Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Files or any of its characters. This is for fun, not profit.
Spoilers: Up to "The Unnatural" in Season 6.
Full Swing
Scully thought—not for the first time—that her partner needed to learn the proper definition of "urgent." Not that she doubted his cerebral knowledge of the word; Mulder could probably recite Webster's official definition verbatim. As was so often the case, Mulder's problem was emotional rather than academic.
Those expense reports we need to file with Skinner are urgent, Scully thought.
Cleaning his apartment is urgent, although I must confess he made an effort at cleanliness after that New Mexico lead came up dry. Today, baseball is urgent. Long-dead players and dusty box scores are urgent. Apparently, my presence at a baseball diamond is now urgent, at least according to one Fox Mantle.
Scully smiled at the memory of Mulder's ridiculous message, his invitation to join him at the ballpark for "a very special, very early or very late birthday present" cluing her in to his intentions. As she drove through the chilly D.C. night, she found herself reminiscing about Ahab, and about the first time she swung a bat.
"Dana's a sissy!" Bill said.
"Am not!" Dana said, blue eyes flashing.
"Are too!" Bill yelled back, smirking. "You can't even hit a baseball!"
"Daddy promised he'd teach me next time he came home. When he does, you better watch out."
"Yeah, Bill," a deep voice said, "you better watch out."
"Ahab!" Dana squealed, her quarrel with Bill forgotten as she barreled into her father's waiting arms and hugged him as hard as she could.
"You have a strong grip, Starbuck," Ahab said. "You're obviously ready to learn to play ball."
Bill hugged his father with more dignity than Dana; as the oldest brother, Bill knew that his father expected him to be the man of the house while Ahab was at sea. Dana loved Bill, but he had always been overprotective.
"Bill, you're going to be our pitcher," Ahab said. "No hard pitches; I saw that gleam in your eye."
Bill backed up several yards, and Ahab stood behind Dana, his large, strong hands dwarfing her small ones on the bat handle. They took a couple practice swings, Ahab correcting Starbuck on her posture and batting stance.
"Your elbow needs to be at this angle," he instructed, lifting Dana's arm just so. "And your feet need to be planted this far apart," he said, demonstrating. "And your hands need to be here, in the middle."
"Elbow here," Dana said, lip curling in concentration, "feet here. Hands here."
Ahab took his place behind Dana, once again standing behind her and gripping the bat. Dana loved the way Ahab's arms were wrapped around her, as if he were giving her the hug she thought about every time she wanted to feel close to Ahab and he wasn't there. She missed her daddy so much when he was away, but he was right here, right now, holding her close and trying to teach her how to wipe that smirk off Bill's face.
Bill softly threw an underhanded pitch, and Starbuck and Ahab swung. Sadly, they did not swing at the same time. The ball hit the grass with a thunk and rolled away, Bill's snort of laughter adding to Dana's wounded dignity.
"That's okay, Starbuck," Ahab said. "We have to swing together. You have to feel the right time to swing deep in your bones."
"Like you can feel a storm coming at sea?" Dana asked.
"Exactly like that," Ahab said. "Like I can feel storm clouds gathering and squall lines approaching, you can feel the moment right before the ball leaves the pitcher's hand, the moment right before the ball crosses the plate. Practice hard enough, and your instincts will take over at the right time."
Dana took Ahab's advice to heart, paying extra close attention to Bill. He once again made a pitching motion, and Dana enthusiastically swung. Or she tried to swing, but the bat didn't budge. Bill was rolling around on the ground, clutching his sides and laughing.
"I think your b'rometer's broken," Bill eventually choked out. "Not even dumb ol' Tommy would fall for that fake pitch."
"My figurative barometer might be broken, but at least my literal bedroom window isn't broken," Dana said. "And it's pronounced 'buh-rah-meh-ter' rather than 'brah-meh-ter'. Unless, of course, you're measuring the weather's bust size."
"Huh?" Bill said, obviously unable to keep up with Dana's vocabulary. "Hey! You weren't supposed to tell!"
"Caught on, did you?" Dana asked.
"We'll discuss this later," Ahab said. "Right now, we're playing baseball. And what have I always said about baseball?"
"It makes all your problems disappear," Bill said.
"You're doggone right it does," Ahab said. "Starbuck, let's try this again. Third time's a charm. Ready?"
"I'm in the middle," Dana said, grasping the middle of the bat so Ahab could grasp the top and bottom.
Bill tried to fake her, but earned only a contemptuous sneer. His hand released the pitch, and Dana tried her hardest to sense the ball as it approached the strike zone. She felt Ahab tense, so she swung with all her might.
She heard a satisfying whack, and the ball arced up and dropped right in front of Bill. He made a smart comment about her being a good little sister by returning his ball so nicely, but she didn't pay him any attention. All she cared about was that Ahab was beaming with pride, his arms tightening around her in a celebratory hug.
"That's my Starbuck!" he said, swinging her around in a silly dance.
They hit a few more balls, Dana and Ahab hitting the ball farther each time. The sun dipped lower in the sky, and Dana knew that Mommy would soon call them in for supper.
"Let's see you hit a ball on your own, Starbuck," Ahab said. "I know you can do it."
Dana didn't get to find out how much of her ability to hit the ball was due to Ahab's help that evening as the anticipated supper summons occurred immediately after Ahab's suggestion. Truth be told, Dana hadn't minded. She liked baseball okay, but what she liked most was her father's safe, loving hold as he taught her to swing. The contact made her feel closer to Ahab, and she wanted these memories to keep for when Ahab went back to sea.
Scully pulled into the ballpark parking lot, eyes slightly misty at the memory Mulder's invitation had evoked. She had been good at baseball as a little girl, but had lost interest as she grew up. The sight that met Scully as she looked through the front window confirmed her suspicions.
Her partner was standing at home plate, hitting balls shot out of a pitching machine operated by a boy who couldn't have been much younger than Scully had been when Ahab had taught her to swing. Mulder's normally serious face looked more boyish, his lanky, handsome form apparent on each swing.
Scully watched for a few minutes, eventually arriving at her decision. She stepped out of the car and casually strolled over to the diamond, her eyes never leaving her jersey-clad partner.
Play ball, Scully thought, stooping slightly so she could still see Mulder around the unfortunately-placed reinforcement pipe near home.
XXX
Mulder smiled as he heard the familiar engine drive up and cut off. Part of him had been unsure she would come; part of him was unsure whether or not she would play ball. Baseball calmed him, allowing him to lose himself in the endless, relaxing repetition of crushing a little ball with a stick as hard and far as he could. He waited for her door to open and close, but he allowed his mind to drift in the meantime. Besides, he had plenty of brains to go around and more memories than he wanted to have.
A few months before she had been abducted, Samantha had run up to him one lazy Saturday afternoon, begging him to teach her how to bat. Fox had scowled at his little sister, wanting to do anything other than waste a precious Saturday afternoon hanging out with his sister instead of his friends. Still, he had always taken his role as big brother seriously. So he had agreed, and had enjoyed her squeal and bone-crushing hug more than he let on.
They walked to the park, hoping to find someone there who would pitch for them. Fox's good friend, Jake, was there, and he agreed to pitch for them if Fox would promise to pick him first next time they played ball. Fox was such an excellent player that he was always chosen as a team captain, so Jake knew with whom to curry favor.
"No, no, no," Fox said, rolling his eyes at his sister. "You're doing it all wrong. Are you planning to swing at a golf ball or a baseball? You gotta hold the bat higher, plant your feet better."
Samantha did her best to obey her big brother, and she stuck her chin out at Jake, signaling she was ready. He pitched, and she swung with all her might. She made contact with something, but own shoulders don't count as hits in baseball.
"Ow!" she said, rubbing her shoulder and poking out her lower lip.
"Here, Samantha," Fox said, "let me show you."
He stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her, grasping the bat at the top and bottom of the handle while Samantha's tiny hands grasped the middle. She was so small and skinny, especially compared to him. She leaned her head back and smiled up at him, adoration shining in her eyes.
"Pay attention, or Jake's gonna burn us," Fox said.
They both focused on Jake, anticipating the next pitch. Jake lobbed the ball, and both Mulders swung. They were rewarded with a slight chink, although the ball rolled foul.
"At least we hit it," Fox said. "Samantha, I have something that will help you."
Fox pulled out a lone sunflower seed from his pocket, one of his frequent flashes of insight giving him an idea. He held it out to Samantha, who reluctantly took it.
"This is my lucky sunflower seed," he said. "If you put it in your mouth and hold it between your teeth and your cheeks, you will suddenly be gifted with my skills."
"Yeah, right," Samantha said. "This is another one of your tricks."
"No, it's not," Fox said. "I had that seed in my pocket the afternoon I hit the home run that beat Billy's team. That seed was in my pocket that day I hit five home runs and had three RBIs. In fact, I've never lost a game with that seed in my pocket. Imagine all the luck that seed has soaked up, Samantha, all the luck that seed has provided. You'll be a big-time slugger in no time."
"It must be true," Jake said. "Fox has played great these past few weeks."
Samantha still looked skeptical, but she popped the seed into her mouth anyway. Fox took his place behind her, and they tensed again, waiting for the pitch. A satisfying crack echoed around the field as Fox and Samantha smacked the ball; it arced over Jake's head and landed in the outfield.
Fox whooped, Samantha squealed, and Jake expressed his jealousy over Samantha's magic sunflower seed, a gleam of humor in his eye. By the end of the afternoon, Samantha was regularly hitting into the outfield. Although she was young, Fox could tell that Samantha had the potential to be almost as good a player as he. She might be lousy at Stratego and at picking good television shows, but she might someday be an excellent baseball player.
Mulder heard his partner's footsteps crunching on the concrete, snapping him out of his reverie. Not that he had been unaware of her approach; after seven years, he could sense her presence in a way that defied explanation. Perhaps their connection was mystical, set in motion by providence, fate, or reticulans. Were he and Scully discussing their connection as an X-File, he would probably begin by taking that tack. However, their connection felt so natural that he would probably—for once—agree with Scully's probable, simpler theory.
Our connection is not supernatural, Mulder, he could hear her say inside his head. There are no mystical tingles, no alien beams of light, and no extrasensory perception. Our familiarity with each other allows us to sometimes know from experience what the other will say, think, or do. There's nothing mystical about our friendship, Mulder; it's actually quite simple.
Like baseball, Mulder thought, smiling as he smacked another ball over Poor Boy's head. He sensed her walking behind him, approaching the field. He didn't know if she would go along with his so-called birthday present, but he knew he had to try.
Play ball, he thought, once again making satisfying contact.
XXX
They obviously design these safety fences for taller people, Scully thought, stooping under the metal bar supporting the tall chain-link fence to watch her partner crush one ball after another. Or maybe for shorter people…
"So, uh, I get this message marked urgent on my answering service from one Fox Mantle," Scully said, walking along the fence and leaning against the post, "telling me to come down to the park for a 'very special, very early, or very late birthday present.' And, Mulder, I don't see any nicely-wrapped presents lying around. So what gives?"
"You never hit a baseball, have you, Scully?" Mulder said, looking playfully at her.
Scully had anticipated the question, unsurprised that he would believe that prim and proper Dana Scully would never stoop so low. Then she remembered that her mom had told Mulder the story about her and her brothers shooting the snake, and her perception of the playful glint in his eye changed as she realized that her mother could have told Mulder any number of tomboyish Scully tales. My perceptions are always changing around Mulder, Scully thought. Mutable, malleable, ever shifting.
"No, I guess I have found more necessary things to do with my time than slap a piece of horsehide with a stick," Scully said, keeping up appearances.
As usual, she could tell he saw through her defenses, although he still looked mildly insulted at her impugning the honor of such a noble sport.
"Get over here, Scully," he said softly, tipping his head and stepping back from home plate.
He gripped the bat by the bottom of its handle and held it up, looking at Scully expectantly. Scully slowly walked over to Mulder and the bat, reluctant to take this evening in the direction in which it seemed to be headed but knowing she was going to anyway.
She grasped the bat in the middle of the handle, and Mulder's arms immediately came around her and held her close, gripping the bottom and top of the bat handle. Memories of her father once again came unbidden to her mind, and she admitted to herself that she enjoyed being this close to Mulder at least as much as she had enjoyed being close to her father years ago.
Freud would have a field day, Scully thought, pulling her mind back to the present. I must keep up appearances.
"This my present, Mulder?" Scully asked sarcastically. "You shouldn't have."
"This ain't cheap," Mulder replied, shifting a few times behind Scully. "I'm paying that kid ten dollars an hour to shack balls."
You would employ child labor in my ersatz birthday present, Scully thought.
"Hey," Mulder said, "it's not a bad piece of ash, huh?"
I'm not the only one who feels the need to keep up appearances, Scully thought, looking awkwardly up and back at Mulder and giving him a questioning look.
"The bat," Mulder said. "I'm talking about the bat."
"Now, don't strangle it," Mulder said, looking down at the bat. "You just want to make friends with it. 'Hello, Mr. Bat; it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.' 'Oh, no, no, Ms. Scully; the pleasure is all mine.'"
"Mulder," Scully said, laughing softly at his antics and innuendos.
How can he make something innocent sound dirty yet make something dirty sound innocent?
"Okay, now we wanna…we wanna go 'hips before hands,' okay? And we wanna stride forward and turn; that's all we're thinking about. So we go 'hips before hands,'" Mulder said, putting a hand on Scully's hip to demonstrate.
"Okay," Scully said, thinking about how different Mulder's advice was from her father's.
Or maybe it's similar in content if not in delivery, she thought. Ahab never held me quite like this, and he never put his hand on my hip like Mulder…
"One more time. Hips before hands, alright?" Mulder said, once again turning his and Scully's hips as a demonstration.
"What is it?" Mulder said.
Scully contemplated feigning ignorance so he would continue demonstrating the proper technique, but she knew he would see through her request.
"Hips before hands," she repeated dutifully.
"Right," he said. "We're gonna wait on the pitch, keep our eye on the ball, and just make contact. We're not gonna think; we're just gonna let it fly, Scully, okay?"
"Ready?" he asked.
I hope so, she thought, trying to remember her father's lessons from her childhood as well as Mulder's latest instructions.
"I'm in the middle," she said in a child-like tone straight from her memories.
Mulder wiggled his hips and the bat a few times, ostensibly to prepare for the ball boy's first mechanical pitch.
How thoughtful of him to warm me up as much as possible, Scully thought wryly, already anticipating the first pitch.
"Alright, fire away, Poor Boy!" Mulder said.
The boy—Scully doubted "Poor Boy" was his given name—smiled and worked the pitching machine, a clunk sounding right before the ball rocketed straight at them.
"Ooh!" Mulder grunted as bat met ball. "That's good."
They both adjusted to their original positions, Mulder maintaining a tight grip around Scully as she pivoted on her impractical heels.
Perhaps I miscalculated the benefit of added height versus the benefit of proper footing, Scully thought.
"Alright, what you may find," Mulder said, "is you concentrate on hitting that little ball—"
Smack! A ball sailed away from them.
"…the rest of the world fades away," Mulder continued. "All your little nagging concerns: the ticking of your biological clock."
Whack! Scully thought of Emily, of her harvested ova, and of the man holding her close.
"How you probably couldn't afford that nice, new suede coat on a G-woman's salary; how you threw away a promising career in medicine—"
Another ball arced away from them, propelled by their mutual desire to remember and forget.
"To hunt aliens with a crackpot—albeit brilliant—partner," Mulder said, his mouth inches from her ear. "Getting to the heart of a global conspiracy."
Just make contact, Scully thought, wanting to hit the ball as well as she had as a child. Just let it fly.
"Your obscenely overdue XXX bill. I'm sorry, Scully," Mulder said, another ball caroming off their bat.
She shot him a look, and smiled as her father's words came back to her years later. Practice hard enough, and your instincts will take over at the right time.
"Those last two problems are mine, not yours," Mulder said, making sure conversation stayed light.
Scully listened to her father's words, combined them with Mulder's instructions, and told him the truth.
"Shut up, Mulder; I'm playing baseball."
XXX
With Scully in his arms and a bat in his hands, Mulder began listing what he ironically thought of as Scully's Litany. Many of Scully's problems for which he felt guilty, he named; other problems for which he felt at fault hung in the air, their only voices the solid smack of bat on ball.
While nothing could make their problems fade away, each hit proved they could conquer any problem so long as they worked together. Scully had not yet relaxed into the rhythm of the game; she was still trying to solve the problem of batting rather than relying on her instincts and, he suspected, past instruction.
Typical, he thought. She might be smiling and, occasionally, giggling, but Dana Scully cannot resist treating even something like baseball as a scientific equation to be solved rather than an experience to be enjoyed.
He turned his head toward Scully and whispered into her ear his belief that she had given up a promising career in medicine to hunt aliens with a crackpot—albeit brilliant—partner. The smell of her hair and the proximity of her ear from his lips made him pull back slightly and make a joke, just as Scully seemed to relax and move closer.
"Shut up, Mulder; I'm playing baseball," Scully said, posture changing.
Typical, he thought again. I pull back, and she moves closer; I move closer, and she pulls back.
Scully's new posture was looser, as if she were preparing to play not with precision but with instinct. Her body molded to his, adopting his posture and his swing.
No, he corrected himself as they smashed a ball far into left field, she has adopted a complementary posture, a complementary swing.
Mulder could feel Scully tensing before Poor Boy fired the ball, instinctively sensing not only when the ball would cross the plate, but when her partner would swing. This was Scully at her best, their partnership at its best. They moved as one, Scully's posture melding with his to produce a better swing than the sum of its parts.
They blasted another baseball far into center field, this one almost clearing the fence. Scully giggled, the joy of the moment turning the giggle into a low, husky laugh. The laugh was too child-like to be sultry, but it had a more potent effect on Mulder than would the throatiest, sexiest laugh of any of the bombshell babes from Frohike's tapes.
Because this is real, Mulder thought, Scully is real. As real as Samantha was that day I taught her how to swing. I pretended otherwise, but I loved the way she felt in my arms. So small, so trusting, so determined. So skeptical about that sunflower seed, but still willing to take a chance, to trust me.
Their joint swing sent a baseball flying over the fence, seemingly all the way to the stars. Scully looked up at Mulder, her laughing gaze more innocent and carefree than he had ever seen it. There was affection in her look, too, and—no, the situation and Arthur Dales' story must have sent his imagination into overdrive.
Samantha looked up at me with affection in her smile that day, but what I might have seen flash in Scully's eyes, if only for a moment…
Another baseball sailed to the stars, reminding Mulder—as the stars so often did—of the Truth.
Could Scully and I knock Them out of the sky with a well-placed grand slam? he mused. Or would the ball only bounce off the force field, angering Them enough to take me away, to take her away again for good this time like…?
Mulder tightened his hold on Scully, defiantly swinging with all his might. Scully sensed the change, matched his swing. I'm not going anywhere, he imagined her thinking. I won't disappear like Samantha. Trust me.
And he did trust her, more than he trusted anyone else. An image of Diana Fowley flashed in his mind, but he quickly pushed it away, along with the accompanying pang of guilt.
Shut up, Mulder, he thought. I'm playing baseball.
He took his own advice and pushed everything from his mind but baseball and Scully.
Just make contact, he thought. Just let it fly.
Scully laughed as the baseball flew as high as the crescent moon and as far as the distant stars. Her laughter swept him up and away, showing him a night sky that looked beautiful rather than foreboding.
My perceptions are always changing around Scully, he thought. Mutable, malleable, ever shifting.
Another baseball soared toward space, and the rest of the world faded away.
It's actually quite simple, he thought, looking down at his partner. Like baseball.