TITLE: The True Story of Baseball AUTHOR: Riva E-MAIL: DrScully@imneverwrong.com RATING: G or PG CATEGORY: In/Post-episode V, ScullyChildhood, UST SUMMARY: Scully never played baseball? Don't you believe it. SPOILERS: Well duh. "The UnNatural" in all it's glory! DISCLAIMER: (Sung to the tune of "Take Me Out To The Ballgame") I..don't own the XFi-les I..don't own 'em at all If I did I'd be rich and have lots of cash And yes Mulder, I think it's a nice piece of ash But I can't, can't, can't take the credit And isn't that just a shame? 'Cause if I could, there'd be more shippyness At the OOOLLD BAALLLLGAAAMMEEE!!!! ARCHIVE: PLEASE!!! (Just let me know where!) FEEDBACK: Oh yes, lovely feedback, nice feedback......I live off the stuff! Please just send a note? Just a line or two?AUTHORS NOTES: This is post "The UnNatural", and has *major* spoilers for the episode, even though most of the actual STORY takes place in Scully's childhood. PS. The places mentioned here are fictional, and have not relation to any real places of the same name that may or may not exist. And on with the show............... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------------ T H E X - F I L E S --------------- "The TRUE Story of Baseball" --------- By Riva ---------- ------------------------------------------------------------------------ **April, 1975** "Hey batta, batta, batta. SA-WING batta!!" It was another beautiful, sun-drenched day at the Little League Ballpark in Camden, Maine. The crowd on the bleachers were hot, but not unpleasantly so, buzzing with the excitement of the game. Camden was a small town, heavily populated with close-knit navy families, and Little League Baseball was one of the town's biggest events. And the game that unfolded on *this* sunny day was especially important. It was the final showdown between the District 2 Barracudas and the District 5 Pirates. Tension was high, and parents were armed with cameras and energetic shouts. It was the bottom of the ninth inning, and the bases were loaded. And the Pirates had just called out their secret weapon. Cheers and jeers filled the air as the tiny ballplayer stepped out onto the diamond. Cheers from the Pirates and their supporters, cheers for the secret powerhouse they knew they possessed. Those Barracudas would never know what hit them. The "D" was on the field. Jeers from the Barracuda's dugout. Jeers, because the boys of the Barracudas were sure the Pirates had just spelled out their death warrant. Why not Big Mikey, or Slip? Why would they send out this...this tiny, *unknown* entity? "Never should have been allowed to play in the first place." Whispers fell and scattered like leaves in the wind as the tiny figure in black and white walked onto the dust. The bat rack. Small fingers trailed across grimy bats, stopping to hover over one before grasping it. The baseball cap was lifted from the head of the batter, spilling red curls onto slight, yet wiry shoulders. A blue hairband was pulled off a slim wrist, and wound tightly around the copper cascade, until the batter's helmet could be settled firmly around her head. And Dana Katharine Scully, age 11, stepped up to bat. The pitcher for the Barracudas sneered in the direction of homeplate. (Girls.) he thought in disgust, as if it were the ultimate insult. The batter looked back at the mound. Her lip curled downward. (Pitchers.) she thought, as if it were the ultimate insult. The first pitch, a fast one, speeds by homeplate before she even has time to react. The umpire, (who is also the pitchers father) roars out..."STRIKE ONE." A boo echoes through the crowd. The D doesn't mind, she just puts the bat back up to her shoulder, and tenses her muscles again. The second pitch. A high curve. Out of range of the tiny hitter, but again, "STRIKE!!" fills the air. No matter. No matter. One pitch left. A hush fell over the crowd. It was as if this moment, this moment full of youth and popcorn, innocence and candy apples, would decided the fate of the whole town. The Pirates were counting on "The D". And she knew it. "The D" never let anyone down. Her size 4 cleats dug into the ground, churning the dust beneath them. The ball was hers, and she knew it. Perfect moment, frozen in time. Hands grasping the ball, tensing to let fly. Hands grasping the bat, tensing to swing. Eyes narrow......hearts pound. And the pitcher snaps back, springs forward, and the ball flies. And the batter swings, the force of the bat's path through the lazy summer air sounding an audible hiss. And the ball.....thuds into the catcher's hands with a painful echo. And the moment shatters. A wild cheering follows the fateful swing, cheering from the Barracuda's bleachers and dugout, but on the Pirates side, all is strangely quiet. Slowly, families begin to file out of the park, gathering possessions and collecting kids. "It's okay Dana." An older sister smiles. (It's not okay, Missy.) A silent 11 year old retorts. (What would you know with your flowers and peace signs? What do *you* know about baseball?) "You were great honey." A mother smiles. (I let them down, mom) A wordless 11 year old responds. (You can't regain lost honor.) "Don't worry about it, Starbuck." A father rests a hand on a small shoulder. (Oh Daddy. This was my chance! You were here!) A silently sobbing little girl looks at the ground, holding it in. (You're never here. But today you were. And I blew it. How can I not worry?) "You'll get 'em next time D." A brother lightly punches her shoulder. (Next time? *Next* time, Billy?) A resolve fills the empty blue eyes. (There isn't going to *be* a "next time". I'll never play baseball again.) And she never did...... ...That is, until *He* offered to teach her. **April, 1999*** It was another beautiful, star-lit evening in a deserted ballpark in Washinton, DC. The man in the diamond was chilly, but not unpleasantly so. The sound of footsteps on gravel. Her voice; "So I get this message marked "Urgent" on my answering service from one "Fox Mantle", telling me to come down here for a very special, very early, or very late birthday present." He remains silent, so Scully raises an eyebrow. "I don't see any nicely wrapped presents lying around Mulder, so what gives?" "You've never played baseball before, have you Scully?" Scully sighes inwardly, remembering the old disappointment of that fateful summer she'd never forgotten. She was a bit surprised how little Mulder knew about her childhood, after all, *she* seemed to know everything about *his*. He obviously had a predetermined opinion of her regardless. What could Mulder have up his sleeve anyway? Well...only one way to find out. "No, I suppose I found more necessary things to do with my time than...slap a piece of horsehide with a stick." He turns to her, focusing his intense gaze on her for the first time. "Get over here, Scully." So she did. Tensions were high, the air was full of promise and possibility. It was the bottom of the sixth year, and the dialog was loaded. < "Hips...before hands." "We're going to wait on the pitch, keep our eye on the ball....and then were going to make contact. We're not going to think, we're just going to let it fly." > And Mulder had just called out his secret weapon. Perfect moment. Frozen in time. Eyes narrow....hearts pound. Joy is light, in this moment, this moment full of youth and popcorn, innocence and candy apples. He was counting on Scully. And she knew it. Scully would never let him down. A ball missed is a ball never regained......but even so, it is *never* the last pitch. And Dana Katharine Scully, age 35, stepped up to bat. And she knew this time, she knew it would be a home run. ----------------------------------------------------------- END. ----------------------------------------------------------- Praise? Flames? Send 'em all to DrScully@imneverwrong.com --------- THE RUTH IS OUT THERE -------------