Title: Lessons III: Quiver
Author: Jori 
E-Mail: damienma@bellsouth.net
Rating: PG-13 for what could be suggestive language
Category: SR
Keywords: UST
Archive: yes
Disclaimer: Not mine. They would have more fun if they were. They belong
to CC and 1013.
Summary: Scully tries to improve Mulder's aim.
Spoilers: Up to season six (ignoring the season finale, of course), The
Unnatural and it follows my story 'Racked' and MoJo's story 'Head's Up.'
You will be able to find both of those at our sites shortly, but for now
you can find them at Ephemeral.

************************

"So, am I Little John or Will Scarlet?" I ask, as I lean up against a
tree. It's going to be a beautiful spring day and I'm glad we aren't out
of town. I watch Scully stand in this little shady clearing, with a bow
and arrow carefully aimed at a bull's-eye target.  She called early this
morning, leaving a message telling me it was time to work on my aim, and
I had no idea until right now what she had planned.

She lets go of the arrow, and it flies through the air before making a
resounding 'thump' and pierces the target. Not a perfect shot, but not
bad either.

Scully lowers her bow, and turns to me, smiling just a little. "I've
always pictured you as Robin Hood."

"Does that make you Maid Marian? Or perhaps . . . Cupid?" I ask. I'm
tempted to add Diana, Goddess of the Hunt, but some names are better
left not mentioned.

"Do you know anything about archery, Mulder?" she asks, as she pulls
another arrow out of the quiver.

"Archery is one of the oldest sports in the world, dating back 30,000
years. Every major culture's history includes the bow and arrow, as most
civilizations used the bow as a tool for survival and a game of skill,"
I respond.

"That's good, but have you ever actually used a bow and arrow?" she
asks, as she places the arrow carefully against the string, takes aim
and lets it fly. This one is much closer to the center than the last.

"No, I haven't," I say honestly.

"You spent all that time in England and never learned to shoot an arrow?
Never made a quest to find out if Robin Hood is really a historic
figure?" she asks me curiously.

"Contrary to our conversation we just had a second ago, Robin Hood is a
legend," I tell her.

"So was Big Blue, but you dragged me off after that one," she says, as
we stand here in this clearing staring at each other. The sun hasn't
reached its apex for the day, and it is still cool here. Which is good,
considering she told me to dress in jeans and my hiking boots. Probably
afraid I'm going to step in something.

"Maybe I only like to drag you along on those things, Scully," I tell
her, and she smiles just a little bit.

"Would you like to learn?" she asks, holding up the bow. The game is
continuing. Last weekend it was volleyball. She was a great sport, and
we even managed to beat a couple of college kids. And I'm pretty sure
her sunburn has faded. Now it's her turn.

I've begun to notice the differences in the 'sports' we choose. Hers
require precision and careful focus, and every step must be thought out
and planned. Mine require much more physical movement, the kind of sport
you just jump into. Next time I might surprise her and choose something
a little slower.

"Always," I say, as I walk through the damp grass, careful not to step
on anything fungal in nature.

"To become a capable archer, one must develop a correct and consistent
shooting form, a high level of concentration, and complete
follow-through," Scully says, emphasizing each word carefully.

"So, how did you learn this particular sport, Scully?" I ask, as she
puts her bow down on a stand and walks over to the target to retrieve
the arrows.

"My brothers are both bow hunters. I've never hunted, of course, but I
did learn how to target shoot," she says. I remember a story her mother
told me years ago about Scully out shooting with her brothers, and
killing a snake. I can't imagine her hunting game with a bow and arrow.

"This shouldn't be too difficult. I already have good aim," I say as she
gets the equipment ready.

"No, you don't," she says, and before I can question her, she holds up
the bow. "Now on to some basics."

"That's a bow," I say with a smile.

"A compound laminated bow to be exact. One you will know well by the end
of the day," she says as she hands it to me.

I hold it in my hand, and look at it closely while I feel its weight. It
isn't very heavy, but I'm certainly glad we don't have to chase down
criminals with on of these strapped to our backs.

"This is the riser," Scully says, as she points to the middle portion.
"It includes the grip, arrow rest and sight window. The upper and lower
sections of the bow are the limbs. They are flexible and strong."

"Like all good limbs should be," I mumble.

I watch as her right hand slowly travels the length of the 'limb,'
feeling the smooth surface. I'm still holding the bow and her hand skips
over my hand and continues to travel upwards.

"Did I lose you? The outside surface of the limbs is the back and the
inside is the face. An easy way to remember that is you are face to face
when you draw a bow. The back is to the outside. At the extreme ends of
the limbs are the bow tips. The distance between the grip and the
bowstring, before the bowstring is pulled back to shooting position, is
called the brace height," Scully continues on.

I'm not paying that much attention. I just watch her hand, as it slides
over all the parts she is pointing out. How come I have only begun to
notice her hands recently, noticing how nice they are?

"Mulder, did you get all that?" she asks.

"Yes," I say, lying, hoping we get past naming the parts and on to the
actual doing.

Scully removes the bow from my hand, takes an arrow and holds it up for
me to look at. "We will get to the actual target practice in a moment.
Just a few more basics."

"That's an arrow," I say sarcastically.

"A fiberglass arrow to be exact. And this is the head," she says,
placing her fingertip lightly on the point. Scully then drags her thumb
and forefinger slowly down the fiberglass, rolling it a little as she
goes. "This is the shaft."

"I think I can remember that," I say, nearly choking.

"The nock and fletching are at the opposite end of the arrow from the
head," she says as she turns the feather side towards me.

"The knock and feltching. I've got it," I say with a smile.

"The nock is the notch into which the bowstring fits when the arrow is
drawn. The *fletching* in this case is made of feathers. It is used for
stabilization during flight," she says, and she hands me the arrow.

"Can I shoot something now?" I ask her, as I poke her lightly with the
arrow tip. Head. Whatever. She takes it away from me.

"Not yet. One feather in the fletching is a different color than the
others. It is called the cock feather. For the grand prize, can you tell
me the name of the other two feathers?" she says, as she gently touches
the two pale feathers, careful not to draw her finger across the cock
feather.

"Those would be the cu. . ." I start.

"Bzzzzz. Wrong answer. The other two are called hen feathers. When the
arrow is nocked, the cock feather is at a right angle to the bowstring,"
she says, as she puts the arrow back in the quiver.

"Okay, Scully. Enough with the terminology. How about some action?" I
ask. I'm not sure that I want to hear too many more terms like 'cock'
and 'shaft' flow so smoothly out of her mouth, and resonate through the
woods we are standing in. Not when they only have to do with archery.
They seem to hang between us longer than other words, teasing me into
wanting more.

"Watch me do it just once. You will hold the bow on your right side
because that is the eye you use to aim with," she says, as stands across
from the target, getting her equipment ready.

"That's pretty good, Scully. Especially considering how I never shot
you," I say.

"You've aimed it at me a time or two, Mulder. I do notice a few little
things," she says, a tiny grin pulling at the corners of her mouth,
probably thankful she is alive and standing here. I wonder what else she
has noticed after all these years, excluding the fact that I damn near
shot her a few times. "Are you watching?"

Like I could possibly be watching anything else.

"Yes," I answer, as she stands with her bow.

"Notice my stance. Stand at approximately a right angle to your target.
Your weight should be evenly distributed on both feet which should be
spread apart far enough to give you a steady balance and a comfortable
relaxed position. Keep your body erect but not stiff," she instructs.

"Erect, not stiff. That isn't that easy to do, Scully," I say, trying
extra hard to be witty with a woman holding what could possibly be a
deadly weapon.

"Your body, Mulder," she responds. "The correct grip is the next step. A
firm but relaxed grip is essential."

"Yes, gripping firmly is always important," I say and she chooses to
ignore me

"Do you see how my fingers are positioned on the bow?" she asks. "That
is how you hold it."

"Mmm hmm," I say to her. I walk closer to her, as she continues to
maintain the proper stance.

"Now I'm going to teach you about nocking," she says, and I really can't
come up with any more witticisms. "Grip the bow properly with your
gripping hand. Hold the bow parallel to the ground, about waist high,
with the bowstring toward your body. Reach for an arrow with the other
hand. Using your thumb and forefinger, grasp the arrow by the nock.
Place the shaft across the arrow rest with the cock feather facing up."

She did it again. Said those words and they sound so wonderful in her
voice. Now I really have to think carefully about the next sport and
choose one with some really provocative terms. Slow and provocative.

"Could you repeat that?" I say.

"Which part?" she asks seriously.

"That last sentence. I missed it,"

"You place the shaft across the arrow rest with the co . . ." she starts
but stops when she notices the grin on my face. She gets right back on
target, so to speak. "When the arrow is nocked, hook the first three
fingers of your right hand around the bowstring. Your forefinger goes
above the nock, and your other two fingers go under the nock. The string
should lie in the creases of your fingers' knuckle joints."

"Got it," I say.

"The next part is something you learn as you go along. Each person has
their own individual drawing point," she says. "It isn't something I can
really teach you. Just pay attention to where I position my fingers."

"I'm watching," I respond.

"A crisp, straight, even release is very important to accuracy. The
release must be smooth and consistent. If it varies each time you shoot,
so will the accuracy of your shot," she instructs me, as she readies the
bow.

"Release must be smooth and consistent," I parrot back at her. "A smooth
and consistent release is good for me."

"Relax the three fingers holding the bowstring, letting the string slip
away smoothly. Don't jerk your fingers off the string. This will cause
the shot to veer off its mark. There should be no movement except for
the easy relaxing of the draw fingers," she says, and her fingers move
way smoothly, letting the arrow fly towards the target. It lands damn
close to the center. "Then follow-through. That means holding your
shooting position until the arrow hits the target."

She lowers the bow, and looks at me. Is she expecting me to try this and
get it right?

"That's it?" I say.

"That and lots of practice. But we have time for that," she says, as she
motions for me to come closer.

"Practice for what? We aren't entering an archery contest in order to
sneak inside the king's castle, are we?" I ask.

"No, Agent Hood," she says. "I just thought it would be fun. Something
we both could do. You know, now that we are trying to add a little fun
into our lives and not think about everything else out there."

"Okay. I'll give it a shot," I say with a wry smile.

"Ha ha. Here, I'll show you. Remember your stance?" she asks as her
hands gently pull me until I'm standing at a right angle to the target.
She is behind me, and I feel her hands go to my hips as she moves me
around just a little. "Now spread your feet just a little."

She quickly uses her knee to move my legs apart, startling me and I lose
my footing. She puts me back into position, guiding me with her hands,
maneuvering my hips however she likes. "Remember, Mulder. Erect, but not
stiff."

"How could I forget," I say as she walks around me, and hands me a bow.
I hold it as she instructed earlier and she pulls an arrow out of the
quiver and puts it in my other hand.

"Do you remember what I said?" she asks, and I debate whether to show
her my archery manliness and do exactly what she said, or mess it up so
she has to come closer and show me again. I decide on the latter.

"I think I do," I say, as I intentionally put the arrow on wrong, fumble
around with it and eventually watch it hit the ground. "Maybe I don't."

"These things have to be done slowly, Mulder. Some things only come with
time and patience. It can't be rushed," she says, her voice soft, almost
a whisper. "Now try again. Where do you put your cock feather?"

I just look at her and say nothing. Out of the millions of things I
could say, somehow all of them would ruin this moment.

"It goes like this," I say, getting it perfect this time. I already got
my reward for messing it up the first time.

Scully once again goes behind me, and I feel her hands up on my hips
again, keeping me from turning.

"Stance is important. You keep moving," she tells me and I notice I have
turned quite a bit.

"I like moving. It gets dull if you don't move," I say to her, only to
be held tighter in place.

"Stay like this," she says, and then she comes around me again. No words
are spoken as she shows me how to position my fingers to hold the arrow
across the bowstring and exactly where I should place my hand on the
grip. Our hands have touched many times, and on occasion we have even
been known to hold hands. And I never get over it. Each and every time
is wonderful. This is no exception.

"Watch out, Scully. I don't want to shoot you. I'm not as good a shot as
you are. Or so you say," I joke with her, and she steps back.

"Use the bow sight for aiming. You have lots of target practice, so you
should know how to do that. Once you do that, let it go nice and slowly
like I showed you. Remember, do it slowly and with precision," Scully
says, as she watches me intently.

I take aim through the bow sight, and with the grace of a drunk
elephant, let the arrow fly with a sputtering whoosh. And it misses its
target by ten feet to the left. Shit.

"That's okay. A lot of men miss the target on their first try," Scully
says with a devious tone. "Good thing that you have a woman here to
guide you."

Somehow she is back in my arms again, in between me and the bow. We have
somehow given into touching like this. As long as it is part of the
instructions, it's okay. It's more than okay in my mind. I don't know
how this is going to work, but she tells me to watch her, to feel what
she is doing.

"I feel it," I say, as she makes her body erect but not stiff in front
of me.

"Put your hand over mine. You will have to learn exactly what is just
right for you. Keep a firm grip on the bow. I think you let your bow arm
dip on that shot. To get it right, you must remember your
follow-through," she says.

"Follow-through is always important," I whisper in her ear, and she
doesn't move.

"When you are out here doing this, there is nothing else to focus on.
Just getting that arrow to hit the target. That is all that is
important. Just think of the thousands of years man has used a bow and
arrow. It has provided food. It has fought battles. It has provided
pleasure," she says softly. The day is really starting to heat up. Or
maybe it's just me. "Can you feel me draw back the bowstring? Can you
feel the tension?"

"Yes, I can feel it," I say and she leans back into me just slightly
before gently letting the bowstring back to its original position. She
moves her hands out of under mine and slips under my arm to stand next
to me.

"Let's see what you can do," she says, as I follow all her directions to
the letter. I aim a little high this time, and hold my bow arm stiff. I
let the string go and the arrow flies with precision to hit the target
just slightly outside of her last attempt.

I turn to her, and smile. She has her hands on her hips, and she looks
impressed.

"I never miss my target on the second try," I say, as I grab another
arrow from the quiver and let it fly.

The End

I'm shooting this back to you, MoJo

Jori's email address: damienma@bellsouth.net
MoJo's email address: MoJoBer@aol.com