me,
Major?"
	"I'm sure you heard me, Commander. DCSPERS got a call from
Assistant Director Walter Skinner this morning asking for a classified
briefing on one of our officers. He made no mention of any Naval
personnel attending this briefing. Our regulations are quite clear on
the matter. I'm sure you understand."
	Stone said nothing, but reached inside his jacket for his
credentials.
	Gates waves them away. "I'm quite aware of who you are, Commander,
and frankly, it doesn't matter to me that you're a Special Agent at NIS.
Or that you're assigned to SLUDJ. The fact of the matter-"
	Stone held up his hand. "I don't care about your regulations,
Major. I outrank you, and I am ordering you to allow me to attend this
briefing." Scully looked up in surprise, her own eyes narrowing in
anger. What did Matt think he was doing?
	Gates laughed, surprising both Stone and Scully. "Yes, you
probably do, Commander. But since I am not in your chain of command, nor
attached to a joint staff position, your relative rank means nothing to
me, or to DCSPERS."
	Stone was fuming. "Listen to me, you little piss-ant, I can call
my Admiral-"
	"Oh, yes, Admiral Karn. If I remember correctly, he is a Vice
Admiral, is that correct?" Stone's jaw dropped open. Vice Admirals of
the US Navy wear the three stars of a Lieutenant General of the US Army.
DCSPERS, the man who was actually the Deputy Chief of Staff for
Personnel was a four-star general. He had recently been promoted, and
the rumor was that he was going to be given CINCTRACODC. For the time
being, he outranked Admiral Karn. Which meant that Karn would have to go
to his boss, the four-star Judge Advocate General himself.
	"I see your point," Stone said stiffly. "I'll wait out here for
Special Agent Scully."
	Gates smiled thinly. "As you wish, Commander." He turned to
continue leading Scully to his office, and then stopped. He turned back.
"I am very sorry, sir."
	I just bet you are, Stone thought. He frowned and nodded, picking
up the copy of Army Times that Scully had been reading.
	Scully looked at Stone again, saw the little-boy petulance on his
face, and again wondered what she had ever seen in the man. Shaking her
head, she turned and took a few long strides to catch up with Major
Gates.

				       ***

Office of Commander Maggie King
Navy Bureau of Personnel (BUPERS)
1002 Hours

	Yeoman Second Class Richie Pierce glanced around one last time
before lifting the phone. It wouldn't do to have someone catch him at
what he was about to do.
	But he had no choice.
	He dialed the ten numbers, reading them off the back of a business
card that he kept hidden deep inside his desk.
	"What?" the voice answered.
	"It's me...Richie," Pierce said.
	"Richie who?"
	"Pierce. Richie Pierce, at BUPERS."
	The voice softened almost immediately. "Go ahead."
	"King called about twenty minutes ago. She wanted the whole
package."
	There was a pause. "What are you going to do?"
	Richie knew the correct answer to that. "Whatever you want me to."
	"Good answer, Richie," the voice said. "Give her everything.
Names, addresses, the whole deal."
	Richie couldn't believe his ears. "Are you sure?"
	"Of course I'm sure. That Mulder moron can't hurt the operation.
As a matter of fact, having Mulder running around the country talking to
old men with bitter memories will help this operation. It'll keep him
out of the loop. So do what I tell you, Richie. Give King everything
that she wants."
	"Aye, Aye," Richie said. "Do you want me to-"
	"No, son. Just do what I tell you." The voice paused again. "Or
you know what will happen." Richie tried to swallow past the lump in his
throat, but found that his mouth was too dry.
	"Aye, aye," he said again, and hung up the phone.

				       ***

Patty's Pancakes
Alexandria
1012 Hours

	Mulder's cellphone chirped.
	"Mulder."
	"Uh..."
	"Are you looking for Commander King?"
	"Yes...yes, sir."
	"Just a moment." Mulder handed his phone to Maggie. She had just
forked a huge wad of syrup-covered blueberry pancakes into her mouth.
Chewing mightily, she took the phone with one hand and made a writing
motion with the other, asking Mulder for a pen. He reached inside his
jacket and found his notebook and Mont Blanc. Unscrewing the cap, he
assembled the pen and handed it all to King.
	"Uh huh...Florida. Got it. Ft. Pierce. Got it. Texas? Where in
Texas? Dallas? Ok..." she wrote quickly, neatly, adding a series of
names, addresses, ranks and telephone numbers to the pad. "How many left
on active duty?" She wrote names, ranks. "How many in the MDW?" She
shook her head at Mulder, who swore softly under his breath.
	"Thanks, Richie." She disconnected the call and handed Mulder back
the phone, sliding the notepad across the table. "This is what I could
find."
	Mulder studied the list she'd given him. Six names. Four members
of the Article 32 panel, and two members of the SEAL team that had been
in the Ground Element during JOVIAL CLOWN. "Thanks," he said softly. "I
know that this might come back at you, and if it does, and there's
anything I can do-"
	She waved a hand, dismissing his offer. "Listen to me, Agent
Mulder. Matt Stone may be gorgeous to look at, and great in bed, but
he's an asshole, pure and simple. He used me, used me to get a peek at
records he had no business looking at. I thought he loved me, and I let
him use me. I'll be honest here -- most informants, in my opinion, do
what they do out of revenge. I like LoneGunGuy, and I'd like to meet him
someday. But I'm giving him -- and you -- the information because I feel
it's the right thing to do. Idiots like Commander Matthew Stone have no
business being in MY Navy." Finished, she looked down at her plate. "I
need more syrup," she said, lifting an arm and calling, "Excuse me,
waitress?"

				       ***

Office of the Deputy Chief of Staff, Personnel (DCSPERS)
Office of Major Donald Gates, Junior aide-de-camp
The Pentagon
Alexandria
1003 Hours

	"Please, Special Agent Scully, have a seat," Major Gates said,
offering her one of the two comfortable-looking leather wing chairs that
faced his desk.
	Scully settled herself and took out a notebook. "That won't be
necessary," he said.
	"Excuse me?"
	"You'll be provided with copies of all the information that we're
about to go over. And frankly, I'd rather appreciate it if you wouldn't
take notes about the things we will be discussing that aren't in the
files."
	Scully slowly put the notebook away. She had the distinct
impression that her strings were being pulled, that someone or a group
of someone's were making sure that only certain, specific information
reached hers' and Mulder's ears.
	And Scully didn't like it one bit.
	"So tell me about Major Heather Haynes."
	Gates nodded, obviously the type that liked to get right to the
point. He pulled a thick folder out of his IN box and opened it on his
blotter.
	"Major Heather NMI Haynes," he began. "Born in White Plains, New
York. Father was Major General Peter Haynes, deceased. Mother was Elaine
Haynes, also deceased. Graduated from White Plains High School and
applied for admission to the United States Military Academy at West
Point, 1982. She graduated in 1986, 121st in her class, awarded a
Bachelor of Science in Psychology.
	"Attended US Army Jump School, Ft. Benning, Georgia, during the
1983 summer, and Advanced Infantry Training, also at Ft. Benning, during
the 1984 summer." Gates looked up at Scully with a totally unreadable
expression, and then returned his gaze to the file. "Selected for a
special project for TRADOC, named FANCIFUL DARING." He paused again and
then closed the file. "Special Agent Scully, I've been instructed to
give you one-hundred percent cooperation, and I plan to do that...and
more. But I want to take this opportunity to impress upon you the
importance of keeping certain...elements about Major Haynes career as
confidential as possible. Heather was a very special person, a special
woman and a special Army officer. I would hate to see her memory
tarnished as a result of some FBI witch hunt."
	Scully felt her left eyebrow arching and tried to restrain it.
"Major Gates, I appreciate your candor. All I can say at this point is
that I'm looking for a clearer picture of Major Haynes' career,
including any information you can give me about the assignments she had
and the other officers and enlisted personnel she came into contact
with. I have no desire to besmirch Major Haynes' record in any way, and
of course all concerns regarding disclosure of classified information
should have already been answered by AD Skinner."
	Gates nodded rather primly and re-opened Heather's folder.
	"FANCIFUL DARING was a very...well, not exactly classified
project, although it was. It just wasn't the normal type of project that
we would classify. Major Haynes, then a Second Lieutenant fresh from her
commissioning ceremony, was selected to attend the Infantry Officer's
Basic course at Ft. Benning in preparation for taking command of her own
infantry platoon, one of the very first women so selected. It was ahead
of its time by almost a decade. But for circumstances that are still
unclear to this office, she never completed the IOB school, and instead
requested a transfer to Military Intelligence. After careful and due
consideration, her request was granted.
	"After completion of Military Intelligence school, she attended
two courses at the Presidio Language School in San Francisco, one in
Farsi and one in Arabic."
	"This was 1988?" Scully asked.
	"Yes."
	"Rather...eclectic choice for a former Infantry officer, wouldn't
you say?"
	"Military Intelligence or her choice of languages?"
	"Either. Both."
	Gates nodded, frowning. "It almost seems as if she knew what was
coming, didn't it? Hmmm. Well, anyway, after completion of her two
language courses, she was assigned to the 12th Military Intelligence
Corps, Korea as a field translator/interrogator."
	"I thought Korea was considered a hazardous duty station, a
forward-deployed area?"
	"Yes, it is."
	"Major Haynes, pardon my pointing it out, is female. The MOS you
just described is considered combat duty, is it not?"
	Gates shifted in his chair. "Yes, it is, Special Agent Scully. I
had no idea that you were as...up to speed...as you are on Army MOS and
policy."
	"My father was Captain Bill Scully, USN."
	"Oh, yes. Of course. I should have realized." He frowned again,
and then continued reading from Heather's file. "She completed her tour
of Korea, reaching the rank of Captain, in Command of Baker Company,
12th Military Intelligence Corps. She requested and was transferred to
the Army Intelligence School at Ft. Boliver for post-graduate training."
Major Gates closed the folder again. "I'm sorry, but the majority of the
coursework at the Army Intelligence School is classified, Agent Scully."
	"I understand, Major. Please continue, if you would."
	"Very well." He opened the folder for a third time. "Captain
Haynes graduated sixth in her class of sixty, putting her in the top
tenth percentile. She was allowed to choose her next duty station. She
chose CENTCOM."
	"This was when?"
	"Late 1989."
	"I see. Wasn't CENTCOM a paper command at that time, sir?"
	"Yes, Agent Scully. She transferred to Headquarters Company, US
Central Command, at Eglin Air Force Base, Florida."
	"I see. In what capacity?"
	"Military Intelligence Aide to the CINC, CENTCOM."
	"She worked for General-"
	"Yes. But not directly. She was the most junior member on the
staff. To my knowledge, she was never...she did not know The General."
	"I see. Can you tell me how Major Haynes might have been assigned
to a behind-the-lines mission in Iraq during the Gulf War?"
	Gates laughed, a dry, impersonal sound. "I can assure you, Special
Agent Scully, that no such mission ever took place. At least, not to my
knowledge."
	Scully felt her ire rising. "Major, I spoke with Major Haynes the
day of her death, and she informed me that she was in Iraq during the
air offensive, and that she was covered as a journalist, and that she
had a specific mission to-- well, sir, I might assume that you are not
cleared for the scope and profile of that mission. I was just wondering
if you could give me any information as to why the US military would
send a woman in behind the lines on a classified mission, against their
publicly stated policy?"
	Gates shifted in his chair, shut the folder and slid it across the
desk. "Special Agent Scully, I'm on the selection list for Lieutenant
Colonel. I have been in the Army for close to fifteen years. I have no
desire to either rock the boat, by which I mean bring unwanted attention
to myself, or to hinder your investigation in any way. You have the
official, classified personnel file of Major Heather Haynes, United
States Army on the desk in front of you. That is your copy. Please
follow standard US Government policies and procedures for handling
classified information, and don't forget to have a nice day."
	Gates stood, obviously dismissing her. "Sir, may I use your
phone?" she asked.
	Gates nodded. "Of course. I assume it's a local call?"
	Scully smirked. "Of course, Major." Scully picked up the phone and
punched out Mulder's number.
	"Mulder, it's me. I'm just about finished at DCSPERS, and I want
to know..."
	She listened. "Ok. I'll take Stone back to the Hoover building so
we can...discuss the file."
	She hung up the phone and turned to Major Gates, who had been
waiting rather impatiently for her to finish.
	"Sir, I have one more question, and then I will thank you for your
time and get out of your office." At the promise of having the
inquisitive FBI agent out of his hair, Major Gates' mood visibly
improved.
	"Yes, what is it?"
	"Would you explain your reaction to Commander Stone, please? I
know all about your regulations and policies and procedures, but you
took a lot of pleasure out of denying that man access to this meeting."
	Gates moved back to his chair slowly, his eyes focused on Scully.
His gaze never left her face, and she had the feeling that he was
studying her, trying to see inside her soul, trying to determine what
kind of woman she actually was.
	"Commander Stone...in certain circles...is well known inside the
military establishment. He has a ... reputation, I guess you could say.
There are some that feel he should not be an officer, let alone one
trusted with as much responsibility and authority as he has been trusted
with. There are those of us who believe that the nation would be better
off had Commander Stone never worn our uniform."
	Scully said nothing. She stood and gathered the folder on Gates'
desk and turned on her heel.
	"Agent Scully, are you upset about something?"
	Scully stopped with one hand on the doorknob. She turned back to
face Gates. "Sir, I'm only angry at myself." Opening the door, she left
Gates sitting behind his desk, staring after her.
	Way to go, Dana, she thought. First man you've had any feelings
for
	<except Mulder>
	in months, no...years, and you have to pick a sociopath. Every
single person that had ever known Matt, had ever worked with or for him,
with the possible exception of Admiral Karn, that Scully had run into
had nothing nice to say about the man.
	And yet...
	She shook that feeling off, choosing instead to remember the feel
of Mulder's lips on hers that morning. That soft, gentle, chaste kiss
that had ignited something inside of her, had brought to life a feeling
inside of her that Scully had almost forgotten about. Mulder reached a
part of her, a portion of her soul that Stone never would. A part that
Stone was probably unaware that even existed.
	Too bad he's my partner, she thought, rounding the corner and
heading back towards the reception room where Matt was waiting. Too bad
we can't do anything about it. The temptation to use Mulder to forget
all about Commander Matt Stone was overwhelming. But that's what it
would be, Scully thought. Using him.
	Stone stood as Scully approached. "All done?" he asked lightly.
"Because if we hurry, we can get to BUPERS before they go to lunch."
	Scully shook her head, holding up Heather's thick personnel file.
"I want to get back to the Hoover building and go over this." Stone eyed
the file warily.
	"That's her file? Her entire file?"
	"Yes, or so I've been told."
	Stone couldn't take his eyes off the file. Scully watched as his
fingers clenched and unclenched.
	"May I?" he asked.
	Scully thought about it, thought about denying him access to it,
only because she could.
	Pretty damn petty, Scully, she thought.
	"Of course. Back at the Hoover building. We'll both go over it,"
she said, stepping around him. He reached for her, catching her by the
elbow, stopping her.
	"Will we talk about...what's bothering you?" he asked softly, his
voice quiet and dark. She looked over her shoulder at him-
	And was afraid.
	Something evil and hot and moist uncoiled in Scully's belly, and
she suddenly wanted to be as far away from Matt Stone as possible. There
was something behind his eyes, something in the way the light caught the
reflections in his irises that made Scully nervous and scared.
	"Sure, Matt," she said, trying to make her voice light.
	"Good," he said, releasing her arm. He moved inside her space
again, looking down at her. "Because I don't like being kept in the
dark."
	Scully just nodded and opened the door leading out of DCSPERS. She
wanted to call Mulder. She desperately wanted to hear his calm,
comforting voice. And she really wanted him to hold her again.
	"I'll see you there," she called over her shoulder. Stone just
nodded and turned and walked away in the other direction.
	Scully was going to be a problem, he thought.
	That's ok...his mind answered...you're good at solving problems.

--

"Yes I Am" Lyrics and Music by Melissa Etheridge. Copyright 1993 MLE
Music Administration by Almo Music Corporation (ASCAP). All rights
reserved. Used without permission. No infringement intended.

-------------------------
END SECTION 3 (CHAPTERS 7-9)