TITLE: Gift Horse
AUTHOR: Susanne Barringer
EMAIL: sbarringer@usa.net
ARCHIVE: Anywhere okay with these headers attached.
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully UST
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: Takes place after "The Unnatural."
SUMMARY: Conversation fic, with a little baseball thrown in for
good measure.
DISCLAIMER: I am tired of writing these. Same as always.
THANKS to Suzanne S. who never lets me forget I have a half-
finished story lying around.
For Suzanne O. who asked for a "hips before hands" story, a long
time ago. Okay, so it's not the quite the one you wanted. :)
_______
Gift Horse
by Susanne Barringer
"Monday is Skinner's birthday." Scully slides into the chair in
front of my desk.
"Is it? I guess we need to get him a card." I push aside the papers
in front of me. It's nearly 5:00 anyway, and it's clear Scully's here
to chat, not work. I can tell by the way she's leaning back with her
legs totally extended, crossed at the ankles.
"We, Mulder?" She gives me a searing look. "*I* usually get him
a card and you come in the morning of, having conveniently
forgotten, and you end up signing my card." She's still got that
searing look going on, but I know she's teasing.
"Aw, c'mom. It's better that way anyway, everything equal
between us--neither of us buying the $3.95 card when the other
bought the $1.50 card." Scully glares another moment, then shifts
in the chair to lean forward onto the desk.
"I was thinking maybe this year we should get him a gift, a little
something."
"What the hell for?" I'm surprised Scully is suggesting such a
marked change in the status quo. It's always been a card.
"Skinner's been good to us this year. Since we got the X-Files
back, he's been much more supportive of us and more lenient about
our ... lapses in official protocol." She gives a slight shrug.
"Scully, there's not a thing in the world you can get for a man like
Skinner that he doesn't already have."
She leans back in the chair again and lets out a heavy sigh. "You're
so difficult, Mulder. Skinner's not the type to look a gift horse in
the mouth. He's not going to say, 'Hey, I already have one of these.'
Besides, it's the thought that counts, right?"
I just know there's some kind of personal commentary on my gift-
giving habits tucked away in those comments somewhere.
I lean forward and meet her eyes. "So, if I gave you a toaster for a
gift, and you already had a toaster, you wouldn't tell me?"
She lets out a half-laugh. "If you gave me a toaster for a gift,
Mulder, you'd have bigger problems than wondering if I already
had one."
"It's better than what I usually get you, isn't it, Scully?"
"Nothing?" She lifts an eyebrow toward the ceiling. Touche,
Scully.
"Exactly." I've always had a feeling my sporadic gift giving
bothered her. Now I'm suspecting I've been right all along.
"Trust me, Mulder, you'd be better off giving me nothing than
giving me a toaster. Or an iron. Or a blender." Her voice is still
tinged with humor, despite the serious look she's giving me.
"Okay, another example." I lean back and push my chair away so I
can put my feet on top of the desk. "Let's just say, hypothetically,
that I gave you a baseball lesson, and you already knew how to hit
a baseball, would you tell me?"
"Hypothetically? No," she says, her eyes not giving anything away.
"So, you'd just let me teach you how to hit, even though you
knew?" I try to look hurt. Her stifled smile tells me she isn't
buying it.
"I might learn something new," she says thoughtfully. "Hips
before hands. I never heard that before."
"Uh hum. So, it was all about hips before hands, was it?" I can't
help but tease her, and the little half-embarrassed grin she gives me
is pay-off for my attempt. It's not like I didn't know she wasn't as
clueless about baseball as she pretended. She had two brothers, for
gosh sake. I've never been sure why she played along that night.
Now, however, I can't help but wonder if it was something more
than the old gift horse.
"Actually? Playing baseball? That was a nice gift, Mulder." She
looks down and picks at the loose vinyl on the arm on the chair.
"Was it?" I'm surprised she's confessing.
"It wasn't a toaster at least."
"Or a keychain?"
She looks up quickly. "No, the keychain was fine. I just never
understood it exactly. I mean, I thought I did, but I was never
sure."
I remove my feet from the desk and wheel forward so I'm leaning
toward her again. "You and me, Scully, working together, and
being good at it. About as unlikely and absurd as being able to
walk on the moon. Seems impossible, but, in the end, not only
possible but monumental."
She smiles and nods her head approvingly. "Well, see, that's a
good gift then. It's personal, meaningful, although it would have
been nice if I didn't have to wait years for the explanation."
"It didn't turn out to be quite the celebration I had planned. I'm
sorry for that, Scully." Quite frankly, the evening had turned out to
be a nightmare, Pendrell getting shot and all. It didn't exactly
motivate me to plan another birthday party for her.
"It wasn't your fault. It was nice, though. You know, just to be
remembered and appreciated." She gives me a sincere smile.
"You think I don't remember, Scully, but I do. I always do. I just
don't always acknowledge it."
"Dog years again, Mulder?" God, how many years ago was that?
She still remembers our conversation.
"February 23rd. The day you were born. About as monumental as
the moonwalk."
She gives me a smile of approval. Score one for me.
"So, Scully, your birthday is in a couple of months, and I'll
definitely get you something this year so you feel remembered and
appreciated. Let's make sure it's not something you already have.
Give me a couple of leads. What would make your day?"
She hardly has to think at all. "Teach me to hit a deep fly ball."
"A deep fly ball? I thought you said you knew how to hit."
"Not very well. I didn't get much practice. My brothers always
made me be the umpire."
"Because you were a girl or because you were impartial?"
"Because I couldn't hit a deep fly ball." She smiles. "For some
reason, I could never get it up high enough."
"It's physics, Scully. Control the bat and you control the ball." It's
taking all my strength to resist the unintentional sexual innuendo
flying around. Why does talking about baseball always sound like
talking about sex?
"You call that physics, Mulder? I must've missed that day of
class."
"You can cut the sarcasm. I'm just trying to help." I grin at her to
show I'm teasing. "It's easy, really." I stand up and walk around
the desk so I'm standing beside her. I pick up a pencil and use it as
an imaginary bat. "You just come around from underneath and hit
it up at an angle." I swing through to demonstrate the motion.
"That's the thing." Scully stands up beside me and gets into a
batting stance. "I could never figure out how to get from here..."
she swings the imaginary bat up to her shoulder, "to here." She
angles the bat downward. "I could never get enough of an angle to
make it go way up high." She looks so serious about this, her brow
creased in confusion.
"Okay, come here, I'll show you. You have to lower your shoulder
and hip to help create the angle."
She takes off her suit jacket and drapes it over a chair, then follows
me to a more open space of the room. She takes the pencil I hand
her and uses it as the grip of a bat, then pretends to tap the
imaginary tip of the bat against imaginary home plate.
There's nothing to do but what I did before. I step up and wrap my
arms around her from behind. Since there's no bat to share this
time, I place each of my hands over one of hers to help her get the
motion right. Immediately, I'm taken back to that night on the
baseball field, how good she felt in my arms, how warm her body
was against mine.
Her hair brushes against my jaw and I remember how I whispered
my version of sweet nothings in her ear. I haven't forgotten how
beautiful that night was, but somehow I've managed to tuck away
the details and remember only the bits and pieces.
She kissed me that night before she left. It was just a quick peck
on the cheek, but so out of character for Scully that I'd been taken
aback by the simplicity of emotion behind it. Her gift to me that
night, opening herself up to my lame attempt to show her I care
about her, had meant more to me than my gift had meant to her, at
least I thought so at the time. Maybe there was something to be
said after all for the beauty of a gift freely given, even if you
already have one.
Now, as her body sways against mine with every test swing of the
bat, I'm once again thankful for this woman in my arms and the
way she never fails to surprise me.
"Okay," I manage to pull myself out of my reminiscences, "this is
your usual flat swing." I guide her hands into a swing from the
shoulder. "Now, if you want to hit from below, drop the bat as you
come off the shoulder, then push from the hip." She moves her
arms slowly, following my direction, and I apply just the slightest
of pressure to smooth out the move. She tries a few more swings.
The way our bodies move together is something else I'd
conveniently blocked out from that night. I try to keep my mind on
the game.
"Mulder, that doesn't seem like enough angle to really get it up in
the air. I want an outfielder to catch it, not the second baseman."
"I'm getting to that, Scully. Hold your horses." I take my hands off
her hands and place them on her hips. Hips before hands. That, I
will never forget. I still cannot believe she let me get away with it.
"Now, we're going to add your body into the swing. That'll give
you the extra angle and momentum you need to whack it out of the
park." I only half know what I'm talking about and, most likely,
half is generous. This moment is too sweet, however, to end the
lesson now.
"Hips before hands again, Mulder?" Is she teasing me? I can't see
her face to know.
"Yeah, but first bend your knees a little more. You want to be low.
Then you're going to raise your hips--stick your ass into the air.
You know, like the players you see on t.v. When you step to hit,
lower your hips again and that'll give you some upward
momentum." I push her hips down into place as she swings and
wonder if she's actually buying this bullshit.
"Like that?"
"Yeah, almost. You've gotta get your hips really high first, then
just..." I reach around and splay my fingers across her stomach to
pull her hips up into position. I'm suddenly acutely aware that my
pinky falls low across her pelvis, almost low enough to get me
arrested under different circumstances. The curve of her belly lies
perfectly in my hand, and I feel the warmth of her through her skirt.
I'm not sure if she notices my errant pinky, but she pulls her pelvis
up and back under my hand's guidance. The top curve of her ass
comes flat in contact with my cock. She leaves it there, and a few
moments pass before I realize I've stopped talking mid-sentence.
"Mulder?" She turns her head slightly to try to look at me but she's
too closely pressed against me to accomplish it. "Something
wrong?"
The little vixen knows exactly what she is doing. But, hey, two
can play at this game. I don't remove my hand from its "assisting"
position. "Keep your hips up like that, don't drop them until you
step." My voice sounds hollow, and I swallow to keep my
composure.
"Like this." She takes a full swing, positioned just as I showed her.
I snuggle up closer to her and wrap my other arm around her
ribcage, just below her breasts. "Hear that, Scully?" I whisper into
her hair.
"Hear what?" She stands perfectly still, listening. I can feel her
breathing, one breast grazing the inside of my elbow with each
inhalation.
"The crowd. They're cheering for you. You just hit a sacrifice fly
deep to the center-fielder to drive in the winning run."
I sense her smile. "Are they chanting my name, Mulder?"
I pull her even closer against me so I can murmur against her ear
like last time. "So loudly you can hear it a mile away. Scul-lee,
Scul-lee, Scul-lee." She chuckles and I feel her laughter under my
hands.
"This is nice," she whispers, and I wonder if she means the
adulation of the crowd, or my arms around her.
She shifts slightly, her ass once again pressing up against me in
that enticing way that makes my blood pound in my head. She
keeps her position, listening to the crowd applaud her. I feel the
pressure building in my groin, spurred on by the way she feels
enveloped in my arms, the way I cover her so completely.
I close my eyes and slowly slide my hand down a tiny bit across
her belly, just enough so the movement is evident, but not enough
to seem obvious. A small wail of pleasure, or could it be desire,
rises from Scully's throat, and suddenly I feel a wave of
uncontrollable heat soar between my legs. I drop my hands from
around her and step back quickly, not confident enough that
Scully's flirting is entirely in earnest and certainly not wanting to
let her know how earnest I am.
Scully takes another practice swing with the pencil, then a few
more. All I see is her ass wiggling in front of me as she practices
her new moves. She's a fast learner.
I hightail it to my desk to hide the mounting evidence and sit down
just as she turns to look at me.
"That's it? That's my whole lesson?"
"It's better with a real bat and something to actually hit," I mumble,
trying to catch my breath. She walks over to stand in front of my
desk.
"Yeah, I guess you're right. Want to go to the batting cages?" She
reaches over to hand the pencil back to me. Good God, this
woman is going to kill me. The last thing I need is to go through
all that again, in public no less.
"Um, I think maybe we've had enough baseball," I fudge. She
looks at me curiously, then smiles in such a way that I know she
knows, which sets me quaking in my proverbial boots.
"Let's go tonight. Consider it a gift from me to you, Mulder. A
very early or very late birthday present."
I find myself speechless. I have catalogued all of Scully's looks. I
know when she is angry and when she is simply pretending to be
angry. I know when she is fine and when she is only saying she's
fine. This look that she's giving me now - I can safely say I have
never seen it before. It leaves little for misinterpretation and a
great deal for the imagination.
"Relax, Mulder," she says, picking up her jacket from where she
hung it over the chair. "It's not physics after all. It's chemistry."
She slides into her jacket while I sit wondering if this moment is
going to end up becoming missing time.
"Meet me at the batting range at seven?" she says as she moves
toward the door. "And don't forget your bat." I can do nothing but
nod. She reaches for the doorknob.
"Hey, Scully." At last I've found my brain, finally managing to
untangle it from the dark heat in my groin. She turns back to look
at me. "Maybe we should get a gift for Skinner after all."
"Had a change of heart?"
"I was just thinking about how nice it is to be, you know,
remembered and appreciated."
She nods in understanding. "We can pick up something this
weekend. See you tonight, Mulder."
Then she is gone, and I'm left staring down at the pencil in my
hands, marveling that it is still warm from her grip. I take a deep
breath to calm my racing thoughts, thankful for this gift of a
moment in which an office was transformed into a stadium, and
conversation into a seduction.
END
_________
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