***DISCLAIMER***: All "X-Files" elements and references in this story belong to Fox Broadcasting, Chris Carter, and 1013 Productions, and I am making no money from it. ARCHIVING: Please link to the full text of the series: http://shannono.net/leftfield/stories/LessonsLearnedFull.txt ========== Lesson Learned: Point of Contact by shannono shannono@iname.com Vignette, Romance Rated PG Spoilers for "The Unnatural" Summary: One perfect moment. Continuation of the series. ========== Lesson Learned: Point of Contact by shannono I don't know what's gotten into Mulder, and right now, I don't really care. I refuse to analyze this. I'm playing baseball. I lied, of course, when I said I'd never hit a baseball. No tomboy with two brothers could escape childhood never having hit a baseball. But it has been many years since I've gripped a bat, watched the ball, swung and followed through. And I must say I've never done it quite like this before. Mulder is not quite pressed against my back, although I do end up leaning against him with every swing. He is, however, wrapped around me like a blanket, his legs spread slightly, leaning forward from the waist to equalize our heights. His hands hold the bat on either side of mine, keeping most of the control as we continue to swing in tandem. The night is cool, the sky clear and gorgeous, stars shining against the blackness. The field is deserted except for us and the boy operating the pitching machine, and the wide expanse of grass is broken only by the red clay and white chalk of the basepaths, the bases themselves, and the white dots where our hits have landed. The only sounds are the whir of the machine, our soft grunts as we swing, and the crack of the bat. Until Mulder speaks again. "So, Scully ..." he intones, his voice warm and a little husky in my ear. "Are you ready for an advanced lesson?" I turn my head just far enough to catch his eye with a sidelong glance. "Bring it on," I murmur. Something in his eyes flares briefly before he steps back, sliding away from me and leaving me holding the bat. I let the wood drop onto my shoulder, my right hand balancing it as my left slides down to rest on my hip. I raise an eyebrow at him, and he grins, then turns and lopes out toward the mound. A quick conference with the boy follows, and then they carefully tug the pitching machine over to one side. The boy scampers over to the side and grabs up a glove and a plastic bucket from the ground, then heads toward the outfield. My gaze drifts back from watching his progress to fall on Mulder again. He's bent over from the waist, one hand on his front knee, the other resting against his backside, and he's still grinning. "Batter up!" he calls. I give a slow, lazy smile in response and bring both hands back into place on the bat. It's a bit too long for me, but I just choke up a bit as I fall naturally into the stance I perfected as a 10-year-old, waving the bat in a small circle over my right shoulder. Mulder winds up, then tosses one in. He must think he needs to go easy on me, because the pitch is so slow I could give myself a manicure waiting for it to arrive. Instead, I just hold back until the last moment, then swing. The sound isn't loud, but the contact is right on target. I didn't hit it all that hard, but the ball flies back out toward the mound, and Mulder has to do some fancy stepping to get out of the way. I can't help laughing at his antics, until I realize he's running for the ball, which is rolling slowly toward the outfield grass on the first base side. Oh shit. Guess I'm supposed to run. I drop the bat and take off down the first-base line. Out of the corner of my eye I can see him grab the ball and head in my direction, and I increase my speed. I'm a fast runner, but Mulder has the advantage of both height and practice. As it turns out, we reach the bag in the same instant, from different directions, and I'm sure we're going to crash to the ground in an undignified heap. But Mulder saves us from it by pulling me into his arms, using all that momentum to spin me around and around. I shriek once in surprise as he grabs me, and then I laugh as he keeps spinning, long after he's regained his balance. My head tips back, and I feel the breeze stirring through my hair as I watch the stars tumble crazily across the night sky. I laugh again, feeling totally relaxed and completely free for the first time in entirely too long. This is perfection. For once in our insane lives, we have reached the pinnacle. Our own personal point of contact. Nothing could be better than this. Mulder gradually slows, and stops, and I lift my head, still feeling a little dizzy. Mulder's breath is heavy, but he's smiling as sets me down carefully. And then his hands come up to cup the sides of my head, and my eyes lift to meet his. And I realize only one thing could make this moment more wonderful than it already is. His lips meet mine halfway. ==========END========== Feedback is perfection ... shannono@iname.com