Title: Joy In Mulderville Author: Bloom (lookabloom@aol.com) Spoilers: The Unnatural Category: M/S UST, H Summary: Bottom of the ninth, bases are loaded, and Mighty Scully is at bat. Post-Ep. Disclaimer: The poem "Casey At Bat" is used without permission from anybody, lest of all its author, Ernest Thayer. Oh, and I suppose Mulder and Scully belong to someone else, too. *hmph* ------------------ Joy In Mulderville By Bloom "The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day; The score stood four to two with but one inning more to play. And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same, A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game." After the last ball had disappeared into the starry outfield, after the ball machine retired and the not-so-poor boy sent home thirty dollars richer, and after the moon had gone and left them with only the crickets and the sound of distant traffic, Scully stood at home plate, staring out into the darkness. Every so often, behind her, she would feel the breeze of Mulder swinging at air, or a hapless nightbug. She turned and caught him bringing the bat around in another mighty swing. Though he struck nothing, she imagined the crack of ball against wood, and could sense the deep line drive he was imagining out into the darkness. She knew first-hand how strong her partner was, and she could feel that strength behind her as he guided her through her first time at bat, but looking at him now, she could really see his power, physical and, through the glint in his eye, otherwise. Mulder looked up and smiled. "Hey Scully, run out there and get me something to hit, would you?" She smirked. "I've got a better idea, Mulder, why don't you give me the bat? I have something to hit, right here." Mulder laughed and swung again. "You wanted to grab life by the balls, Scully. Now's your chance." "That's your own wishful thinking, Mulder." He blinked. "It's just shameless, the way you flirt." Scully snorted. "Who dragged who out here in the middle of the night and used baseball as an excuse to cop a feel?" He lowered the bat. "Is that why you think I called you out here?" he asked. "A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast; They thought if only Casey could but get a whack at that--We'd put up even money now with Casey at the bat." Scully ducked her head, took a deep breath and conceded. "No. Really, Mulder, this was... nice. Thank you." She turned around again and stared up at the stars. "So what brought this on, anyway?" she asked. "Did this have something to do with your startling revelation in the office, this morning? The one that, while important enough to cause you to deface government property, was not so important that you could share it with your partner?" She looked at him. "Hmm?" Mulder flung the bat over his shoulder and draped his arms over each end, like a scarecrow. "As a matter of fact, it does have something to do with that." He twisted from side to side, as he spoke. "Baseball is the key to life, the Rosetta Stone, if you will. All the answers, to everything, can be found right here, in this diamond." She eyed him, warily. "Mulder, I hope that deep thought doesn't end with 'the Ruth is out there'." But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake, And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake; So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat. Mulder grimaced and started toward the dugout, beckoning with the bat for Scully to follow. "Seriously, Scully. Baseball may not strike you as something necessary, or useful, but it was the most important thing in the world, when I was a kid." He sat down on the bench and tapped the spot beside him. Scully hesitated. "Come on, Scully," he said. "Didn't your father or your brothers watch baseball when you were growing up?" She sat down on the wooden bench and leaned her elbows against her knees. "Well," she sighed. "Bill was more into football, and Charlie is a hockey freak, but my dad liked it, I guess." "You guess?" "He kept track of games while at sea, I suppose it was a way of staying connected to home, not to mention the most classic show of patriotism. But he wasn't fiercely loyal to any specific team. In San Diego it was the Dodgers, in Patuxent River, it was the Orioles." She shrugged. "Truth be told, Mulder, I could tell you more about the 49ers or the Rangers than I could about the importance of baseball in my childhood." Mulder sighed and rested his chin on the bat. "Yeah, well, baseball was a constant in my life. Red Sox games at Fenway, pickup games around the Vineyard, very Norman Rockwell." He was quiet, for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, and as Scully started to get up, he spoke again. "My dad and I would go out to the local park, every Saturday night, and hit the ball around. He'd get after me about my stance, about my curve ball, he was the one who made me realise I had more talent in my arm than in my swing. I made the team in high school because of him." But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all, And Blake, the much despis-ed, tore the cover off the ball; And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occured, There was Johnnie safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third. Mulder tapped the bat on the ground. "It's funny," he said, quietly. "Even when things... " He paused, and seemed to reconsider his words. "Even after Samantha was taken, we would still go to the ballpark every Saturday night, and we'd still play baseball. We didn't talk much, then, but we didn't have to. He said everything he needed to say every time he put on his jacket after dinner and handed me the ball. Our last game was right before I went to England, and we didn't say one word to each other. I don't know if I'd remember anything he could have said, but I still remember how my glove smelled, the big crack in the bat from overuse, and how I lost the ball in the bushes after a pop-fly toleft field." Mulder grew quiet, and his gaze slowly rose from the ground to the sky, as if he were watching that ball sail across the stars, off into the unknown. Scully, momentarily sticken by the atypical personal dialogue, recovered enough to offer the pressure of her outstretched hand on Mulder's arm. She squeezed, and he looked up at her. Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell; It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell; It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat, For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat. "I heard a story tonight, Scully," he said. "About how love can change a man into something other than his true form, how true passion for something can alter a man's physical state. That a man would be willing to pretend to be something else in order to take part in something he truly believed in." Scully blinked, thoughtfully. "Is this literal or figurative?" she asked. At his surprise, she smiled. "I can never be too sure, with you, Mulder." He nodded, laughing gently. "What else, Scully? Literal. Aliens playing baseball." He pointed at his shirt. "The Roswell Grays." Scully's jaw dropped. "You're telling me that Mark McGuire is an EBE?" Mulder grinned when she actually laughed out loud. "Would you have expected anything less from me?" She shook her head, still giggling. When she recovered, she studied her partner, carefully. "Seriously, Mulder. What brought all this on?" Mulder stood, bat over his shoulder, and stared out over the diamond. "I really, really like baseball," he said, sullenly. "I'd forgotten how much I love this game." "I always figured you did," said Scully. "Given your fetish for sports in general, and the amount of ESPN you've been watching down in the basement ever since Frohike set you up with cable television." "That's because I don't get the Spice Channel," he offered, half-heartedly. "No, Scully. I was once as passionate about baseball as I am about the X-Files. Maybe moreso. I don't know what happened." She reached out and touched his arm again. "You grew up," she said, softly. He nodded and turned, suddenly, offering her the bat. "Take it." "Mulder?" He jostled it, and she reached out and grasped the neck. "What are you up to?" "Take the bat, Scully." He stood back, watching as she gripped it and practised a lopsided swing. She looked up at him, puzzled. "Let's play ball." There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place; There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face. And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat, No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat. Scully stood awkwardly at home plate, trying to remember everything Mulder had said. "Hands before hips," she mumbled. "Hands before hips." She swung the bat once and almost lost her balance. Damn shoes. She kicked them off and grimaced at the pebbles beneath her stocking feet. She swung again, a little steadier this time. On the mound, Mulder tossed a retrieved ball to himself. He debated whether or not to pitch under-hand, given this was Scully's first solo at-bat, or to think of her as the same kick-ass agent he knew, the woman who could drop a 250lb thug with one swift kick, or drop a suspect at close range despite her partner in the line of fire, and let fly with his deadly fastball. He fondled the ball, feeling the stitching with his fingers, feeling the muscles in his pitching arm tighten with anticipation. Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt; Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt. Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip. Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip. She tried to imagine Mulder's hands around hers, on the bat, and his arms guiding her smoothly toward the ball. Try not to think. Connect. Just let it fly. She positioned herself over the plate, her legs becoming stronger in their place, her arms loose and fluid in their swing. She tapped the bat against the plate as she'd seen the players on television do, and she dug one bare foot into the dirt. And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air, And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there. Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped-- "That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said. Mulder grimaced as the bat left Scully's hands and sailed off into the darkness. She managed to stay on her feet, but not without some graceless acrobatic maneuvers. When she had regained her balance, she fetched the bat, and picked up the ball that had whizzed past her in a blur of red and white. "Sorry," she called, lobbing it back to Mulder. He caught it, easily, his face betraying none of the screaming hysterics that had bubbled inside him at Scully's first strike. From the benches black with people, there went up a muffled roar, Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore. "Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand; And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand. "Stop laughing, Mulder." "I'm not laughing." "Yes you are. You're laughing on the inside." "With you Scully. Not at you." "Shut up and throw the ball, Mulder." With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone; He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on; He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew; But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two." This time, Scully kept her grip on the bat, but she followed it to the ground where she landed in an undignified heap. She scrambled up before Mulder could reach her, so he bypassed her and retrieved the ball. He gave her a cursory glance as he passed her by, but pretended that he'd never intended to help her up. "Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud; But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed. They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain, And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again. "I'm fine." "I know you are." "You don't have to help me up." "Wasn't going to." "Yes, you were. Where's the ball?" "I have it, right here." "Good. Kiss it goodbye, because you won't be seeing it again." Mulder grinned as he took his place on the mound. Scully dusted herself off and lifted the bat. The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate; He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate. And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go, And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow. Scully stayed upright, and the bat stayed in her hand. She froze, her eyes squeezed shut. Had she heard the crack of the bat? She could have sworn she did. She opened one eye, and then the other, and saw the ball, rolling gentle toward her feet. That was wrong. She looked up, and saw Mulder spread-eagle across the mound. Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright; The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light, And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout; But there is no joy in Mudville-- mighty Casey has struck out... "Mulder?" Scully bent over him, gently slapping his face. "Mulder?" she repeated. "Come on, Mulder. Can you hear me?" A groan drew her hand away from her cel-phone, and she pushed the hair back from Mulder's forehead. He winced as her fingers brushed the tender spot on his hairline where the wayward ball had nicked him, just enough to knock him silly. "Mulder, can you hear me?" He groaned again, and tried to open his eyes. "Mulder, can you tell me where you are?" Mulder blinked. "Buh?" "What?" She studied his forehead. "Mulder, who am I?" He opened one eye. "Scully." "Dammit, Mulder," she said, gently thumping him on the chest. "Didn't your father ever teach you how to duck?" "Never saw it coming," he said with a lopsided grin. He rolled over and she helped him to stand on wobbly legs. "Didn't think you'd actually hit it." "Well, now," she smirked. "You thought wrong." She touched the spot on his head and he yelped. "Sorry. Maybe you should get checked out?" "No, Scully," he said, shaking his head and moaning. "Can we have just one evening together where one of us doesn't end up in the hospital?" She snorted. "Alright, but if you start vomiting or seeing double or speaking German, don't come crying to me." "Nein, nein, frauline." Mulder grinned. He picked up the ball and tossed it to her. "Keep it. You earned it." "Mulder-" "Maybe you can get the Bureau to issue it as a standard weapon," he laughed. "I hear they're pretty handy for knocking out the bad guys as well as the good guys." "Very funny, Mulder." Scully turned the ball around and around in her hands, studying it. "There is something admittedly exhilarating about this game, Mulder. I mean, it's..." "It's what, Scully?" He picked up the bat and started to air-swing, again. "Fun," she stated. "It's fun. I'm having fun, out here." "With me?" "With you." Mulder smiled. "That was the point, Scully. We're having fun. We're not in the office. We're not working. We're together, and we're having fun." He swung a few times before speaking again. "You think the Bureau would allow it's own baseball team, Scully?" Scully tossed the ball in the air and caught it, easily. "I don't see why not." She tossed it again and caught it. "I'd never make the team, though. Beaning the pitcher doesn't strike me as an asset." She laughed and tossed the ball in the air as hard as she could. She caught it in one hand, and Mulder whistled. "I don't know, Scully," he said, tossing the bat to the ground and snatching the ball out of midair. "Catch." He lobbed it to her and she caught it. She threw it back. "You have an arm," he said. "You just need some practice." He threw her the ball. "Well," she said, as she flung it back at him. "What are you doing next Saturday?" Mulder nodded and caught the ball. He picked up the bat and they began to walk together, toward their cars. As Scully walked on ahead, Mulder paused at the edge of the ball-field, staring out over the brightly-lit diamond. He could hear the sound of games gone before, almost a millennium of America's favorite pastime. A pastime that was still part of life, here on Earth, and maybe, just maybe, other places, as well. He looked at the ball in his hand, smiled, and threw it straight up into the stars. -End Feedback lets you start for the Yankees. Flames trade you to the Diamondbacks. So, is this BaseballFic? The Ruth Is Out There.