Harvest Day by Lolabeegood E-mail: lolabeegood@gmail.com Distribution: Archive freely with my name attached. Rating: PG Categories: S, R Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance Spoilers: Up to and including IWTB, but this takes place before it. Summary: A day in the life of Fox Mulder while living in long-term isolation. Author's Notes: Just a little something that has been working itself out in my head and I thought I'd write it out. I do not own the characters. I do not make any money from this. Enjoy! ************************************* Fox Mulder reached for the red apple that was taunting him from the highest branch. He had been picking apples for a couple of hours and was sure this was the last day of his fall harvest. Most of the remaining apples had worms in them or had been attacked by birds. But, there were still a few he had been keeping his eye on this last week and today was the day to pick them. It was also the last nice fall day before a cold snap and rain was about to hit them. If he didn't get thee apples now they were goners. He stretched his long lithe body upwards and snapped the apple from its branch. "Ha!" he laughed as the apple was dropped into his bucket. He gathered a few wormy apples and threw them to the ground below the trees. They would serve as good baseballs for pitching into their left field after he got down from the ladder. Mulder glanced around the tree and smiled inwardly. The pesticide-free spray he had ordered this year had been much better than the one from last year. This year, at least 2/3 of his apples weren't spoiled. Last year is was the reverse. Last year, after a summer of pruning and watering the crop had been a big disappointment. So, he took to the internet and discovered a company that made a soap spray that, they assured, would fight off most pests that infested apple trees. And, it had worked. The row of apple trees he had taken great pride in caring for, had yielded what he would call, a bumper crop. He climbed down the ladder and jumped to the ground instead of taking the last few rungs. He dumped his bucket into the barrel and, placing his hands on his hips, admired the bushel that stood before him. 'No one in my house will be getting scurvy this year,' he thought to himself with a measure of pride and silliness. They had 11 bushels in all this year and he took credit for each and every apple. Scully had taken no interest in his pet project except for promising to bake a few pies. He bent over to gather a bunch of the discarded rotten apples into his empty basket when he felt a twinge in the small of his back. He relaxed his muscles and took a deep breath. These aches and pains were becoming more regular as his body aged and he didn't like it one bit. The freedom he felt in his small apple orchard made him feel like a kid again, and he wished his body was as young as he felt. The twinge passed and Mulder started to again grab all the rotten apples and place them in his basket. There were a considerable number of them left over today and, as he hefted the basket to his hip, they were heavy ones. 'Perfect for baseballs.' He thought with a smile. Mulder stretched his arms and jumped in place to warm up his body a bit more. Two hours of apple picking should have done the trick, but you could never be too careful. He picked up his first apple, wound up, and set it flying into the empty field. His shoulder felt stiff, so he spent some time rolling it to release the tension. He picked up a second apple and pitched it into the field. His shoulder was looser this time and the pitch went further. He picked up apple after apple, wound up and pitched them into the vacant space. Some pitches were better than others but most were ones he could be proud of. His thoughts drifted off to William as he sliced the air with his wormy apples. His son would be old enough to appreciate baseball by now and, he hoped, he had someone to teach him. In all his months in hiding, Mulder had concocted a Normal Rockwell-esque scene in his head of him pitching to William as he learned to bat, and Scully bringing them lemonade. It was stupid, he knew, but an image that he went back to at times like this one. An image, that would never become a reality. "Mulder?" she called from the back porch. "Yeah," he answered not turning to look at her. Another apple pitched through the air. "Are you almost done? I was thinking we could have an early dinner tonight." "Sounds great." He said as he threw another pitch, willing his Normal Rockwell picture to not leave him so quickly. He heard the screen door slam shut and he returned to his next pitch. When the door opened and closed again a few minutes later he wondered if she had come outside to see if he had at least lit the barbeque. He didn't turn to see. He threw a couple more pitches before he felt a familiar hand smack him on the ass. Turning to look at the source he caught a glimpse of her as she sauntered past him with a baseball bat slung over her shoulder. He stood speechless as he saw her walk into the field and stand in batter's position waiting for an apple to be thrown. A smile crept across his face as he looked at her standing in old jeans and a hoodie with a bat set up to strike and a determined look on her face. "So, do I get a pitch or what?" she smiled at him. "The apples will explode on impact," he snickered. "So, I'll take a bath." She replied, not driven away by the mess. "Scully, is this your way of getting me to make the entire dinner while you soak in a tub?" "I was actually thinking of soaking in a tub after supper and having some company," she said as she raised a devilish eyebrow at him "But, now that you mention the shower on my own, before dinner..." "A bath it is." He said definitively as he wound up for the pitch. She missed the first two he threw but managed to hit the third one and sent apple pieces flying in every direction. The two of them laughed and she got into her batter's stance while he wound up for the next pitch. A half hour later all the rotten apples were applesauce and chunks spread all over the field and the two of them. He watched her as she laughed wildly and walked up to him with apple chunks in her hair and on her face. 'Normal Rockwell,' he thought to himself, 'has nothing on us.' She fell into his embrace laughing and he held her tightly against him. "That was fun," she laughed from somewhere under his armpit. "You're getting better. Maybe we should use apples from now on, instead of baseballs." He quipped. "Maybe," she grinned up at him. He picked a stray chunk of apple from her hair and grinned down at her. "You're exactly what I needed today." Her eyes became wet as she looked up at him. "You would have made a great baseball coach." He swallowed hard before answering. "And you would have been a great bat girl." She stole her eyes away from him and buried her face in his chest. He knew she wasn't crying, she was just pulling herself together. He held her for a minute before he decided to speak. "I'll light the barbeque?" "Yeah, that'd be great," she answered as she tried to turn and walk toward the house. He held onto her wrist and turned her back toward him and smiled a genuine smile at her. "I'm holding you to that bath later." "You bring the sponge." She smiled back at him. He released her wrist and watched her jean-clad body walk up the stairs and lean the bat against the back wall of their house. He was still amazed at how she could read him so well. Mulder turned around and grabbed the bushel sitting on the ground behind him. He groaned as he lifted it up and walked carefully up the stairs and into their house with his bounty. ************************************** The end