From: mookie102283@hotmail.com   
      
   TITLE: The Great Baseball Prodigy of Caribou Cove   
   AUTHOR: Susanna Starz   
   E-MAIL: mookie102283@hotmail.com   
   FEEDBACK: Yes, please!   
   DISTRIBUTION: OK   
   RATING: PG-13   
   CATEGORIES: SRA -- Story, Romance, Angst   
   KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully Romance, William Fic   
   SPOILERS: Through season 9   
   DISCLAIMER: The characters of The X Files belong to Chris Carter and   
   1013.   
   NOTES: The town of Caribou Cove is my own invention, entirely   
   fictional, and no similarity to any real place is intended.   
   SUMMARY: William moved through a nightmarish landscape of a world on   
   the brink of madness, feeling like a stranger to his own history.   
      
   *   
      
             The locker room was crowded and noisy, and Will Mulder   
   moved away from his celebrating teammates, opening his locker and   
   pulling out his clothes. A news reporter was moving her way calmly   
   through the maze of half-naked men, camera man in tow as she stopped   
   to speak with several of that night's heroes.   
             Will had never been much for publicity, so he ducked his   
   head quickly, preferring to exit with as little fanfare as possible.   
             This had been his last game, and he was certain that the   
   reporter was looking for him. Instead, he hurried up the stairs and   
   out the back gate to the stadium, hurrying across the shadowy   
   parking lot towards his car.   
             There was a woman leaning on it, blonde and beautiful,   
   dressed in a demure gray skirt suit. She smiled innocently at him as   
   he approached, sultry and full-lipped.   
             "Hello," she said.   
             "Who are you?" he scowled, glancing around. Why   
   hadn't   
   stadium security noticed her?   
             "Security figured they were doing you a favor by   
   letting   
   me linger here," she said, reading his mind. She stood up   
   straight,   
   looking him in the eye. She was tall, almost his height, and   
   strikingly attractive, even up close, which was more than he could   
   say for many women.   
             "Have a good night," he said, stepping around her   
   and   
   opening the door to his car.   
             "Don't you want to talk to me?"   
             He paused and stared at her for a moment, a half-smile   
   toying on his lips. "If I had a dollar for every woman that threw   
   herself at me after a big game, I wouldn't have needed a baseball   
   career to make me rich."   
             "Lucky for you," she said coolly. "And lucky   
   for me that   
   I'm not here to throw myself at you, although it's quite   
   charming   
   that you thought so."   
             "Then I give up. What are you doing here?"   
             She smirked at him and pulled a small notepad out of her   
   jacket pocket. "Erin Doggett. Washington Post."   
             "Now everything makes sense," he sighed. "Why   
   didn't you   
   attempt to ambush me in the locker room like all the others?"   
             "Amateurs," she said with a flip of her hair.   
   "They didn't   
   do their homework. I know you avoid reporters like the plague."   
             "Forgive me if I vaccinate myself against you too,   
   then,"   
   he said and cringed as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Talk   
   about a cheesy line…   
             She smiled, obviously amused. "Can I quote that?"   
             "I'd rather you didn't."   
             "Then give me an interview."   
             He blinked at her. "Are you blackmailing me?"   
             "You're an American hero. A pitcher and slugger of   
   your   
   caliber hasn't been seen since Babe Ruth. I'd hate to see   
   your   
   legacy tarnished by having you come off like an idiot in the   
   press."   
             "It's been my observation that most athletes *are*   
   idiots," he said. "What makes you so sure I'm any   
   different?"   
             "Keep digging that hole for yourself," she said,   
   waving   
   her notebook at him.   
             He sighed and sagged against his car door. "What do you   
   want to know?"   
             "Why are you retiring?"   
             "I've had enough. I want to do something   
   different."   
             "Most baseball players of your caliber don't retire   
   after   
   four years to pursue law enforcement."   
             "You *do* do your homework," he said, raising his   
   eyebrows. "I don't recall ever publicly mentioning my future   
   plans."   
             "The FBI, to be exact," she licked her lips.   
   "Like your   
   famous father."   
             He frowned and crossed his arms. "What, exactly do you   
   want to know? It sounds like you've already dug up everything on   
   me."   
             "People are calling you the next Babe Ruth."   
             "You know, he gave me some pointers on my batting   
   stance   
   the other day."   
             She blinked at him, her tone sardonic. "Really."   
             He smirked, glancing around the darkened parking lot.   
   "As   
   a kid, it was always a dream of mine to play professional baseball.   
   One of many dreams. Now that that particular dream has been   
   accomplished, it's time to move on to something else."   
             "We should all be so talented."   
             He shrugged. "I've always anticipated having a   
   career with   
   the FBI."   
             "Any particular interests?"   
             "I'd answer that question, but I'm sure you   
   already know."   
             "The X Files."   
             Will couldn't stop himself from snorting in   
   amusement. "Exactly how long have you been researching me?"   
             "Long enough."   
             "I've read some of your stuff," he said   
   abruptly, shifting   
   his weight from one foot to the other. "You're a pretty   
   accomplished   
   writer."   
             "And you let me go on all this time thinking you   
   didn't   
   know who I was?"   
             "I know you by name and reputation, not by face."   
             "I've heard rumors," she said, all earnestness   
   now, her   
   sly demeanor vanishing. "About your role in certain…crucial   
   events."   
             "Rumors," a ghost of a smile touched his face.   
   "Are not to   
   be believed."   
             "Are you an alien, Mr. Mulder?"   
             Will blanched, stepping backwards. "You ask all of your   
   subjects that question?"   
             "Just you."   
             He shook his head slowly, eyeing her with new   
   wariness. "No. I'm a baseball player who's making a   
   career change.   
   Nothing more, nothing less."   
             "Then set the record straight about certain   
   events."   
             "Not a chance."   
             "Off the record then," she said, flipping the cover   
   on her   
   notebook closed and tucking it back into her pocket. "For   
   personal   
   interest."   
             He shook his head, mesmerized by her stare. "No."   
             "I won't tell…"   
             He let out a bark of laughter and sat down in his   
   car. "Have a good night, Miss Doggett."   
             "I've done extensive research," she said, her   
   tone   
   cold. "I know enough about you to know that things don't add   
   up. You   
   don't have a history before the age of thirteen. No school   
   records,   
   no little league trophies, no childhood friends. It's as though   
   you   
   didn't exist."   
             The car engine started with a roar. "What exactly are   
   you   
   implying?"   
             "I've researched your parents. They obviously   
   didn't raise   
   you. It's as though you dropped out of the sky." She licked   
   her lips   
   again. "Did you?"   
             "I was adopted."   
             "No adoption records."   
             "This is all private information."   
             "You look too much like him to be an adopted son."   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)