Title:Rack ’em Up!
By: Mary Kleinsmith
Category: MT, MSR
Summary: Scully’s surprise rings less unexpected results for Mulder.
Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully don’t belong to me. The location of this story and all the other characters, however, do.
Author’s Notes: This was written for VS12’s Sports special event. Yeah, it surprised me, too – I don’t even like 99% of sports! But this idea just sort of popped up. Of course, it had nothing to do with the nudging of Vickie and O! <winks to you guys>
Feedback: Yes, please please please?
Rack ’em Up!
From a dark corner booth, Mulder grinned lasciviously as he took in the floor show. It was a place he’d never before been, and he’d never dreamed in a million years that Scully would bring him here, but
here they were. And if he’d expected his partner to be soft and demure, he was getting a first hand example that she was anything but.
Right at the moment, for example, every male heterosexual eye in the place – and it was a considerable number for such a small place – was
focused on Scully. Or, more properly, focused on her posterior. She was currently bent over the green felt, cue lovingly grasped in her fingernail-painted hands, lining up a shot.
Who would have ever thought that Dana Scully, medical doctor, special agent with the FBI, and practicing Roman Catholic, would end up being a pool shark!
It was an evening he knew he’d remember for a long time. She’d spent the day in the autopsy bay, and he’d hardly seen or heard from her until he got a message on his voicemail from her about 4:30.
“Will pick you up at six at the office for dinner, my treat. Wear your jeans. Love, Scully.”
She knew him so well, fully aware of the contents of the suitcase he always kept in his trunk, among them her favorite pair of his jeans and a gray t-shirt that had shrunk just a half size smaller than it maybe should have. Scully liked Armani, but she loved Levis and Hanes.
When she showed up at the office exactly on time, her own clothes vaguely resembled his own, but only insofar as they were jeans and a shirt. But the cotton hugged all her curves, and he hadn’t seen a
pair of jeans this tight since Guess! in the 80’s.
The ones Scully wore put Brooke Shields to shame, he thought, wondering what she had in store for such an outfit.
She’d been secretive.
“Where are we going?” He asked as he slid into the front seat of her car.
“Just a little place I know,” she answered with a knowing smile.
“Something along those lines,” she said mysteriously.
“C’mon, Scully. Where are we going?”
“Upper Marlboro.” She said it as simply as if they’d said they were going to Georgetown.
“You really want to go all the way to Maryland?” He sounded uncertain, an unusual trait for him.
“It’s a half hour drive, Mulder! And you’re making me rethink this whole escapade.” He didn’t know what he could say to that, so he let the silence rest between them. Then the word came to him.
“It’s okay,” she replied.
They’d ridden the rest of the way in silence, and when she pulled up in front of the “restaurant,” it would have been an understatement to say Mulder was stunned.
“Scully, this is a bar!”
“It’s a club. Or, if you insist on using the word bar, it’s a bar and grill.”
“More like a hole in the wall from where I sit,” he responded with a bit of a pout as he got out of the car.
“Don’t let appearances deceive you,” she said as she joined him at the entrance. “My friends and I used to come here a lot in our ‘salad’ days. The guy who runs it moved here from Buffalo, so they have the
best wings outside of Western New York, and he also brings in the best Canadian draft.”
The smile grew on Mulder’s face. “Scully, I had no idea!”
“What do you mean?”
“You were quite the little barfly, weren’t you? Don’t deny it, I can see it in your eyes.”
“I’ll have you know that I did very little drinking, comparatively speaking. But when we needed a break from med school, this is where we always came.” Her eyes scanned the interior of the bar, alighting on a darkened corner. “There! That’s where we always sat.”
She led him to the table nearly invisible in the corner and slid into the bench seat.
As they looked around, he shook his head in wonder.
“I find it hard to believe that you ever hung out here.” Less than reputable men and women sat at the bar, guzzling drinks, while two men with cigarettes hanging from their mouths took turns hitting a cue
ball on a well-used pool table that sat in the middle of the floor.
“Well, I’ll be damned!” The deep but definitely female voice rang out, making Scully’s eyes fly wide.
“If it ain’t one of the med-school crowd!”
A woman with close cropped hair that was probably once auburn but now was mostly gray strode to the table with a smile of recognition, mirroring the one Scully wore. Red lipstick tinted her lips, almost
matching the too-obvious blush on her cheeks. She wore an apron over her jeans and had menus tucked under her arm.
“Ruth!” Scully said excitedly. “You mean you still can’t talk that husband of yours into letting you stay home?”
The waitress laughed. “Well, you know Jim. Never one to pass up free labor. So what can I get you?”
“There’s only one thing I’d order here,” Scully answered with a smile. “Wings, hot, fries with wing sauce on the side, and . . .”
“. . . And a pitcher of Molson’s,” Ruth laughed, finishing the order from memory. “Some things never change.” Her eyes moved to Mulder. “But it’s nice to see some things do.”
Scully actually blushed at that, but didn’t comment. Ruth winked at her and went off to place their order with the cook.
“Wow, Scully. I’m impressed. It’s been, what . . . fifteen years and she still remembers you.”
“You could say that we left an impression in more ways than one,” Scully said with a mysterious grin.
He gave her a puzzled look, shaking his head indicating he didn’t understand.
“Look under your left elbow, Mulder.”
He shifted his arm just enough for the light above the pool table to reflect off the wooden surface, illuminating faint letters carved into the surface: DKS, MD.
His smile grew fondly. “Why, Scully, you little vandal you!”
She humphed, tossing her bangs from her eyes with a flip of her head. “It obviously didn’t bother them that much. All it would take is a good sander and a can of stain to make that disappear.”
“Yet it’s still there, all this time later. You should feel honored.”
Scully looked wistful for a moment, her eyes growing unfocused. Realizing that he’d lost her attention, he waved a hand before her face.
“Hey, Scully,” he whispered, but there was no response. “Scully!” he added a bit louder.
It was enough to bring her around. “Yeah?” Her eyes were focused again.
“Where did you go just then?”
“Into the past,” she answered as Ruth set a platter of wings, fries, celery sticks, and bleu cheese between them.
“There ya go, folks. I’ll be back in a second with your drinks.” She winked at Mulder, laughed, and walked away.
“Should I be jealous, Mulder?” Scully chuckled.
“Of course. The women are just swarming to my testosterone-infused manliness,” he joked back.
“Well, how about applying your testosterone-infused manliness to the food before it gets cold?”
They ate and talked comfortably until the only thing left on the plate was a pile of bones and a cup with no more than a teaspoonful of dip, wiping their hands with towlettes provided by the bar. Despite his
initial misgivings about the crowd, the place seemed to be a comfortable place. He sipped his cola, noting that the two men who had been shooting pool were apparently finishing up, as they exchanged a few bills and put their cues into the holder.
“Hey, let’s play a few rounds!” Scully’s excited voice said from beside him. She jumped up, taking a cue from the rack.
He looked at her dubiously. “I don’t know, Scully. I was never much for billiards.”
“This isn’t ‘billiards’ and you’re not at Oxford. This is good ol’ American pool, now come on!”
“Can’t we just relax and let our meal settle?” he said, unable to specifically identify the reason he was so hesitant to play. Perhaps it meant a dropping of his defenses in public – something he was hesitant to do under any circumstance. In a bar full of strangers . . .
“How can it settle any better than by getting a bit of exercise?”
“I’ll go for a jog as soon as we get home,” he counter-offered, and Scully must have seen that she’d never get anywhere with him.
“You can jog all you want, but I can’t leave here without playing at least one table. So you can either sit there and watch, or you can play with me.”
Mulder’s eyes flew open wide.
“Not like that!” she chastized as she applied the blue cube of chalk to the tip of her stick.. Addressing the gathered crowd, Scully looked every bit the picture of innocence and seduction – a deadly mixture – as she asked, “anybody care for a game?”
Most of the men exchanged glances before one stepped forward. “I’ll give it a try. Three bucks a game?”
Mulder waited for Scully to refuse, indicate that it was just for fun, but he received another surprise when she pulled out a dollar bill, laying it on the corner of the table. “Rack ’em up,” she ordered.
Her opponent laid a bill on top of her own and rounded up the balls in the rack while she took the white ball in her hand and placed it carefully at the opposite end of the table. Bending low, the cue slid
through her fingers expertly before striking the ball with a clapping noise, which was echoed as white struck solids and stripes. Circling the table, Scully lined up her next shot, gracing Mulder with a particularly attention-grabbing view of her denim- covered derriere.
His pride at knowing that the gorgeous woman was with him was dissuaded quickly when he realized that he wasn’t the only man in the room enthralled with Scully’s physicality. Half the men in the room were
staring at her, and she was oblivious to all of it.
The only man who wasn’t staring at her was her opponent, who was currently being rather badly beaten.
That was okay with him, though. He had no problem with men watching his partner, just so long as it was him she went home with at night. It almost made him feel a little proud. Not only was she beautiful, and smart, and kind, but she was damned good! She sank
ball after ball, corner pocket or side, it made no difference as she proceeded to clear the table of her stripes, one by one. He definitely got the impression she’d done this before, and not just once or twice.
In short order, the black ball dropped into the pocket at the tap of Scully’s cue ball, and a groan from her opponent announced her victory. Scully grabbed the bills and pocketed them.
“Good job!” Mulder said, loud enough for her to hear.
“I didn’t realize you were a shark, Scully!”
“It’s a simple matter of physics and geometry,” she explained as she racked the balls again. “Despite your constantly trying to disprove it, you are a man of science.”
“I dispute that,” he replied playfully. “Psychology isn’t about science . . . it’s about personalities and emotions. That’s about as opposite of science as you can get.”
“Well, then take a lesson, sweetheart. Science is good for more than just arguing theories.” She bent and rolled the balls in the triangle. “Who’s next?” she asked the onlookers.
Three more times the balls were racked and Scully emerged victorious. Her pocket bulged with the dollar bills from her defeated opponents, and he wondered who would volunteer to take her on next. If they were smart, they’d get out while they were ahead. Despite that, one more pigeon stepped up, and another game began.
At least one of the men in the crowd, however, decided that he’d had enough of this particular brand of entertainment. Mulder had only glanced away for a moment, no more than a second, but it was time
enough. By the time his focus returned to his partner, events were already developing.
A tall, well-muscled man of about thirty-five years of age had approached Scully from behind, and while Mulder’s first fear was of an attack, that wasn’t what the man had planned. Before she could react,
he’d wrapped a large forearm around her slim waist, pulling her tightly against his front.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he slurred. “How about wrapping those gorgeous hands around another kind of pole?” He ground his hips into her, his meaning unmistakable. The crowd around them grew deadly silent.
Scully’s voice was low and threatening in its own right, at the same time as Mulder moved to slide out of the bench seat they’d been sharing. “Let. Me. Go.”
“Oooh, she’s feisty!” the obviously inebriated man said to a friend at the bar, whose expression said that he knew this was a mistake but that he wasn’t about to interfere.
The sequence of events that happened next transpired so quickly, Mulder was never completely sure what happened. He’d jumped to Scully’s aid, displacing the man from his place behind Scully by grasping his arm and tossing him to the side with the training of an FBI agent.
At the same moment, Scully, in her own defense, had thrust the cue backwards with all her strength, intending on taking her molester hard in the stomach with it. But her aim was low, and she was unaware of
Mulder’s movements, so instead of assaulting a drunk stranger, she only succeeded in driving Mulder to his knees, his hands grasping at his painfilled manhood.
Agony shot through him like he had never experienced, and he panted, grateful that the accident had abruptly halted the fight that surely had been brewing.
“Mulder!” Scully dropped to her knees beside her partner. “Mulder, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”
He met her with silence, unresponsive, the pain still too intense to manage words, but the perspiration on his brow and the squint of his eyes should have told her everything she needed to know.
But, of course, she didn’t have the reaction he wanted.
“Somebody call an ambulance!”
“No!” he ground out between clenched teeth. “No ambulance!”
“But Mulder . . .” Her concern was genuine, but he couldn’t give in. How ridiculous would that be, going to the hospital in an ambulance for being socked in his privates?
“You could be hurt more than you know,” she entreated. “I’m so sorry!”
“Not your fault,” he said in a shaky voice. “Now help me up.”
He reached out a hand, hoping she’d take it without his having to raise his head and look her in the eyes. If he did, she’d know at a glance how bad it was. When she grasped his arm, he sighed, grateful
that she’d gone along with him. Getting his feet under him wasn’t so hard, but he realized there was still no way he was going to straighten up, but he had to, or Scully would have him in the hospital for sure.
“Are you okay?” She asked as the crowd around them went back to their individual activities.
“I will be,” he managed, his other hand gaining purchase on her shoulder. “Just give me a second.”
He panted a few times more, and pressed himself until he was standing upright, the sweat streaming down his face.
“I think it’s time we headed home,” Scully suggested, concern in her voice.
“Let me just quick visit the men’s room, okay?” She had the courtesy to not ask him why, and he went without telling her that his intent was to splash some cold water on his face and try to pull himself together.
He walked away, his head proudly held high, since bending down again would make straightening up again just that much more difficult. His mind was all- emcompassed by the pain in his body, not realizing
that when he’d fallen, he’d disrupted the remainder of the cues in the wall holder, knocking some of them to the floor. He only managed three halting steps before his foot came down the bridge, causing it to
snap up as if stepping on a rake.
He didn’t see a thing before the room suddenly went black.
When next he was aware, the smell of anticeptic assaulted his nostrils before he even opened his eyes. No doubt where he’d ended up once again.
“Damn. . .” he said, giving the first sign that he’d awoken.
“Finally! I thought you were going to sleep all day.” Scully rose, and took his hand. He looked up into her face, and while it held some humor, it also held a hint of guilt.
“What happened after the lights went out?” he asked, coming more completely to consciousness. He realized he hurt all over.
“You stepped on a bridge. It came up, hit you in the face, broke your nose and knocked you out. Then I called the ambulance.”
“I’m sure your admirer just loved that,” he said, reaching up to feel the bandaging on his nose.
“Actually, he was very good about it. He’d just had a bit too much to drink. Once the accident happened, he sobered quick. He and his friend even helped get you off the floor and onto a bench until the
“You accepted help from that guy who had his hands all over you?” he asked, astonished.
“He apologized, Mulder. And he was harmless.”
“Yeah, right,” Mulder sulked, wishing they’d come and give him something for the pain in his head, nose, and groin. God, it hurt.
“Besides,” she said, and he thought he sensed a wickedness in her voice. “The doctor says that you’ll be . . . out of commission . . . for awhile. I just might need him,” she teased. Turning on her heal, she added, “I’d better tell the doctor you’re awake.” She left him deciphering her comment as she let the door swing shut. It didn’t take long for Mulder’s reaction.