Roundball
Tesla

Rating: G

Category: Vignette 

Spoilers: "Hungry" 

Archive: Let me know so I can dote 

Feedback: See above, only I'll write charming replies. 

Disclaimer: If Ten Thirteen is even reading this, settle with Duchovny! 

Summary: Scully's musings after the episode

Costa Mesa, CA, November, 1999

Dana Scully was worn out after filling out all the paperwork involved when any federal agent, or her partner, fires his weapon, and she would have thought her partner would be, too, but no. After he discovered that their flight home was delayed for five hours, he began asking around about a pick-up basketball game. It turned out that several of the Costa Mesa cops played at a YMCA just around the corner.

"What am I supposed to do?" she asked Mulder, not bothering to lower her voice. "We've already checked out of our rooms."

Mulder had opened his mouth to argue, when he was forestalled. "Hey, I can take Agent Mulder to the airport, " one of the younger cops said. "I've got the next five off."

Mulder gave her a triumphant look. "See? You can have the rental. Let me get my bags."

In the parking lot, the same helpful fellow pointed out the gym to Scully. "We usually go out for pizza, Agent Scully, if you want to meet us later. If you don't, there's a real nice little shopping area just past the gym on the next street. It has a coffee shop and a couple of really good restaurants."

Gosh. Someone who actually thought of her interests. How rare. She gave the kid a big smile, and got into the car.

"Hey, Scully, you can always come and give me moral support," Mulder said.

She rolled the window down. "I thought that was my job description, Mulder."

The shopping district was a pleasant surprise. Scully drank a cappuccino, browsed through the bookstore, and decided to have her nails done. But she still had two and a half hours, so, on an impulse, she drove over to the gym.

The gym smelled like all gyms, redolent of sweat and floor wax and the peculiar smell of synthetic shoe soles and basketballs. The men were all yelling in that garbled male-voice. Scully climbed up to one of the bleachers, folding her raincoat to make a cushion.

Actually, Mulder was pretty damn good. He faked, he set up lots of shots for his teammates, and he made a perfect three-point shot. He ran back and forth, a manic grin on his face, totally involved in the game.

Scully spread her fingers out and examined her fresh manicure. She needed to get out more. She couldn't remember the last time she had enjoyed something as much as Mulder enjoyed playing ball.

Now that was a point to ponder: Mulder enjoying anything. She had always assumed he spent his time drinking beer, watching triple-X videos and reading about conspiracies on the Internet with the Lone Gunmen. As for his social skills, she had abundant first-hand knowledge that he didn't have any; as for friends outside work---let's see-none. Aside from the Gunmen, she had only heard him talk in a friendly manner to Danny at the Bureau, and Chuck at the university. With everyone else, he had the same flippant go-to-hell-if-you-don't-like-it attitude. Yet here he was male bonding and everything.

She looked up again. He hadn't seen her.

It was a dance. If she moved forward, he moved back. He was infinitely graceful at it. He once tried to kiss her, in a romantic way-once. And the next thing she knew she was lying naked on a cold and filthy floor with Mulder trying to pull a pair of snow pants up her legs. That seriously ruined the mood-at least for her.

And she wouldn't count the times in the hospital that he had kissed her cheek and her hand. They had both thought she was dying, and their relationship at that point had been so purely spiritual that she felt it was insulting to Mulder to think he meant anything physical by them.

Then she had come to tell him about Diana's death, and had actually run her fingertips over his lip. She found herself cringing at herself for days, for leaving it at that. Why didn't she kiss him? But nothing had been said by either of them, and he had reverted to his "let's find the monster of the week" mode.

So here they were, having investigated the latest monster, one who ate human brains. Pathological, of course, but hardly unusual in the literature.

The players were all arguing furiously, and then Mulder threw the ball to someone. The game resumed.

Sometimes she thought she was his Samantha substitute-the one he had managed to save, and the one for whom he had traded Samantha. He had given her a key chain, and a Superbowl video, and her life. . .and her life. But balanced against that, being his partner had cost her (and her family) a sister and a daughter. Who was she to say that her life was more valuable than theirs had been? Mulder seemed to think so.

She shrugged, and forced herself to watch the basketball. That's why she didn't like introspection. She kept thinking of the same things over and over, with no better answer than the first time she had thought of them. She 'd end up in the rubber room, herself, only it would be all her own voices. Just say no. Just say no to Blevins, Skinner, to Mulder and her life would be-she smothered the thought.

One day, she would have to just be brave and hash it out with Mulder. What are we doing here? What are we playing at? I'm your touchstone and your one in five billion, but where are you when the workday is over?

Where am I?

Mulder's game ended, and in walking off the court, he spotted her. His face lit up with surprise, and he jogged over. "How'd I do, Scully? Have you been here long?" He stood at the end of the bleacher, smiling up at her.

"Not very long," she lied. His bare arms were slick with sweat, his hair wet with it. He was saying something, and she had been staring at his biceps.

"---To eat pizza?"

"Whatever you want, Mulder," she said. He looked a little surprised, and she wondered what he had asked.

"Okay, I'll go change and be right out."

They had pizza at a local place, Mulder gulping tea instead of beer. His hair stood up in odd little spikes. The men trash-talked about their great moves on the court, and Scully absently broke her breadsticks into little barricades around her plate.

At the airport, Mulder got them an upgrade to first class, complete with champagne and movies. He fell heavily asleep, and Scully watched the movie with dry and steady eyes.