Swinging for the Fences By Brandon D. Ray publius@avalon.net ========== Distribution: Do it. ========== Category: Vignette, Mulder/Scully UST Rating: PG Spoilers: The Unnatural; Small Potatoes Keywords: Mulder/Scully UST Summary: What was Scully thinking during that final scene? Thanks: To Shannon, for beta-reading, and for arguing with me about punctuation. Disclaimer: Yeah, right. Swinging for the Fences by Brandon D. Ray I don't know why I lied to him. Okay, that's not quite true. I *do* know why I lied to him -- at least, I know one of the reasons. He was just so damned childlike and gleeful and *cute* when I arrived at the ballpark that I didn't have the heart to rain on his parade. Mulder is so seldom happy; it seemed a shame to do anything that might tarnish such a moment. So when he asked me whether I'd ever hit a baseball, I just said no, and added something about having "found more necessary things to do with my time than slap a piece of horsehide with a stick." Strictly speaking, I was telling him the truth. I never *have* hit a *baseball*. But in a larger sense it was a lie, because I was co-captain of the Annapolis Regina girls' fast pitch softball team in high school, and we went to the state tournament three years in a row. I played second base, and had a career batting average of .387. In my own defense, I have to point out that Mulder would know these things if he would ever bother to ask me about anything other than whether I believe in the existence of extraterrestrials. Not that I object to talking about *that* either -- but it isn't exactly a topic which lends itself to a deeper and more meaningful relationship, if you catch my drift. If only it had really been Mulder instead of Eddie Van Blundht that evening .... Which of course was the *real* reason I lied to my partner just now. I was almost certain that he would take my disdainful comment as a challenge, and I was right: He immediately stopped taking batting practice, turned and looked at me, and said, "Get over here, Scully." And so here I am, stepping up to the plate with a real, live Louisville Slugger in my hands -- which in and of itself is a treat. But best of all, Fox "Mantle" is snuggling up behind me and wrapping his arms around me so he can show me how to hit a baseball. Mmm hmm. "This my birthday present, Mulder?" I ask, knowing that he'll assume I'm talking about the opportunity to take batting practice. "You shouldn't have." "This ain't cheap," he replies, and I can tell from the tone of his voice that he's already completely absorbed in giving me this "lesson". "I'm paying that kid ten bucks an hour to shag balls," he continues -- and then I can almost *hear* the smirk as he adds, "Hey, it's not a bad piece of ash, huh?" I *do* have to keep up appearances, of course, so I turn and give him The Look, and he hastens to explain, "The bat. Talking about the bat." Yeah, right. Now he's going on to instruct me on the proper way to hold this nice piece of ash. "Now don't strangle it," he says, carefully adjusting the position of my hands. "You just want to shake hands with it. 'Hello, Mr. Bat. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.' 'Oh, no no no, Ms. Scully, the pleasure's all mine.'" That earns him a chuckle. He's really working hard this evening, and he deserves some kind of reward -- and to be completely honest, with myself if not with him, I'm having more fun than I have in ages. Suddenly my attention is drawn back to Mulder. He's been chattering about "hips before hands", and stepping into the pitch, just like Sister Mary Margaret taught us back at Annapolis Regina, and I kind of tuned him out for a moment -- but now he's got *his* hand on *my* hip, and suddenly he has my complete attention. Although baseball isn't the first thing on my mind, and I don't believe that's what *he's* thinking about at the moment, either. At least, it better not be. Mulder strokes my hip one more time -- strictly for pedagogical purposes, of course -- and snuggles up a little closer behind me as he continues his running commentary on how to hit a baseball, telling me, "We're gonna wait on the pitch, we're gonna keep our eye on the ball, then we're just gonna make contact." Personally, I think we've already made contact -- and is that a bat in your pocket, Agent Mulder, or are you just happy to see me ... ? Okay, here comes the first pitch, and I truly do need to pay attention, because it really has been a long time and I don't want to *completely* embarrass myself. And with Mulder's "help" I manage to foul the first one off, and before long I'm actually hitting them into the outfield. Mulder keeps up his cheerful patter as the pitches continue to come in -- something about concentrating on hitting the ball and letting the rest of the world "fade away". I'm trying to listen to what he's saying, I really am, but between the need to focus on the ball, and the fact that my partner's warm, friendly body is nestled up against me, so that we're spooned together like baby cats (not to coin a phrase), I just can't. Something's gotta go, and it isn't going to be this impromptu snuggle, so I finally just say, "Shut up, Mulder. I'm playing baseball." And the pitches continue to come in, and we continue to swing for the fences, getting better and growing closer with each swing of the bat. Fini ============== Feedback: Love it. publius@avalon.net -- "Can I tell you a story?" "Has it got a wild finish?" "I don't know the finish yet." 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